I got my second vaccination the other day. I underestimated how exciting that would be. It is gradually dawning on me that it will soon be safer to see people and do things. Of course, caution is still advised until more people get vaccinated and the rates of infection drop. Nonetheless, it is thrilling.

Headlines speak of when we can get back to normal. But what will normal really look like after a year in our hunker bunker? Will I ever feel comfortable being in a large indoor crowd? 

Will I stop commenting on people being too close to each other in films and on TV shows produced long before there was a pandemic? What exactly will normal look like?

I imagine it will look something like coffee with a friend. Hugging my kids. Our annual summer camping trip. Watching a movie on the big screen. I don’t care as much about eating in a restaurant as everyone else seems to be, but there will be that too eventually. What are you hoping for?

Going forward, I believe we need to do two things:
1. Grieve well. Acknowledge what we have lost, what has been hard, what saddens us. It will be different for each. Don’t post it on Facebook because 20 people will jump in with all the reasons you are grieving the wrong things.
Feel all the feels. Spend time with them.

The Bible is filled with lament. Lamentations is an entire book of lament over the destruction of Jerusalem. Many of the Psalms are prayers of lament.

What exactly is lament and why is it important? Author Mark Vroegop explains it this way: “Lament is different than crying because lament is a form of prayer. It is more than just the expression of sorrow or the venting of emotion. Lament talks to God about pain. And it has a unique purpose: trust. It is a divinely-given invitation to pour out our fears, frustrations, and sorrows for the purpose of helping us to renew our confidence in God.”

But I have trusted in your steadfast love;
my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.
I will sing to the LORD,
because he has dealt bountifully with me.

Psalm 13:5–6

2. Stop and smell the daffodils.
It is possible that you are still slogging through the snow as March arrives. I’m sorry. My neighborhood is in full bloom. Poppies abound on the roadside. Bunches of daffodils dot people’s yards. Trees are in flower. Bulbs have pushed up, and my very first iris has bloomed. It is called Mountain Violet.

Though the pandemic imposes many restrictions, it can’t stop the flowers and friendships from blossoming.

It was given to me by my friend Karla, and so, I think of her every time I notice new growth. And I am reminded that friendships grow even in a pandemic. I suspect they have even become dearer to us during these hard days.

Though the pandemic imposes many restrictions, it can’t stop the flowers and friendships from blossoming. Birds still sing. People in my neighborhood have been observing a pair of bald eagles – very rare here. One photo shows an eagle with a clutch of dried grass in its talons undoubtedly meant to cushion a nest.

The world turns, and many of the marvelous aspects of creation are available to all who will observe. So, go outside and take a deep breath. Give thanks for what you have and what is to come.

Normal – whatever that is – is just around the corner.