I rarely engage in political dialogue or debate because I lack the knowledge and desire to participate in conversations that rarely seem to end well.  For those reasons, I preface this entire post with a disclaimer:  Even though it was prompted by a politician’s comments, this post is not a political commentary but a simple reflection.

Earlier this week, the Texas Lieutenant Governor, Dan Patrick, was quoted as saying, “I’m not living in fear of Covid-19. What I’m living in fear of is what’s happening to this country….My message is…let’s get back to work.  Let’s get back to living.”

With all due respect to Mr. Patrick, this IS living.

Living is waking up each morning, grateful for the gift of another day, and facing whatever happens to the best of our ability.  Some of us plan our days to the minute; others take each day as it comes.  However, none of us can predict what a day will bring, no matter what plans or desires we may have for it.

Some of our days are beautiful.  The weather cooperates, we are productive, our relationships are rewarding, our work is meaningful.  Maybe we are praised for something we accomplished or thanked for a kindness we extended.  Perhaps we attended a wedding or took our kids to the park.

Some of our days are tragic. A tornado ravages our neighborhood, we are in a terrible car accident, we receive a devastating diagnosis.  Maybe we failed an exam we had spent a year preparing to take or we closed the door to our failing family business.  Perhaps we attended a funeral or said goodbye to a dying parent.

Every single day for the past few weeks, every single person in our country has had to sacrifice something, from the tiniest newborn baby to the eldest citizen.  Every child, every adult.  Some have lost time to play with a friend, a visit from a grandparent, a high school prom.  Others have lost a job, a friend, a spouse.  Many have lost their lives.  There have been no exemptions, no waivers.  No preferential treatment has been given.

I am the daughter and sister of parents and a brother whose age and health place them in the highest risk categories. I am the mom of a graduating senior who is unlikely to walk the stage in May as planned for four years. I am the mom of a daughter whose school year just ended abruptly and a son whose job is at risk.  I am the mom of a physician assistant who works with high risk patients in a hospital setting.  I am the mom of a little girl considered “the vulnerable among us,” who would likely be viewed by many as “dispensable” because of her limited ability to contribute to society (something with which I, and every single person who knows her, would vehemently disagree).  I feel the ramifications of our current situation deeply every single day and suspect that will only grow over the coming weeks.

Medical experts and leaders are gathering as much information as they possibly can and making decisions based on that information.  Those decisions have been hard to hear and difficult to implement. Some of them will prove to help and some will harm.  Only time will tell.

One thing is certain. We will all lose a lot in this situation.  We will lose time, money, experiences, jobs, and people.  Some of us will lose our lives.  But we are very much working.  We are working to protect as many lives as we possibly can.  We are working to educate our children.  We are working to maintain our mental health.  We are working to find unique ways to connect with others, share our gifts, and continue to earn a living.  We are working to find toilet paper.

And we are very much living. We are waking up each morning, grateful for the gift of another day, and facing whatever happens to the best of our ability.  Hopefully we are praying and seeking God as never before.  Hopefully we are loving Him with all our hearts, souls, minds, and strength and loving our neighbor as ourselves, even if that means simply waving to him from our front porch or dropping some groceries off on hers.

In his interview, Mr. Patrick was also quoted as saying, “As a senior citizen, are you willing to take a chance on your survival, in exchange for keeping the America that all America loves for your children and grandchildren?” The America I love is one that values every single life and is willing to sacrifice any perceived sense of normalcy to save as many lives as possible.  All the lives.  Not just the young lives or the rich lives or the “valuable” lives.  The America I love is going through an unprecedented crisis that has the potential to unite its citizens as nothing before.  The America I love will rebuild no matter what devastation exists when the vaccine or cure or treatment is finally found and Covid-19 is rendered powerless or at least less powerful.

In reality, what we are experiencing on a grand scale happens to many people every single day of every single year.  I think of our son Timothy whose little heart and lungs failed unexpectedly, sending our family’s lives into a tailspin only days after we adopted him.  The next sixteen months brought one crisis after another.  Every member of our family sacrificed something. The things we lost, we never got back. And in the end, Timothy died, not of his heart and lung conditions but from a rogue infection that took his life in 48 hours.

Many others could tell similar stories of devastation of life, home, business, property.  It happens every day.  It is part of living.

The difference now is that it is happening to all of us at the same time.  It is shaking up society as we know it.  It is wrecking financial havoc.  It is creating uncertainty.  We cannot control it, and we don’t like that.

How about instead of bemoaning that and trying to carve out subsections of society that can somehow slip out of the circumstances and “get back to work” and “get back to living,” we see the amazing opportunity our nation has to unify, to empathize, to love each other well? How about we unite in the battle against this virus and defeat it?  And then how about we work together as a nation to rebuild—whatever that takes and whatever that looks like?  That would be the America that I love.

Will our lives look different?  Yes.  Will some things and people be gone forever?  Yes.  Will that hurt?  Yes.  Does that have to be catastrophic?  No.  It’s going to be whatever we make of it. Because that’s living—waking up each morning, grateful for the gift of another day, and facing whatever happens to the best of our ability.

“And the Lord your God will circumcise your heart and the heart of your offspring, so that you will love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul, that you may live.” (Deuteronomy 30:6, ESV)