My COVID-19 Lament

February 1, 2021February 1, 2021 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 5 Comments

Last week in a Trauma Healing group we explored the genre of lament. Lament is simply an expression of grief. And grief is mourning a loss.

Where has the genre of lament been all my life?

When we came to the exercise of writing our own lament, the turmoil of my heart flooded onto paper. I felt a deep sense of validation by this genre that had its own unique purpose and parameters.

In many ways I feel drawn to grief. Just as some people are the life of a party, I feel connected to others in times of grief–it’s when our hearts are most vulnerable and we are in a place to process raw emotions. Grief is a significant part of life, and as a culture I’m not sure we do it very well.

So here is my current lament–an expression of my grief about the pandemical state of our world. A complaint taken directly to the Divine.

My COVID-19 Lament

O God—enough is enough!

How long must people—Your people made in Your image—all over the earth suffer?

We are sick.

We are dying.

We struggle to breathe.

We are made to grieve.

How long will this go on?

You’re the One who put breath in our lungs.

You can make this stop.

You can make this matter.

We have wandered far.

Gather us back with fresh air and fresh Spirit.

Turn our eyes and our hearts and our breath towards you,

That we may cry out to you with all that is within us.

You alone are Life-Giving God for all people.

Come quickly. Bring life.

Bring healing to our bodies and souls and to all the nations.

Be the breath in our lungs and the praise on our tongues.

Praise the LORD, my soul; all my inmost being,

praise His holy name.

Praise the LORD, my soul—

The One who forgives all our sins and heals all our diseases.

I will wait on you.

I will wait for you.

I will wait with you.

I expect you to make our struggles matter.

You are worthy of all our praise with all our breath.

Then all the earth will shout Your praise.

Our hearts will cry, these lungs will sing:

Great are You, Lord. Great are You, Lord.

Just Come

December 24, 2020December 28, 2020 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 5 Comments

🎶 Come, they told me, pa rum pum pum pum 🎶

I’m not sure what’s in it for me. I keep asking myself what my expectations are. I keep searching my own intentions. There’s a time investment. There’s a financial cost. But there is ZERO obligation. And yet I keep coming. The vortex of need is overwhelming—beyond what I could possibly make a dent in. I’m not naïve enough to think I’m taking on the role of superhero or white savior. In fact, I feel pretty small and ill-equipped.

And yet, every time I come, my heart is full. Not because I solve big problems. Sometimes when I show up, I can’t even solve the smallest of problems.

🎶 O Come all Ye Faithful, Joyful and Triumphant 🎶

The interactions with this sweet neighbor and her family resettled in my community have changed something in me. The gift is mine.

There are other faithful people who come. If I didn’t show up and attempt to meet any of their needs, they would figure it out a different way. They are survivors. They survived and thrived and moved forward long before I knew this beautiful family.

🎶 Joy to the World, the Lord is Come 🎶

Last week I took the 14 year old daughter of my sweet neighbor to the doctor for a well-visit. She rallied for her own appointment. I taught her how to fill out medical forms. I showed her where her mom would need to sign so she could legally manage her own healthcare. It’s not that her mom wouldn’t love to come, caring for her precious daughter. It’s just that as a single mom of 10 kids, working fulltime at the meatpacking plant while studying English at night, there’s just not enough time in her days to navigate a well visit for child #5.

$23.19. That’s the price for two over-the-counter medications and a prescription of Vitamin D not covered by Medicaid. I plotted ahead on our way to the pharmacy. I was ready to be a joyful giver. $23.19—paid, gladly. We sat together on a bench at the back of Walgreens, and I taught my young friend the difference between prescription drugs and over the counter ones.

🎶 O Come Let Us Adore Him 🎶

Dropping my friend off at her house, after quizzing her repeatedly on how to take her new meds, my heart was full—again. She thanked me for spending my own money. Her gratitude was an unexpected bonus. As we said goodbye, I told her that many have helped me in my life, even with medication. Maybe someday she’ll have the opportunity to help someone else pay for their medication. Freely I have received abundantly from kindnesses I could never repay. And in that moment, I was grateful for an opportunity to freely give.

I came home from that event scrambling to answer a call from my Specialty Pharmacy about a recent delivery of my leukemia medication—the super expensive immunotherapy drug that I take every day, for ever. The operator politely informed me, “You have an outstanding balance of $5668.64, would you like to go ahead and pay that now…?”

What!? NO!! I can’t pay that now, or ever, really.

I hung up the phone with a deep sigh and flopped on the couch.

Sunlight and quiet beckoned me to be still.

I came for just a moment—empty-handed and wholehearted—into the presence of Divinity. And something shifted in my soul.

I came reviewing the vulnerable places I had just been with my 14-year-old friend. I came with the satisfaction of having paid her pharmacy bill in full—all 23 dollars and 19 cents of it. I came offering up my own fear and outstanding pharmacy bill.

