The View Out My Window

Sing the praises of the Lord, you His faithful people; praise His holy name.

For His anger lasts only a moment, but His favor lasts a lifetime;

Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.

Psalm 30:4,5 (NIV)

Shelter in place. Social distancing. Self quarantining. Flattening the curve. Turn on the TV, and there it is. Check an internet news site, and there it is, again. Radio? You guessed it-coronavirus.

Life as we know it has gone on hold as this pandemic whisks its way around our globe and across our nation. And with good reason, mind you. There's so much the experts don't know about this virus, but what they do deeply troubles them. Their models and projections are frightening and one can't help but be moved by what we've seen in China and are seeing in Italy. Now, also, in New York and other hotspots around our country and even in our state.

Then we look at the economic toll and we consider the uncertainty both at the macro and the micro level. How will it impact my household? My job? My company? It goes quickly from an abstract discussion to a gut-wrenching conversation.

We don't even have sports to occupy our minds. We Georgians should be talking about how the Braves pitchers are doing and about whether the Hawks can lose enough games to get a really good draft pick. March Madness should be the only thing sweeping the nation-not that a University of Georgia fan like me is going to pay much attention to college basketball.

Nothing is happening. Nothing but coronavirus. The street in front of my house is empty. Everybody is inside. I hear almost no airplanes-a common sound just a week and a half ago. The world has ground to a halt. Nothing. Is. Happening.

But I glance up from my computer screen and gaze again out that window. Birds are flitting by. The sun is shining, causing the trees to cast shadows on the grass green and long from abundant rain. An azalea is blooming bright pink. Squirrels scamper about. And a dogwood is doing its dead level best to snap me out of my blues and blahs. Despite the darkness in our world, the barrenness of Winter is yielding to the bright color of Spring.

This is not to trivialize the struggle or the tragedy, nor is it to minimize the heartache if the loss is someone you know or love. Not at all. Rather, it's a reminder that ours is a God of resurrection, of hope, and that by His grace we will awaken from this present darkness to the glory of a bright new morning of joy. We know that, don't we? After all, Easter is right around the corner.

So, remember, No matter where . . .

Herb Flanders