I’ve never seen so much use of sidewalk chalk. The large pastel kind sold around Easter in drugstores. During this odd time, I’ve seen messages written on slate walks, mountain peaks, and bike paths. “Keep the Faith” and “We Love You, Healthcare Workers.” I’ve seen households sending well wishes to those passing by with a “Happy Birthday, Virginia.” What a great way to make a friend’s day while still socially distancing.  As with any giving, the chalk author is receiving as much as the recipient. Even me as the reader felt the love as I walked over it.

Let me add, all the writings have been in an adult’s script. We over the age of 21 are taking up whatever means necessary to keep in touch. Personally, I’ve downloaded every video app available—since everyone seems to use a different one—for writing group critiques, to play online cards, to wish my family a happy Easter, and to learn how to make whipped coffee (Thank you, Emily! I now feel hip).

I’ve taught FaceTime to an 80-year-old iPad newbie. I cut up old cotton curtains to sew into masks, mailing them by request around the U.S.

We strive to connect however we can.

We also lose our patience more easily in our connecting. 

We’re taking our own stances. Defending our governors. Defending our own choices (rule following or not). Defending our judgments of others. Some are limiting their exposure to news (which has the danger of making one less empathetic and ill informed). Some are listening to too much news and getting more anxious than possibly necessary and only getting part of the story. 

Some simply want to be heard, as Servant Leader Parker Palmer said after the 9-11 tragedy.  In New York City, he held circles and realized that people didn’t want a solution given to them. They just wanted to tell their stories. To be heard. To be acknowledged.

I could listen better. I could acknowledge more. I could have more patience.

We are all going through something. Oddly, as a world, we’re going through it together. Friends in Spain, Germany, and Switzerland share their tales. Across our country, friends text me photos of empty San Francisco streets and vacant Florida ports.  I pray for friends and family who have taken ill during these times—a disease spreading or dementia worsening.  Some are hospitalized alone and confused.  A friend has to separate her feverish daughter from her cancer-ridden husband in the same house while keeping herself healthy as the caregiver to both.

What this isn’t is the end. It’s not the end of social distancing. But it’s also not the end of celebrating and living and connecting. It’s not the end of the world.

My greatest centering is found in staying outside, not in. In watching our dogs, like clueless toddlers, appreciate the extra time with us and the new outdoor adventures. They’re doing their own strength training, preparing for the next hike, the next swim, the next log to jump over.

Let’s all take one giant jump forward. Stronger. Together.