Lessons in Concession

I spent some time with friends the other night, a phrase which here means talking to a small, back projection, blue light screen split into a grid of multiple squares depicting talking, floating heads of people I love.

During this conversation, I shared how I’m resistant to using the phrase “the new normal” to describe our current collective living situation. I understand the impulse to find some normalcy and routine in the midst of this, I understand the need to get into a manageable rhythm. Still, calling it a “new normal” makes me emotionally itchy. I don’t think it’s a good idea to start thinking of any of this as normal at all, and I don’t think it’s fair to expect ourselves or those around us to thrive or succeed in these restrictive circumstances.

I don’t want to get used to this. It’s hard for me to see this as an opportunity to achieve something I’ve put off, even as I actually do pick up projects that have languished in the backs of cupboards.

I don’t want to impose my pursuit of simplicity and a slower pace on to a global tragedy, even as I am authentically experiencing the deeply valued gift of uninterrupted time at home with those I love.

It feels dangerous to experience our current state as one in which we can reach for an ideal.

This experience is a concession during which I have a duty to cultivate contentment.

So, I practice leaning into all of those small moments where contentment grows like moss on the north face of a stone, untouched by the harsh glare of the seizing, burning sun, quietly and in the shadow.

White curtains billowing into the living room, brushing past my face to remind me I’m made for more than sitting in a closed room.

An aggressive hug from a six year old, expressing with small arms the deep ache for connection and affimration.

The combination of flour, yeast, and salt to create the most basic, ancient form of nourishment.

The charm of a glass of cold water slick with condensation-isn’t it still kind of magic that water pulls more water out of thin air?

The color of my daughter’s hair, every strand a different story. I imagine the years ahead represented by the russet and rust and autumn leaf red and white blonde and marigold and chestnut, what this child’s life could be foretold in the fiery prism.

A melody new to my children but very old, Debussy or Bach or Vivaldi sneaking up on their young ears from the side.

How my mind lights up in a different place the moment I begin planning a lesson that will allow children access to literature-I didn't think I missed it until I went back to it.

The deep yearning, a thing physical and difficult to identify, of just missing people, missing their chatter and laughter, missing the variety of faces and tones and textures we all bring. Even the yearning is a moment to be content.

Enduring isolation through the season of Lent has been especially poignant for me. It has left me asking a question which is at once disruptive and hopeful:

Is most of life simply a concession?

Reaching for an ideal in this life will always leave you reaching, the longing for healing, reconciliation, restoration, and redemption left as a hope and a promise.

I believe in that promise. I believe in the work we do and the help we get along the way. I believe that the kingdom is both come and coming.

Because of this, in the middle of what many have held up as a thing for mortal fear, I continue to hope and look forward to better, not just a return to what we had before, but a move forward into a future where the weaknesses exposed are addressed and transformed into healing. A future where we decide to reintroduce the things that truly add value and leave behind what doesn't. One where our concern for our neighbor’s well being remains and the vulnerabilities of the least protected stay visible and at the forefront of our concerns, because this is the work of bringing God’s mercy to God’s people, where it has its true home. This is the work of harmonizing with creation by bridling it with the easy yoke of hope and stillness.

Is it always that we find healing in the midst of what should be a concession?