
You know, I tried. I tried to check as many boxes as I could. Yes, there was that feeling,
the relief from getting those boxes checked. At least, you get that internal gratification. But there
were still so many unknowns as we all planned for the semester. I was trying to stay mentally
prepared for whatever would be thrown at me. Somehow, my preparation whether mental or
physical still seems to fall short when the turn of event is way out of what we could ever
imagine. At least the most we can do is stay in the moment, pray, plan and press repeat. We all
had to grow accustomed to seeing batches of emails in the morning or late afternoon. For me, it’s the first flash of the sender’s name, followed by the subject line in all caps ‘URGENT.’ In my
particular institution, we as faculty already know what comes next, Student Quarantine/Isolation
Faculty Notice. Faculty would usually get notified of students in their class who are in quarantine
or isolation. We all know that feeling of getting a dozen or more of those emails at once. As
performing artists, even before we would open the email, it always felt like anxiety was
attending to us in the most unique way. Or the fact that anxiety had just walked in and taken a
seat like the new boss of the space. What ensemble member was not going to be available for the chapel service? Is the team leader quarantined? Do we have to change the entire worship set list?
Who am I going to be subbing for? I guess I have to step in for the 800 th time to play bass, piano,
guitar, sing, clap or internally scream a jazz riff for relief. Truthfully, I could not chase this
unwanted guest simply by doing a jazz riff, no matter how soulful or intricate.
It’s one thing to get emails about other people in quarantine and it’s different when an
email goes out because you have to be in quarantine. I got home that Friday night close to 10pm
after being on campus all day and had to grade a student’s evening recital hearing. I initially
thought that what I was feeling was simply utter fatigue from the entire weeks work. At least we
all to an extent have grown to understand our bodies and the signals it gives from time to time.
But this signal was different. It lingered… headaches, stomach aches, the loss of taste (well, I
discovered this because I kept adding more salt to the food whenever I got the appetite to eat),
difficulty breathing, chronic fatigue, and the list goes on. I had to take the COVID test and it
came out positive. I was shocked by the positive test because I felt like I had kept all the
commandments that would prevent me from getting infected. Thou shall not… Thou shall not…
and a couple more Thou shall nots. Obviously, the positive result meant isolation, it meant being
quarantined and dealing with the ways in which all the symptoms of the virus left me helpless and disoriented. We all love to be in control at least to a measure. During quarantine, I suffered
for the first time, from chronic fatigue. It felt like, I would muster all the strength I could to
attend the zoom lecture while being intentional about giving forth the right energy that would
allow the students to learn the content for that class session. But afterwards all I knew was
complete exhaustion. My tank was completely empty with nothing else for me to give. I was
totally disoriented and the feeling of being out of control shot a powerful arrow at my pride. For
those who always love to have something to offer, feeling completely empty can be
disheartening. You know, the more I think about it, I did have something. I was not completely
empty. It was a different kind of offering. It was the gift of disorientation.
At one of my zoom class meetings. After logging on and as usual checking to see how all
the students were doing, I noticed that one of the students joined the lecture from a very familiar
location. It was the exact classroom we would usually meet as a class twice weekly. As the class
lecture went on, I also observed that she had adjusted her frame or sitting position such that I
could see that there was something written on the classroom board. Being somewhat unable to
read what was written, she finally made it quite obvious for me to see. She had written the words “We Miss You” on the classroom board. In this disorientation, in my distortion, those words
became healing. God used her words to touch my distortion for His glory. I would usually come
to the zoom lectures with all the strength I could muster. I diligently tried to hide my
disorientation. Somehow, in that moment, God touched even what I was hiding. What I was
hiding was not out of our Saviors sight. One of the gifts of disorientation is that it exposes what
needs to still be offered to God—our striving for ultimate control. God wants to touch our
distortion, but we have to bring it. We have to learn to offer the distortion to The One who is
never surprised by its presence in our lives.
Soli deo gloria. 💖