Walking through the Valley of the Shadow of COVID

(Lengthy reading alert. Create some time and space.)

Life Before COVID. L.B.C.
Life After COVID. L.A.C.

That’s how we’ve all been talking for months now. And of course, we’re all longing for the day when we look back at what was: L.A.C.

I’ve had friends and family deeply impacted by the virus itself. Fighting for their lives and some succumbing to the ravaging physical end. I’ve read and listened and watched as people I know and don’t know have offered comfort, advice and a million mixed messages - from politicians, pastors, medical professionals and armchair experts. Some of it has been horribly unhelpful; some of it has offered a lifeline of hope and perspective on a season none of us could have imagined, and one with no visible end.

Inside the complexity of this pandemic we’ve witnessed the ongoing devaluing and physical brutality of black human beings - whose lives matter. We’ve celebrated the recognized rights of our LGBTQ family and friends through the Supreme Court ruling in June. And at the same time an inability to embrace each other at the base level of our treasured humanity has produced more violence in our streets - and on our social media platforms. For those who are systemically marginalized and devalued already, COVID has pierced a deeper wound that most of us will never understand. It makes my personal experience of COVID seem irrelevant; I mean no disrespect by reflecting on my personal stumbling through this valley.

This seems to be one of those seasons where you’re just supposed to “enter into it,” live in it, listen for Wisdom, find the deeper meaning and emerge in L.A.C. just a little better for having endured the hell of it all. But truth be told, I’ve been really delayed in picking up that script. Until recently I had effectively blocked it completely, followed by a period of screw-it, which ultimately concluded with a look in the mirror to see my deflated, defeated and despairing self.

Time out.

I’ve not been dragging myself across the floor with no physical appetite or an inability to sleep. I’ve not fallen into a deep dark depression That’s not a statement of strength or achievement. I’ve been there before and there are good people plunged into the depths of depression because of all this. I’ve dipped in and out of despair in this valley, but I’ve not given up.

I have felt shame. Buried.

I have felt uncertain. Stuck.

I have felt failure. Bottomed-out.

When COVID hit, the business I launched a couple years ago came to a screeching halt - mostly. While I’ve been grateful for the clients I’ve retained or gained over the last six months, the pipeline is empty. Is this dream over? I mean, certainly I can still offer consulting and coaching services to clients the rest of my life, but will I do so as my sole livelihood? Some days I feel the weight of failure; others I feel the pride of having gone for it. Needless to say, it’s tossed me into a volatile place uncertain of myself or what I’m supposed to do now.

I’ve spoken with less confidence. I’ve often projected little self value. Some days I’ve been unconvincing about much of anything. I’ve frankly not been myself. Or - as I’ve seen myself many days - I’ve been a lot more myself. Full of self-doubt, regret and a vague sense of how to find what’s next.

Yeah. I’m the life coach guy. What’s next?

Here’s the paradox: throughout the past several months I’ve had some coaching calls…and it seems I’ve been encouraging. My questions have apparently been appropriately challenging. My observations and suggestions have been remarkably helpful to people. One day I wrapped up a virtual coaching session and told my wife, Laura: “Damn. If I did half of what I just said I’d be in a different place.”

With a need to fill some widening gaps of income, I took a job three months ago at an “essential” company. I’m currently working part-time hours each week, and although I’m grateful for the income, it’s woefully less than I need. The company is a good company. The people I work with are beautiful human beings. I enjoy interacting with our guests, hoping my smile and personal engagement are lifting some chins, if even a little bit.

It’s always interesting when a guest at the store is someone I know. I’m always curious about what they’re thinking. )Yes, about me. It’s what I do. I think everyone is thinking something about me at all times. Sick, I know. Illogical, for sure. True, painfully so.) Some would say (and have) that they respect me for doing what I can in this tough season. I’m also sure there are some who leave the store scratching their heads, wondering “What happened to Waltz? He used to be… and now he is… Wow, I wonder what went wrong?” And maybe there are others who look at me the way any of us should look at people in our community who serve us - as respectable and respected humans of dignity and worth, choosing to give their best in service to others.

Even though I hold my head high and include myself in the dignity of my box store peers, I know this part-time job isn’t what I want to do. It’s not what I long to do. And even though I don’t feel ashamed for working there, I do feel small. Insignificant.

Because intellect, emotions and spirituality are inseparable, this season has elevated questions I’ve been asking over the past several years. The questions have become more pressing and challenging:

• What is prayer? How does prayer work? Do I really think prayer changes things?

• How do I even pray for or about the injustice and hatred and exclusion of image-bearers of God in our country?

• Is prayer a formula where the right words with the right mindset with the right faith with the right timing with the right patience turns the God-key on my circumstances? Am I actually capable of manipulating God?

