Making Room For the Unexpected: An Expanded Meditation For This Pandemic

Today is Sunday. Churches have moved online. Yoga and meditation classes are cancelled. Gyms are closed. We can’t hang out with our friends. So many of the spaces and meeting places we relied on to stay grounded and process our emotions are now unavailable to us for the foreseeable future. So how do we create the space for stillness we need during this time while we are bound to our homes alone and feeling lonely and restless, or when we have our three children home full time and we’re starting to go insane, or when we suddenly are applying for unemployment and are filled with financial anxieties we never thought we would face?

In case you didn’t read my last post, I spoke about a morning meditation that I have incorporated into my practice which has made a world of difference for me during this pandemic. It grounds me when I don’t know what to do with all of the endless possibilities and outcomes of what reality is now. It orients me toward hope when news headlines fill me with despair. It opens me up so that I have more room inside of myself to welcome and embrace this new and most unexpected reality that we find ourselves in. It reminds me to let go of yesterday, and to not worry so much about tomorrow, for today is all we have.

I wanted to make a post more explicitly about the meditation and provide some extra pandemic-specific reflections you can incorporate into each section as you read, meditate, contemplate, or pray through it.

**“Morning Prayer,” by Padraig O Tuama,**

with added reflection for us during this pandemic.

“We begin our day alone,

honoring this life with all its potentials and possibilities.”

Many of us are alone right now, quarantined in our houses, whether because of sickness or exposure or prevention of the further spread of this sudden pandemic that is upon us. And if not totally physically alone, many of us are feeling alone, separated from our normal hobbies, extracurricular activities, and social gatherings. These things provided us a sense of feeling seen and valued and loved, like we have a place in something, like we matter. What do we do when those things are unavailable to us for a time?

In our alone-ness, how might we orient ourselves toward honoring the potentials and possibilities that life may hold for us now? How do we turn toward and embrace the possibilities instead of fearing them and looking away, so that we might pay attention to where this leads us, so that we might act and change?

“We begin our day with trust,

knowing we were created for loving encounter.”

How might we sit and embrace the fact that despite what chaos or uncertainty or fear or danger we sense in this pandemic, the fact that we are made to give and receive loving encounter, no matter the circumstances, has not changed?

Loving encounters look different in a lot of ways now, but the meaning of them might be more potent than ever before. Family Facetime calls (or Zoom for you super hip folks) feel more significant than they did a couple months ago. You notice the feel of your partner’s embrace in ways that had been hidden by familiarity and busyness of “normal” life. A simple text from a friend out of the blue saying they love you and are thinking about you suddenly means the world to you instead of thinking it is weird or forward. Eye contact with strangers six feet away feels different to me now. A smile given and received feels like a gift instead of a social obligation.

How might you remain open to giving and receiving loving encounter during this time?

“We begin our day with hope,

knowing the world can hold love, kindness, forgiveness, and justice.”

I don’t always feel hope when I wake up. There have been days I have risen from bed in the past week, and I feel heavy when I sit down to do my morning meditation. Sometimes saying the first line in this section feels like lying. But how do we remain oriented toward hope, expecting it to come, even if we don’t feel it in this present moment? Saying this line for me is a way of living in the expectation of hope, so that I am able to notice it rise up in small moments throughout each day.

I also use this time to meditate on all of the love and kindness being birthed in the world right now—medical professionals showing up every day despite the risk, neighbors buying vulnerable folks groceries so that they don’t have to risk unnecessary exposure, families feeling connected and close for the first time in years, people meeting their neighbors for the first time. I meditate on the forgiveness taking place, people making amends with those with whom they have conflict, for this time has reminded all of us that we have never been guaranteed tomorrow, and the sickness that unforgiveness causes us in our spirits isn’t worth carrying around anymore. I meditate on the justice being brought, and the justice that will continue to be brought out of this pandemic by the fact that we are forced to look at broken institutions and systems which desperately need to change. The whole world is being forced to reconsider the powers we put our trust in, to re-imagine policies, to re-write laws to protect more people, to re-consider a healthcare system built on profit, tied to a necessity to be employed, which is only accessible to some and not all. That is powerful.

And it is by meditating on these things that enables me to say the first line aloud. I can begin my day with hope only by remembering the love, kindness, forgiveness, and justice that are being birthed and growing just as exponentially as this virus.

“We recall our day yesterday.

May we learn, may we love, may we live on.”

What did you learn from yesterday? Is there anxiety from yesterday that you wake up still carrying? How might you breathe through it and live on into this day? How might you extend compassion and love, both to the anxious parts in yourself and in others you might feel shame or embarrassed about?

“Help us to make room for the unexpected.

May we find wisdom and life in the unexpected.”

