COVID CURE: Laughing at Midnight

Let’s all just admit it: Everything in all our lives is a little screwy after this long COVID isolation. AND … some things are screwier than we know. I’m calling these last, long months before the isolation officially ends “the cranky days.” My handyman, usually an easygoing, jovial fellow, informed me that he wasn’t going to take “any more of [my] emails—thirty was enough!”

I did have to change schedules with him due to circumstances beyond control—some distress in the family, a friend being let go from his job, my brother’s wife having seizures and being hospitalized—but I really didn’t think I had sent him “thirty” emails to rearrange our work schedule—then to rearrange it again. So, after I got over my own huff (OK, buddy. You’re not going to get any more emails from me—EVER!), I reminded myself that these are the cranky days of COVID-19. Everyone is tired of the isolation. We’ve had it with masks and social distancing and not being able to dine in a favorite restaurant or have friends over for dinner. The weather in Chicago has been grey (mostly) this past February and March, and cold (mostly). I’m reminded that I usually find an excuse during these months to travel somewhere warm, to fly somewhere South, then drive home along country roads, following the spring as it creeps north. What joy!—the redbud trees leafing, the jonquils flying their yellow flag pillows.

Finally, a little later than usual, I decide to forgive the handyman his crankiness, remind myself of my own unusual negative reactions, and do the right thing—forget the little incident. This peevish reaction of my insulted feelings, and its resolution one day later, was also hastened along by the fact that David and I were designing a podcast on the Golden Rule: “Treat others as you would want them to treat you.” Remember that one? (By the way, the choice of the topic for this podcast was not mine. It was my husband’s.)

OK. OK. These are the cranky days of COVID. These are the cranky days—someone, somewhere, must be writing a song about that. The days are long … the loneliness strong. Will we ever be together again?

My husband, David, has this lovely tradition of ordering a big box of Cheryl’s Cookies. There are a variety of choices depending upon preference. Chocolate chip? Oatmeal and raisin? Butter frosting? David takes the big box with him on his errands and offers some to the shopkeepers, to Chin and Gena who own the nearby cleaners, to various store salespeople. “Is Papa going to take cookies to the post office?” asked our granddaughter, Aneliese, who is nine. She often is engaged to help her grandfather distribute these tasty treats. (Actually, it is quite adorable when she accompanies him—the darling little girl and the white-haired, 84-year-old elder.) “Make sure when you pass out the last of the cookies, you take Aneliese with you,” I remind him. Exercises in generosity are acts all generations need to practice.

But David was busy last week—the box of cookies was half-full—so I volunteered to deliver five or six boxes of books (some 22 of our co-authored books in the Tales of the Kingdom Trilogy per cardboard carton to be mailed out of the nearby USPS store). “Take the cookies along with you,” my husband reminded me. So this time, COVID-masked, I hauled the boxes to be shipped onto the mailing counter, but I also entered with David’s box of individually wrapped cookies. Believe me, the smile on the face of the customer-service employee and the warmth of his service was not the business-as-usual-kind.

“I’m conducting a personal survey,” I mentioned as he entered mailing data and printed me out a tracking form (well, six of them, actually). “Are people more cranky these days?” He raised his eyebrows, nodded his head affirmatively, then said, “But cookies really help.” He actually gave me a smile. (Beneath the mask, of course, but I could see his eyes above it squinting.)

So, I have made several resolutions for myself:
1. Do not spread crankiness yourself. (Even if your handyman grumps about your emails.)
2. Do little acts of kindness as much as you can.
3. Take the next generation along so they can participate in spreading kindness (like cookie cheer).
4. Notice the little touches of beauty that delight the soul (like the purple crocuses I planted last fall pushing up through the fallen leaves in the wood lot beside the house—particularly the ones that are growing through a small pile of stones. Good metaphor with meaning there.)
5. Laugh as much as possible.

purple crocus growing among the stones

David and I have become particularly funny these days (at least we think we’re funny). One night we went to bed three times. “You still awake?” I asked my husband, who usually falls asleep the moment his head hits the pillow. “Yep.” Normally, not only does he go to sleep instantly, he slumbers soundly. I have often packed a suitcase for early-morning plane departures with the light on in the bedroom, and it doesn’t rouse him. I have never had him call out, “Karen! What on earth are you doing?” or something like that.

“So am I. Why don’t we go watch Peter Jennings and the late-night news?”

