I don’t know about you, but I’m not that wild about change.
Looking back, my life (thankfully) has had a history of sameness. (I’m not sure if that is a word, but since I just used it, it is now!) My parents were married for 64 years until my father’s death; they lived in the house we grew up in for 55 years; my husband Jerry, who died in 2018, and I were together for 33 years; I worked in the same secular job for 23 years; I’ve lived in the same condo for 26 years.
And by the way, I want to do what I want to do when I want to do it. (Admittedly I am a little spoiled, living in San Diego, where we’ve never had to stock up on supplies in anticipation of tornadoes, hurricanes, etc., or evacuate, or hunker.) I want to go to the gym; I want to meet friends for dinner; I want to go to church; I want to buy what I want when I want to at the store.
But, of course, right now, I can’t do any of those things. And that can be scary.
Very often, when things change–and I believe you would agree with me that things have changed– our first response is fear, resentment, even grief as we recognize we can’t do those things right now.
I believe it is important for us to recognize and feel those feelings. Hang out with the fear, feel the disappointment, grieve for how life has changed. (By the way, very often we reserve grief for those life experiences that we judge as monumental-the death of a dear one, loss of a job, a major relationship change, or some other heart-breaking event. But there can be grief any time there is a change that we would not have chosen.)
Once we do that, we can move into calm, quiet peace, and acceptance. I call that “being certain in uncertain times,” or, “keeping our fork.” No, we don’t what the next news bulletin will bring. We can do what we can do to keep ourselves and our dear ones safe. And know that (quoting Melissa Manchester’s song from “The Poseidon Adventure,” at the risk of dating myself), there’s got to be a morning after.
Often and frequently, I am reminded of the words of Louise Hay: “I am safe; it’s only change.”
I am praying for, knowing accepting, calm, peace and perfect health for all of us.
And by the way, “keep your fork.” Remember the story of the elderly woman who, while talking with her minister about her funeral service, told him she wanted to be buried with a fork? She explained that, throughout her life, after eating dinner at a friend’s house, she was told to “keep her fork. That reminded her that something good (such as an amazing dessert) was coming, after the pot roast and brussel sprouts.
May we follow the guidance from the government agencies, stay safe, take care of ourselves, and “keep our fork.” There’s got to be a morning after.