I’ve had our Christmas cards for a month already, but a frustrating case of writer’s block has delayed their mailing. How do I speak of this unspeakable year? A global pandemic, heartbreaking social and political unrest, widespread destruction from historic natural disasters, and those are just some of what made the news. Not to mention the personal challenges, occurring at a social distance, under a mask, and behind closed doors. The heaviness of this year has seemed insurmountable at times.
Last fall, I learned about choosing a “guiding word” as a theme for the year. It seemed helpful on my quest to become a non-anxious presence, so I prayed for wisdom. Interestingly, the word that kept surfacing in my mind was “reorder.” That word made a lot more sense after the text from the kids’ school indicated that we would be establishing “The Horn School Home School” on March 16th. Nick’s travel ceased and his office building shut down, so for the first time in the history of “Team Horn” all six of us resided under one roof 24/7. After a visit from my hyper-anxious self, I chose to delight in our new “forced rest.” Retreat to advance, right? After all, it was for just three weeks. We played games, tried new recipes, nurtured our new sourdough starter, sewed masks, made puppets to learn ventriloquism, built legos, read books, watched nostalgic movies, knit, had dance parties, cuddled with Molly, and the kids marveled over seeing their classmates’ pets on Zoom. We accomplished tasks on the to-do list that had been put off in our prior frenetic pace: Nick cleaned out the garage, fine-tuned his home gym, and built the kids a playset in our newly landscaped backyard (which we, thankfully, had the foresight to complete in February.) I was able to reorganize our family photos, compile and edit home videos and I even cleaned the oven. Thanks to Youtube, I also learned how to cut hair and groom dog fur with the same old clippers.
But then my hypothetical finish line elapsed, we hit the limits of our introversion, Facetime lost its appeal, you-tube quarantine parodies were overplayed, boredom ensued, the (my) war on screens raged, intra-family conflict was incessant, and as luck would have it, plantar fasciitis sidelined me from my stress-management exercise regime. It’s like the sea of distraction was drained exposing the dysfunction that lay beneath, and there was no choice but to face it. This year has stretched me well beyond my previously known limits, exposed faulty thought patterns, and tested my capacity to love others well. It also revealed some broken places where I blindly placed my hope that returned to me void. This year has left me on my knees.
I have needed to pray hard for eyes to see God’s goodness in all of this and for the grace to endure it. Through it, I’ve found that when I contemplate His perfect character, instead of my struggle, I begin to notice His blessings and the heaviness lifts. You become what you give your attention to, I suppose. There are so many things that we’ve learned and experienced that wouldn’t have been possible had we not faced the unique trials that have come this year.
We’re learning about each others’ complexities; talents, perspectives, character, strengths, areas for growth, needs, limits, and without question, pet peeves. We are learning how to love each other, especially when we are being unlovely, because we seriously have nowhere else to go. Our appetites are being reset; and we’re learning resilience and flexibility.
We’ve reimagined quality time with each other and our loved ones. We have so many precious new memories. Among them are drive-by celebrations, like the surprise “thank you” parade for Emmy’s beloved teacher last spring. After two months of their only contact being on Zoom, the soon-to-be fifth graders basked in their together-ness, masked and sitting on their respective car rooftops, cheering for Mrs. Lucht as their theme song “Brave” blared in the background. It was utter joy. We celebrated Easter on my 92 year old Grandpa’s driveway with a puppet show from the back of our minivan, and James had us all in stitches when his puppet went rogue with an emphatic rendition of Parrell Williams’ “Happy.” I watched Julia participate in her Kindergarten Zoom call wearing one pair of pajamas for a solid six weeks. Her determination should never be questioned. Neither should Hannah’s after she did an astounding 1000 jumping
