Much has happened in the three years since I last wrote on this blog. Turns out marriage takes up a lot of time. Who knew? Lest anyone think that's a complaint, it most certainly isn't. I'm not really any busier today than I was as a single fellow. I'm simply busy with other things. And it's not that writing has become any less important to me, or that I've lost my desire to write as I've replaced some (okay, nearly all) my writing time with family stuff. And I have a champion for my writing now, in my sweetheart, who gently reminds me nearly every day that I have a dozen writing projects moldering more due to excuses than crises.
In that three years, we had a drunk and stoned driver run over our mailbox, across our yard, and into both of our cars, totaling them. At two a.m. The four of us each went to the E.R. at least once, including a first anniversary car accident in a snow storm which was heavier than the weather forecast predicted. (There were a few other snowstorms that came hours early when we were already on the road, and flurries which became feet, fortunately not resulting in accidents.) No few late nights with troubled kids. I received a few "I hate you!"s. (By the way, "Hmm, sorry to hear that. I love you" ends such conversations pretty quickly. Who knew?)
We survived each of these. How? In part because the good times far outweighed the bad. In part because we decided we would survive. In part because as different as we are, the ways in which we are different complement, and we grow together. Last night I read my last post, on "Companion Planting". At the time of that writing I imagined approximately... zero of the things which happened to us. But I wouldn't trade away any of them. Each of them brought us closer. The far more frequent pleasanter experiences did too, and we're grateful for that frequency.
We've planted a garden every year. Our yield has never been high. Many of our plants grow large and flowery and pretty and bear little to no fruit. We had weeds choke out others. Does gardening imitate life, or does life imitate gardening? There are certainly parallels. No matter how well you tend a garden, there will be weeds. There will be blight.
Right now our lovely world is facing a blight in the form of a pandemic, the likes of which hasn't been seen in over a hundred years. It's frightening. My family and I were prepared in many ways, and in other ways, not. We are blessed to both be able to work from home. We had supplies already on hand, and the means to replenish, at least for the time being, what we didn't have on hand. But the fear is ever present, even with our religious faith, because the uncertainty is exacerbated by too many unknowns, and concern for friends and family who are at higher risk than we. I'm glad for our faith. I'm glad we live in a country where we can still freely exercise that faith, and for the technology allowing us to continue to worship with others, as well as that technology allowing us to continue to work, Some of our friends and family aren't able to do so, and there's only so much we can do to help them.
As frightening as the pandemic itself is, I myself fear more the aftermath. Certainly world economy is a concern. But how will this change everyone's world view? I can imagine a world where people realize how interconnected we are, where people and nations stop fighting, stop judging, start pulling together and sharing resources and knowledge. I've already seen that, both in my family's personal experiences, and in news reports. I can imagine a world where that continues once the pandemic becomes a memory, and governments stop squabbling and enact positive lasting changes in the health care system and workplace environments. A world where that cooperation and working towards common goals is already in place so lives aren't needlessly lost whilst debates ensue over who started it and who deserves help and who doesn't and who is going to pay for this. A world where human life is valued over policy or us vs. them.
And I can imagine a world where, in short, we go back to hating and blaming. There has been no shortage of those reports already, or people attacked because their ethnicity makes them the perfect scapegoat in the eyes of those already prone to think so, or because they got the last damn roll of toilet paper.
I'm not so naive as to think that everyone is going to grow in a positive way through this forced sequestering. But I am hopeful the majority will. I hope that those with hatred and greed hidden in their hearts are far fewer than those with vast reservoirs of good and compassion and creativity hidden in their hearts, just waiting to be tapped and shared. That those hidden gardens will bloom and our world - which no matter how frightening it often is, is still incredibly beautiful - will do the same.
As I write this, it is snowing. The tree outside our west window, which yesterday was popping in green buds, now is snow covered. I've seen enough spring snowstorms to know that tomorrow or the next day the snow will be gone and the green will be more vibrant than before, because the tree's roots have been established. Plants are like that, and I think most people are, too.
