The year that held us on a tightrope

How much does a year hold? That big question came to me in my morning meditation. perhaps as a result from reviewing this past year of living without normalcy.

As we marked the one-year anniversary of fully entering into the year of the pandemic, many of us recalled the ordinary moments that now seem so extraordinary. We remember the sorrows and joys, the triumphs and defeats, the gifts and the losses.

My days before the lockdown were spent with family as I traveled, with my husband, to the childhood home of my godmother and, prayerfully, laid her to rest. Standing shoulder to shoulder with my sister and father on that very windy March day, I blessed her life and we placed her peacefully in the hands of her God. None of us knew that after that service we would not see each other for a very long time. None of us knew that the year would hold us safely, but separately. None of us knew that this would be a year of balancing faith and fear, of moving ahead while being pulled back at every turn. Perhaps it was the same for you.

The process of spiritual growth is usually a long one, led by Spirit. And, if we follow, eventually we must yield control, become comfortable with discomfort and live in a world of uncertainty. One that is not easy as it challenges most of what we believe.

This year has held us and our moments on a delicate tightrope requiring the balance of faith and fear. Trust, and its strength or weakness, became our most inconstant companion and, on that tightrope, looking down, the gap between doing and being was clearly revealed. It was a struggle, I think, for all of us.

In those struggles of tremendous suffering we discovered our limits while we uncovered our desperate need to know, to have answers, to fix things. To be in control. And those needs were rarely met. We cried, we hurt, we yelled at our God who normally received our love, worship and petitions. We demanded answers and our cries, it seemed, echoed in the silence. This was the year of living in the darkness, of resting in the shadows of the unknown. We traveled into the space between faith and fear where the unfamiliar lives and where we continued, somehow, to pray in new ways.

We cooked and shared meals, we gave to our neighbors, we volunteered to comfort the grieving. We argued over sanitizer and toilet paper and then gave to those who were without. The year held the opposites of our behaviors and choices in a delicate balance.

We returned to board games and long, solitary walks and we listened to music in the quiet. We wrote and read and helped children to learn grown-up lessons. We rediscovered the immense difference between need and want. Faith and fear will do that.

We danced with compassion, forgiveness and understanding even when we did not know the new steps. We learned how to hug without touching.

This year held it all. This year held our faith AND our fear. This year held us as we held others through great loss and, yes, it held us through our own.

What will this next year hold? I do not pretend to know but I pray that we are better prepared for what will unfold and that faith will triumph over fear. Every time.