We did. We watched The Eleventh Hour (which airs at 10:00 p.m. here in Chicago), then back to bed. A little later: “You still awake?” “Yep.” Got out, checked out the outline for the next day’s podcast that my husband and I co-host (Before We Go). Back to bed.

At 12:30, it had become funny. I’m laughing in bed. David is making jokes. In fact, the conjugal bed often shakes at midnight from these sudden bouts of humor—another kind of shaking, different from previous decades. “How ‘bout sharing a beer?” one of us suggests. Now, David and I are not much into beer drinking. Or alcoholic beverages of any kind—years in evangelicalism ministry sort of kiboshes this kind of relaxant. In fact, apart from sampling a half-glass in some restaurant somewhere, that’s pretty much our history with this particular brew. However, and I don’t know how it happened, a box of beers had been delivered to our door. Oh, yes, now I remember—a son sent us that sampler as an act of kindness and love. So, we got out of bed for the third time, went downstairs to the kitchen—again—and opened a bottle of Stella Artois. In fact, we shared one bottle, along with an arcane little discussion about not drinking beer out of a wine glass (the kind without a stem). Beer, I made the point, needs to be drunk from the appropriate kind of container—not glass with a stem, but something more substantial—a stein, for instance (which we don’t have in the house because we are not beer drinkers). I can’t convey how funny we had become (yes, you had to have been there). But we were really funny, laughing in the kitchen at 12:30 a.m., drinking beer from the wrong kind of glass. Again, you had to have been there.

So, it is little grace-notes like these in our lives that make isolation endurable—crocuses growing up through the piled stones. Our own ineptness in areas where other people pride themselves in being connoisseurs. A child’s delight in passing cookies out to the postal workers. The new neighbors behind us so filled with warmth and welcome. Their little girls jumping (and jumping and jumping) on our backyard trampoline. Planning an Easter-egg hunt in the woods (a tradition dropped several years back) with that new family. Laughing with the ones we love at 12:30 a.m. These are the cures for COVID crankiness.

“All good and well,” some of you may be thinking. “But where in the world is God in all of this?” We are a ministering couple. Once, with a national daily radio broadcast aired over 500 stations, an estimated two million listeners a day tuned into hear our practical suggestions about living by faith.

My answer is this: God is in all of this. The crocuses. The box of cookies. The children jumping on the backyard trampoline. A grandson and I planting the terrariums in the house and planning to put seeds in the wood boxes the first weeks of April. The Divine is in the sunny half days given to us in March. In the rain that washes away all winter’s decay. God is near us in our crankiness. Very near. Remember the prisoners isolated in their cells—year after year—because they follow Christ. Remember the long days in hospital beds where no one calls and no one cares. Think about those dying from loneliness. Loneliness! Make plans for May. Make plans for the summer. Remember that it is a human tendency to laugh, to howl, even at our human plights. We have the capacity, we humans, to make the horrific outrageously laughable.

We’re going to get through this. Yes, we are. Crankiness will NOT win the day. We are endlessly clever. Did I mention creative? And—get this. We know how to laugh.

Karen Mains

Reminder!

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Karen Mains

BOOK CORNER

When Life Becomes a Maze: Discovering Christ's Resources for Times of Confusion
by David R. Mains

I pulled this book from a box in our storeroom and read through it quickly. David wrote it years ago when we were going through a difficult season in our lives. We had become the focus of some ultra-conservative folk whose vicious criticism campaign nearly collapsed our entire ministry. The back-cover copy of David’s book reads: “Sooner or later everyone faces one of life’s mazes. No matter who you are or where you live in the world, life presents labyrinths in finances, job situations, family relationships, and many other areas. So, what do you do when you’re stuck in one of life’s mazes?

“From his own experiences, David Mains honestly and vulnerably shares the principles he has learned while in his own maze. No matter what puzzling perplexity you face, you can press through to emerge with the Lord by your side!”

While re-reading this little book, I was amazed by how appropriate it is for the crises many are facing these days due to the COVID pandemic. I would love to send a free copy to any of you who would like one, but financial realities often determine otherwise. However, we can make this book available for $10.00, shipping included.

Email me at karen@hungrysouls.org to request a copy. Or phone the office at 630-293-4500 if you want to expedite your request. David would love to pass along the lessons we learned while going through really tough times.

AND—if you need special prayer urgently—please send an email prayer request. We pray regularly for the friends we love who are facing hard times.