The sky has been amazing during our enforced time at home. The full moon this month is called the Pink Moon or the Egg Moon, the moon that presides over the first breath of spring. So I was drawn to this amazing photo by a new friend sis92y. This photo reminds me of why we first moved to Fauquier county, over 25 years ago. My husband and I started a family here, and I fondly recall walking my newborn daughter in the stroller in our lovely neighborhood. It seems like a distant memory of a time and place that may never be again, a more simple and innocent time. I wonder where this pandemic will lead – what will the new normal be?
Unlike my introverted friends, I am finding staying at home more and more difficult. I have worked from home for a number of years, so you would think this current situation isn’t much different. Yet an extrovert who works from home also adds plenty of social interaction into their routine. I practice yoga at a local studio most weekdays. On Wednesdays there is the prayer shawl meeting, then Thursday mornings there is chapel with breakfast and discussion. You get the idea – if I have to work alone, I can surely find a way to make time for social interaction. In my mind I fully understand the need for social distancing. In my heart it feels like I am wearing shoes at least two sizes too small.
I think things out by interacting with others. Talking brings matters into focus, helps sift the wheat from the chaff. Alone I find myself down rabbit holes like Alice in Wonderland, playing chess with life and getting too far ahead of myself. What will childhood be like for my grandchildren, as yet unborn? Will their restrictions cost more than the risks they seek to avoid? Will freedoms I took for granted become unimaginable to them? Of course the short answer is none of us know what lies ahead or even when to expect this current lockdown to subside. If that short-term result eludes us, what good is there in pondering a distant future that may never be realized?
Then I go back to this mysterious moon, this not so simple reflection of the sun, changing shape and size month to month, season to season. This moon reflects the ever constant sun, changing aspect even as the sun abides. If the moon changes without effort, why am I making this so difficult? Rather than focusing on what is, or was, or will be, I must go back to the basis of what works – being intentional about social interaction. I need to use technology to do what I cannot do in person right now.
Make time today to embrace technology to bridge the gap. Read bedtime stories to the little ones over video chat. Host a virtual dinner party. Celebrate birthdays or an anniversary with a dance party online. Let those you love know what they mean to you, speaking from the depths of your heart.
Allow the Holy Spirit to fill your heart and mind, rather than the latest news. Pray for one another, knowing when we pray, we are only a heartbeat away. Pray for more than just protection; pray for blessings that break through the darkness and uncertainty. Pray for the divine to permeate the days and nights ahead. Most of all, pray for the new normal, a normal where each of us may see Christ in everyone that we encounter, rather than just those we hold dear.
Text by Connie Chintall ©2020, All Rights Reserved
Photo entitled ‘Pretty in Pink’ by sis92y©2020, used with her permission, All Rights Reserved. To see more of her work, go to https://www.deviantart.com/sis92y/gallery
There are days when I wonder who I am. How do I define myself? How do I hold on to who I am in the face of daily personal challenges and bewildering news stories? I keep going back to this intriguing image of an old, rusted Ford Fairlane. The sedan is long past its prime and even the vine attached to it seems to lack life. I joined the military almost forty years ago after a series of poor decisions. I walked away from a full scholarship at the University of Virginia, or perhaps it is better to say I ran away with a truck driver. I chose my heart over my head, for a relationship I thought would last the rest of my life. Instead, I found myself back home with my parents, without that relationship, without my education, without a job. I took a few jobs that paid well and was promoted quickly, only to find I had topped out since I lacked a college education. So I enlisted in the Air Force and headed off to basic training. Fifty women were housed in an open bay barracks. Each of us had a bed, a chair, a narrow closet and two dresser drawers. A corner of the bottom drawer was allotted for ‘personal effects’. Everything else I had brought with me was stored away under lock and key. I kept a box of stationery with family pictures tucked inside. I kept my prayer book. And I kept a favorite cotton shirt I had sewn and embroidered. Over the next six weeks, every waking hour was spent in training. We learned how to dress, how to march, how to fold our clothes. On Sunday morning we could go to church or stay in the barracks and clean. Most gals went to the generic Protestant service. I chose to walk across the post to the Episcopal service, risky business since new recruits were subject to spot inspections and dreaded demerits. By the time I sunk into the pew, soaked with sweat, I wondered what I had been thinking. The first half of that service was a blur. Then they played the communion hymn, ‘Humbly I Adore Thee’. This hymn was the summer favorite at St. Mary’s in Burlington, NJ. My bones know the words to this hymn and I felt an immediate sense of God’s love. I walked back to the barracks humming it. Over the next few days I found myself again, the me I traded away when leaving college. As I became more myself, I found it easier to connect with the fifty women in my unit. We scrubbed the floors singing that hymn, then a country western tune, then a Motown hit. We stopped being fifty separate women and became a single unit. We shared who we were and became more than the sum of our parts. As individuals we were like this rusted out car. Even the vines they tried to lay over us failed to offer connection. It was singing as we worked that brought us together. There are two pieces to the cross. The upright connects us to God. The horizontal connects us to one another. The essence of our humanity is the divine spark in each of us. Yet without connection we simply sputter out and fade away. Make time today to connect with the Holy of Holies. Lay the weariness of the world at God’s feet, then crawl into God’s lap and rest in unending love. Share what feeds your soul with a friend over a cup of coffee or simple lunch. Let go of canned expectations and sensational news. Look beyond the surface and listen to the hearts of those you meet, even when what you hear is uncomfortable. God does not expect us to all be the same yet God loves us all the same. May God grant us the courage to open our hearts and be vulnerable to one another so that we may we love one other just as God loves us. Text by Connie Chintall©2016, Photo entitled ’55 & Vine’ by Rick Martin©2016, All Rights Reserved. To see more of Rick’s work, go to 
Seek the Sacred Amidst the Ordinary 