As a little girl, I used to love tunnels. When our road trips suddenly exchanged the glaring, warm, midday sun for the shadowy underbelly of the earth, excitement and awe took over. “YES!”, I’d shriek, letting everyone in the car know I approved of this newfound, yet short-lived thrill. My sister and I would see who could hold our breath the longest, trying to make it to the end. She would win. She was older and better at most things. Sometimes I’d cheat and take a quick breath, hoping not to be caught. Inevitably, the grungy concrete walls and dim lights would end, as abruptly as they came. We’d forcefully let out our air-filled lungs and, once again, we’d be basking in sunshine, shading our eyes, pointing our vents to cool our warmed bodies, quickly forgetting the few moments shared in darkness.
Right now feels like a tunnel. Sudden. Dark. Uncertain. Not playful and thrilling as I remember. Holding our breath for sure. Longing for sunlight most definitely.
Darkness permeates.
Wake up. Is this all a bad dream? No. Still real life. This has me wanting to check-out, stay in bed, avoid reality. What is reality again? Another day of this? Crowding my thoughts already. Darkness.
A press of the home button. More news. Endless scrolling. Ignoring the 15 minute limit…again. Darkness. Stress. Another article. Death toll up. Stock market down. Can social distancing really help? Yes. Why aren’t some people taking this seriously? Frustrated. Judgmental. Video of ER in Italy. Sobering. Scary. Statistics. Darkness.
How can something that feels so distant, so intangible for me at this moment crowd my thoughts and my life in such a significant way? Suffocating darkness.
The darkness feels inescapable. I miss my escapes.
The escape of family and friends. Sharing meals. Togetherness…not the screen kind. The embrace-and-snuggle-your-kids kind. The wash-your-hands-after-the-bathroom-and-cutting-chicken-only kind. The close-enough-to-see-your-smile-lines kind. The kind that leaves me feeling soulful and belly-full and grateful. Not now.
The escape of work. Guiding needles into arms of patients prepping for elective surgery. Easing their worried minds as we talk about where they’re from and what they do when they aren’t having their hernias repaired or knees scoped. Co-workers. Linda’s smile. Sherri’s weekend story, sometimes with tears. Michelle’s discussion in solidarity about the scrubs that magically shrunk overnight. We laugh. We help each other out. Anticipate the needs. Care deeply for our patients and earn a paycheck. Not now.
The escape of freedom. Heading to the park with three earnest and energetic boys. “Will you push me high in the sky, momma?”. Target runs. Dinner out. Date nights. Slowly perusing each corner of a local antique store, searching for treasures I don’t need but might find. Spin class at the Y. Did I ever think I’d miss that?! Mornings to myself with boys in school. Coffee with a friend. Vacation at the beach. The BEACH. Warm sand, cold ocean. Squeals of delight as foamy waves crash onto sun-kissed feet. Cherished memories. Not now.
The escape of church gatherings. Rushed Sunday mornings with out-loud prayers for the day and discussions of expectations for behavior on the way. Warm greetings with sincere smiles and comforting embraces. Kids to their classes to join friends—learning together. Good news. The Story of King Jesus. Corporate worship. Varied bodies sitting close. Songs sung. Prayers uttered. The Word preached and believed. Communion taken. Familiar yet extraordinary. Lingering afterwards with banter and deciding where to go for lunch. Laughing and uniting. Not now.
Not now. Not now because we’re in the tunnel. Darkness permeates. I know God is God, and He’s here, and He’s enough—even in the shadows. But my heart is heavy and my mind is weary. Deep breath. Heart slows. Lord, have mercy.
Then there’s light. It barely trickles in but our strained eyes identify it immediately. It’s the moments throughout the day when we’re not thinking about “it”…the seemingly cruel virus, the fear, the loss, the uncertainties. It’s our truest escape from darkness because darkness cannot dwell in these moments.
Morning snuggles. All fifty toes in one king-sized bed. Un-rushed days. Meal time discussions about which superpower is superior: flying or invisibility. I say flying. A bible laid open, seeping truths into our weary minds and hearts. Stories of heroes. Heroes battling for their patient’s very breath. Heroes living a nightmare they’d never dared to envision. Exhausted but unwavering. Heroes stocking and re-stocking the shelves with supplies. Heroes preparing food for those who can’t afford it. Heroes showing up to work when they’d rather be at home. Heroes staying at home when they’d rather go out. Heroes finding ways to help one another. Kindness. Generosity. Courage in the chaos. Faith in the midst of fear. Checking-in with neighbors. Phone calls to friends. Whispered, passionate prayers. Slow dances in the kitchen. Pajamas because we can. Hikes in the forest where spring has begun to emerge and snow-melt moves eagerly over smooth stones. Trying new recipes, finding comfort in old ones. Soil covered hands preparing pots for new life. Coffee sipped slow. Worship songs playing, fettering our wandering hearts to Jesus once again.
For now, we get momentary glimpses of light. But the tunnel will end. It always does. We’ll emerge. And the sun will warm our skin and nearly blind our eyes. We’ll have new truths about God and humanity etched onto our hearts. Self-sufficiency will be shattered. Trust and dependency on Him will be be cultivated. We’ll be grateful and careful and less likely to take things for granted—to take people for granted. Patience learned. Compassion practiced. We’ll mourn our losses. We’ll grieve deeply as we remember the dead. We’ll welcome the babies and celebrate the marriages and congratulate the graduates. We’ll embrace. We’ll gather. We’ll continue on the journey, never the same.
Until then, look for the flicker, the glint, the flash. Open your eyes or you’ll miss it. Stay present or you’ll pass it by. Don’t hold your breath for the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s here.
“Light dawns in the darkness for the upright; he is gracious, merciful, and righteous.”
Psalm 112:4
“Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”
John 8:12
“You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.”
Matthew 5:14-16
“Let us know; let us press on to know the LORD; his going out is sure as the dawn; he will come to us as the showers, as the spring rains that water the earth.”
Hosea 6:3
“Because of the tender mercy of our God, whereby the sunrise shall visit us from on high to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.”
Luke 1:78-79
“No less God within the shadows
No less faithful when the night leads me astray
You're the heaven where my heart is
In the highlands and the heartache all the same”
-Highlands (Song of Ascent), Hillsong United
