A roofer slips, and as he plunges toward the ledge he calls out:
“Oh God, save me. I swear I’ll dedicate my life to you if you just save me from this fall!”
Miraculously, a nail catches his belt and stops him, rescuing him from certain death.
He wipes his brow and laughs; “Never mind Lord, I got this.”
We are in the early stages of the Covid 19 crisis here in America. Everyone everywhere is a-buzz. This is the adrenalin-driven place where we are all united by a massive common denominator: our humanness. But no one I know personally is sick. Our imaginations, on the other hand, are alive and well. We are learning how to step back, literally: from each other, from our daily patterns, from the innocence that was an unknown gift yesterday. Ignorance was bliss. Today we are all conscious of our vulnerability as living creatures.
I observed how many humans handle personal crises when I served as a teacher in the Davis County Jail. I was called as a spiritual leader to serve female inmates. Every Sunday and Wednesday, for three years, I would pass through thick metal doors in a series of security points, armed with what little bit I thought I knew of God. Carrying nothing but scriptures in my hands, and a prayer in my heart, I passed through those emotionally sterile corridors, past the stainless-steel kitchen doors and through the unforgettably pungent smell of too many sweaty clothes washed in each batch; the jail laundry. I swear, if being confined were not enough to keep me from a life of crime, wearing that community clothing would.
When women are taken from their children, and their homes, and their drugs of choice… when they are shackled and stripped of jewelry and curlers and makeup, they get pretty humble. As soon as they are clean and sober, for some of them, the first place they turn is to the Lord. It’s a pretty tender time, for even the toughest gals. I told my husband Dave, who is a state court judge, that he and the other judges are prayed over almost daily by people they don’t even know. “Lord, please bless the judge to be fair and merciful.” We heard it every single time one of them prayed before sentencing.
It’s a rare inmate who cleans herself up, figures out who she is and finds her way out for good. Most of us humans end up like that roofer saved by the nail. We beg for God’s help, then when things get comfortable again we return to familiar patterns. Before we know it, some volunteer spiritual guide ends up standing in the doorway of the library at the jail welcoming us back to Relief Society six months after we left. Some women, however, figure out how to stay out. It’s rare, but it happens. My friends Jan and Pati - they figured it out. They are free in every sense of the word, and they know from whom their strength comes. I’m not saying they have become religious fanatics. I’m saying they know what parts of themselves are big and what parts are small and who, in the end, has the power.
So, regarding our current state of international crisis, I’m wondering what we will be looking back on six months from now. Will we be weeping at the suffering of people we love? Will the destroying angel pass us by? Will our 401K’s be fractional? Will we still have jobs? For sure there will be damage, some of it irreparable. And for sure there will be growth. We will not know until it is over how each of us will internalize this opportunity.
Tonight, I pause and have a little talk with myself, walking into this unknown with an awareness of how I want to be able to look back on it. The awareness is a worthy exercise.
Tonight, I pause and have a little talk with myself, walking into this unknown with an awareness of how I want to be able to look back on it. The awareness is a worthy exercise.
My daughter-in-love Ashley sent the following quote to our family today:
‘You have been offered the gift of crisis’ As Kathleen Norris reminds us, the Greek root of the word crisis is ‘to sift,‘ as in to shake out the excesses and leave only what’s important. That’s what crises do. They shake things up until we are forced to hold on to only what matters most. The rest falls away.” Glennon Doyle
No doubt there will be marvelous stories of courage and kindness coming from this crisis. And there will be sorrowful tales to tell, as well. But I hope, when it’s behind us, we will have the wisdom to know to whom we should offer thanks when we find ourselves saved by the nail.