Unexpected. Is there a word more true to this time than “unexpected?” I think this reality was one that very few of us expected six months ago, or three months ago, or maybe even last week. But here we are, right smack dab in the middle of a giant, scary, invigorating, exciting, different, weird, hard unexpected.

What wisdom is there to be found in this unexpected reality?

How might the unexpected be our teacher?

What life is being birthed out of this unexpected reality?

How might you welcome and celebrate it?

“Help us to embrace possibility,

respond graciously to disappointment,

and hold tenderly those we encounter.“

First there’s the possibility. Many of our lives are more up in the air than they’ve been in a long time, or maybe than they’ve ever been, and the possibilities of the future seem endless. How might you embrace possibility, even if the possibilities you consider are constantly fluctuating between your best and worst case scenarios?

Then there’s the disappointment.

So much disappointment.

The things we were excited about that are now cancelled or might be cancelled (my family’s first big family vacation in years, a canoe camping trip in the boundary waters of Minnesota with dear friends from around the country, potentially even my wedding in June, because though we want to put a clear end to all of this, we don’t really know). Jobs cancelled. Gigs cancelled. Conferences cancelled. Dance weekends cancelled. Festivals cancelled. Church cancelled. Plans cancelled.

Oh us humans with pre-frontal cortexes and all of our plans we get attached to. This would be a lot easier if our brains had no capacity to plan for the future, right?

We often get our expectations up about the plans we make. We make idols out of them even, to the point that when they get cancelled, our identity feels threatened and our fear and anger make us defensive.

What plans do you need to let go of?

What things aren’t going to happen which you need to grieve?

What are you feeling disappointed about today?

Then, there’s encounter. Encounter looks different now, doesn’t it? Encounter is limited. Sometimes encounter is filled with anxiety, even from six feet away. Encounter is online, over the phone, via email or text or social media, where it is difficult to fully portray our feelings and to feel fully seen and known.

What does it look like to hold tenderly those you encounter today, whether the few you are able to encounter in person, or the many you are able to encounter online? What are you giving to them? How might you further peace, community, connection, and love in those you encounter instead of adding to the collective fear and anxiety? (Especially in our online presence!) In how you speak, in how you post, in your actions.

How might you hold yourself tenderly during this time? How are you caring for yourself, giving yourself what you need?

How might you hold your partner, your roommate, your friends, your family, your town, your state, your region, your country, your world, with tender care during this time?

“Help us be fully present to this day.”

Presence can often be something that feels like old news… “Yeah, yeah, be present, be aware, be where your feet are…” You’ve heard it all before, I know.

But what does being present look like right now? Where is the balance between using social media for connection in isolation and scrolling for four hours, using it to numb and distract ourselves from the anxiety we might be feeling? What is the balance between being present by looking at reality and staying informed about Covid-19 updates and hyper scrolling through every article published out there to feel like we have a sense of control over a situation that we still don’t understand?

Do you have children home full time? Are you suddenly spending 24 hours a day with your partner? Do you live with a roommate you don’t know very well yet? What does being present look like to them?

“THIS DAY.” That part is super important. Not tomorrow. Not next week. We can’t confidently plan anything in the future anymore, not while this situation is still rapidly developing.

Be present to this day. Because this day is all we have.

“We pray for all whose day will be difficult.

May we support, may we listen, may we change.”

The sick, the dying, their loved ones.

The exhausted single mom who can’t afford childcare while she is still working during this time.

The ICU nurse with not enough personal protective equipment.

The man in the nursing home who can’t spend his 62nd anniversary with his wife because all visitors are banned.

The young adult living alone feeling hopeless.

New parents scared for their infant, not knowing what kind of world they will be raised in.

Friends experiencing anxiety and depression who are having a hard time seeing the light.

Government workers who are trying to write new policy to lessen the damage.

The working class, hourly workers with no work and no pay, who can’t afford to stock up on food for the two weeks they’re supposed to stay at home.

The children home without their free and reduced lunch that they normally get at school.

Or maybe, you. Maybe you are one of these people, or maybe your day will be difficult for another reason. I am with you. The world is with you.

How might you give support? How might your receive it?

Who do you know that might just need a listening ear to help them feel seen and heard, a little less alone?

How might you contribute to positive change during this time?

“We resolve to live life in its fullness.”

Despite the fear, despite the uncertainty, the anger, the limitations of quarantine, the separation, the precaution, and the boredom, how might you fill this day to the brim? How might you let overflow run to others who need it?

“We will welcome those who will be part of this day.”

People. In person and online. The birds singing outside. The sunshine. The spring showers and flowers. The lady bugs filling your house more than you would like. The crying toddler. The hungry baby. The emotions that visit you today, both positive and negative. Welcome.

“We will greet God in ordinary and hidden moments.”

What Divine beauty can you find in the ordinary and mundane moments of this time? Where is God, love, connection, bliss, Spirit hidden in the moments you have been overlooking?