• Does God, the Universe, or the God of the Universe owe me anything? Is God so much about my notion of happiness that God wants me to make my Santa list and ask away? And do I really get to ask for anything only if I’ve been good?

It certainly seems that the American Dream, the fable of Santa Claus and an Arab’s Genie in a Bottle have all served as a foggy, cracked lens with which to read the scriptures. It’s quite a distorted view for sure.

So for weeks - no months - I’ve felt like I was just taking what was coming. Whatever the hell that was. Take in some more Netflix. Do anther puzzle. Get lost in another game on my phone. Numb out. And “hope” for a crack in just one closed door and try to survive.

After all, miracles aren’t fanciful wish lists come true. Prayers aren’t formulas for getting what I want. Happiness isn’t wrapped up in what I do or what I have. And I’m not the only one sitting where I’m sitting.

Even though I know I’m not the only one sitting where I’m sitting, that there are others who share the rollercoaster of this season, I’d rather isolate. Withdraw. Not ask for help. Keep saying “I’m hanging in there” as a shield to ward off too much prying and prodding about how I really am. Yes, I know the value of coming alongside people I’m coaching. I get the intrinsic nature we humans hold for relationship, for walking together.

As I reflect on this season, it’s been the presence, the questions, the comfort from people in my life - friends and close family - who have held the light for me. They’ve helped me shape perspective on this awkward and dubious season.

Just lately - the past few weeks - I’ve become aware of what’s “supposed” to be happening in a season like this. What’s been happening is what’s supposed to have been happening. I’m supposed to be asking questions, sitting in the crap, simply being where I am. And knowing that God is sitting in this with me. And while I’m sitting and asking questions, I’m learning to listen. And mostly what I hear is what I have already sensed.

I’m hearing that I need to practice being present to God as God is present to me.

I’m getting that I need to practice gratitude, taking in the wonder of Grace and Mercy.

I’m understanding that I need to practice community, experiencing Christ in every person I engage, regardless of their religion or faith.

I believe that I’ve been where I could only be. I’ve needed to ask the forbidden questions; push against the hope that says “it’ll all be okay;” and sit in the smelly pile getting really honest about it all. I’ve needed the daily Jesuit prayer guide that I’m using on most days. I’ve needed to read about the journeys of others - some real, some fable and all true. I’ve needed to talk with people I trust to be heard…and to hear.

So this is where I’ve been and where I am. Some days when I read scripture it reminds me of the cesspool I’m sitting in. And at the same time it reminds me I’m not alone in it. Some days my practice of prayer spins me into the twistedness of familiarity where every prayer is supposed to be “answered” if I just have enough faith. And yet ultimately, the practice of prayer and meditation brings me profound peace in this space of unknowing and uncertainty. Some days I journal quietly and alone, writing out my personal thoughts that I intend to keep private. And there are days when my journalling is the pathway to connecting with another human being.

I still don’t know what’s next. I’m asking all the questions: Who am I - really? What do I really want to do? In what ways will I be most fulfilled? How do I live out who I really am? What role do I have to play in bringing the Gospel of Love, Justice and Peace to the world? Can my work contribute to creating a better world as it was intended to be? What would it be like to work for someone else again? Where do Laura and I want to live? Where do we not want to live? How will we go about engaging authentic and live-giving community? What will it look like to celebrate 40 years of marriage on the heels of all this? What is it that I most want to experience with and model for our daughter and son-in-law? What does this stomach-tossing journey of trust and doubt look like?

Here are some things I’m learning…

• The loss of income stinks. But it can give fresh sight to the abundance I already have. If I choose to see it.

• The waiting sucks. But in the waiting there are fewer distractions. In the waiting there is space to be. To be present. To myself and to God. If I’ll rest, if I’ll be quiet long enough to listen.

• The questions are hard…and really, really good. The questions keep me in dialog with God. They remind me that I’m not God. My questions keep me grounded while exploring the vastness and wonder of the Universe. If I’m brave enough to ask the questions.

• Isolation can be blinding and numbing. But it can remind me how much I need relationships with others. If I’m willing to invite someone else in.

• My own experience can keep me preoccupied with me. Self-absorbed. But if I really dig, dive deep into just what’s going on inside of me, I can emerge with a refreshed sense of belonging and responsibility to others.

• The uncertainty is unnerving. Even for a “wait and see” guy like me. Will I run a sustainable business? Will I work for someone else? Will it be in the private sector or in the local church? The uncertainty can grow my trust in God, not my faith in what I think God’s supposed to do. If I’ll surrender to the risk of trusting.

This is my walk through the valley of the shadow of COVID.  It’s still not an easy walk through this valley. I’m not through it with grandiose conclusions that removes the uncertainty and fear. I’m just trying to learn what it is to “fear no evil, for God is with me.”