Stress and Kindness

I am on a flight home from Utah. I wear a mask because I don’t want to sneeze on my neighbor. Apparently I’m allergic to dust. Last weekend, while clearing my dad’s home, I developed sinus issues. During the descent of both flights, I feel like my eardrums are going to burst. It turns out to be the perfect segue into the next few days. 

The following evening, I sit on the couch beside my husband listening to the president of the United States address the nation with an update on the Coronavirus. The day after, between an ENT appointment, check-ins with my kids and a trip to the grocery store – which has a somber vibe – I am glued to my social media feeds. I watch announcements pour in. 

I haven’t been this focused on the news since 9/11, the day I watched horrific images of planes, skyscrapers, flames, billowing smoke and people. Both days felt surreal and both changed the world. 

I sit down to catch up on the things I set aside while I’ve been out of town for 11 days. But I am distracted. One after another, official statements pass through my feeds. Large gatherings canceled, schools, libraries and restaurants closed, travel bans, people asked to work from home and non-essential surgeries postponed. In some ways, it feels like a war zone. 

I know the precautions are necessary as I understand the efforts to flatten the curve. But it’s hard to process. 

There is grief, lots of it. Grief of the families who have lost loved ones. Grief of the college students whose experiences have been cut short and high school kids who didn’t know their most recent basketball game would be the last they ever played. Grief, disappointment and loss come in every shape and size. 

Pressure on healthcare workers and decision-makers. Children who can’t visit their mom in the hospital. A family who is forced to limit attendance at their dad’s funeral. Lonely people in care facilities who face the prospect of even more isolated days. 

Fear of the unknown. Anxiety and worry to go around. Upheaval for small businesses, loss of jobs for the most vulnerable among us, disruption to our economy.

I read a blog post by Sharon Eubank.

Times of stress also create opportunities. As the world reacts to the coronavirus and lives and schedules are disrupted in difficult ways, this is a time to refine our generosity and tenderness toward one another.

Sharon Eubank

And I think of a time I learned about generosity and tenderness.

I never felt like a stellar visiting teacher. Last year I had an experience in ministering that changed the way I see it. I was called to minister to Stephanie, who had been diagnosed with breast cancer just after moving to a new state. In her 30’s with 4 children ages 2 to 11 whom she homeschooled, she was living in a cramped rental house while she and her husband built a house. Her situation was overwhelming. What could I do? Wouldn’t a monthly lesson get in her way? How could I possibly help?

I didn’t have to wait long for an answer. The relief society president asked if I could give Stephanie a ride to and from her first chemo appointment. During the drive, we visited. I learned that like me, Stephanie has trouble asking for help. Since my last two children had just left the nest, and I missed the service opportunities my life used to be crammed with, she acquiesced and let me be her regular chemo driver. 

Times of crisis have a way of providing laser focus. The small stuff falls away. We quickly cut the shallow talk to make room for fears and realities. I told stories of the year our son spent in cancer treatment. We built trust. 

Our weekly drives were just 15 minutes, but that was enough time to keep tabs on her. For instance, I knew that her kids anticipated Valentine’s day, but didn’t have class parties. I had fun making and delivering Valentine’s bags. When her energy started to dip, I made a bigger dinner than usual and took some to her family. I helped her kids with a school assignment. We went to dinner with our husbands. 

In between drives, we’d text. I shared concerns about my children. She listened. Sometimes we cried. We never once had a sit-down lesson at her house. 

If you think all of this sounds like a beautiful friendship, you are right. 

Ministering to the needs of Stephanie and her family helped me see her as Jesus Christ sees her. It helped me think of someone else’s needs and look for ways to be the hands of God. It helped me to seek inspiration and to feel the pure love of Jesus Christ for someone outside of my own family. It helped me feel unity with Stephanie as we shared the rawness of real life. 

If you think all of this sounds like I grew more than she did and that I received way more than I gave, you are right.  

Not everyone to whom we minister will need a ride to chemotherapy. Not everyone to whom we minister will be assigned to us.

We will never know their needs on our own. We are not enough. He is enough. He knows. He will show us as we seek inspiration. 

Most of our efforts will be very small. But they can carry someone for another day.

I’m going to hold my family close the next few months. And look for a burden I can lift.

We’re all in this together.