I came not knowing.

🎶 O Come O Come Emmanuel 🎶

Christmas is about coming. O come Emmanuel. God be with us! Joy is that the promised Messiah is come.

That’s Jesus.

O Come, Desire Of The Nations, Bind
In One The Hearts Of All Mankind;
Bid Every Strife And Quarrel Cease
And Fill The World With Heaven’s Peace.

Jesus came to restore peace on earth, but he showed up first as a newborn—the epitome of defenseless, vulnerable, and needy.

His first invitation was to come and allow others to care and adore Him.

I have come so many times, vulnerable and weak.

So when a 14 year old vulnerably entrusts me to come into her need for medical care, I feel summoned to privilege. The gift of presence—her presence with me. The joy of seeing someone’s humble self and meeting them in that place. Sharing a holy space.

The invitation of Christmas is to just come.

Come needy.

Come heavy.

Come weak.

Come ready.

Come all you faithful.

Come with hands full, ready to give.

Come with hands empty, ready to receive.

Come along with Him.

Come back.

Come over and just be.

Come in need of $23 or $6000.

Come with your whole self.

Even if you have nothing to bring that’s fit to give a King, just come.

Rising Above

September 15, 2020September 15, 2020 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 3 Comments

An individual has not started living until he can rise above the narrow confines of his individualistic concerns to the broader concerns of all humanity. MLK, Jr.

I’m not sure if I’m haunted or inspired.

20 years and I’m still trying to figure out living.
20 years since my leukemia diagnosis in September of 2000.
20 years of grasping at my sense of self in the midst of chronic limitations.
20 years of a tenacious spirit learning to dance in fragile body.

How can I rise above my personal cancer and be a part of treating malignancies that face all humanity?

This question has been weighing on my mind since last September. I needed to rise up for my journey of Chronic Hope in order to clarify my identity.

20 years later, there is clarity to rise. But rising above is not a climb.

It’s a descent.

My challenge, quarantined in 2020, has been to listen, lament, and repent of injustice in myself and in our culture. To weep with those who weep and mourn with those who mourn. I really wanted to just take action. But I had not stopped to consider the lack in my understanding of justice and society. And how justice for all reflects the heart of God.

There is a lot of humble stillness and lowly heart work involved in rising. Nothing glorious or stunning. Just quiet, dark, quarantined heart work.

If the world had not shut down in a global pandemic, would I have done that work?

I don’t exactly know how to take action, but one thing has become clear:

If I don’t take action, something in me will die. Or will never have the chance to truly live.

So, from this humbler and haunted place I desperately seek to learn in community from those who are taking action. To join. To grow. To serve. I thought the vulnerable and the marginalized needed me. It turns out, we need each other.

Rising above is not mine to achieve. Starting to live is not mine to map out.

Mine is to quietly join the labors of love.

To learn from those who weary their hearts and dirty their hands for the plight of others.
To allow the plight of the vulnerable to be felt deeply and personally.
To understand how to do justly, because I cannot truly love mercy without it. Mercy accompanies justice.
Ultimately, to surrender the sense of self I’ve worked so hard to grasp.

Mine is the work of vulnerable humility.

Rising belongs to the Divine Hand that is strong and wise enough to lift me up in due time.

Just curious… what are the daunting malignancies you’ve been called to rise above?

White Noise—A Cry of Repentance

June 11, 2020June 13, 2020 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 4 Comments

I’m sorry.

Not I’m sorry, but…

Not I’m sorry, in general.

Rather, specifically…

I’m sorry for my ignorance that has perpetuated an unjust status quo.

I’m sorry for my silence when advocacy was needed.

I’m sorry for all the little compromises that left your life more difficult and exhausting.

I’m sorry for my complicity in racism.

For my fear of not knowing what to do, and so yielding to inaction.
For letting false White conceptions of color blindness go unchallenged.
For not understanding how the systems I’m a part of and benefit from have put me in a privileged place at your expense.

I’m sorry for the White sorry buts that add salt to your wounds.

I’m sorry for being dismissive when the problems of society get too scary for me to handle.

I’m sorry for allowing this or that movie about ugly White racism to appease my conscience and make me feel like I get it—when I don’t.

I’m sorry for getting so used to Black bad news that it has become noise in the background of my passive tranquility.

I’m so sorry for reducing your trauma to my White noise.

Deliver me from the guilt of bloodshed, O God, you who are God my Savior, and my tongue will sing of your righteousness.

Open my lips, Lord, and my mouth will declare your praise.

You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it; you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings.

My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise. (Psalm 51: 14-17)

Lord, forgive us for the pride of thinking we’re innocent.

Lord, expose the hypocrisy in our breaking hearts and lead us to repentance.

Lord, forgive me for being an ambassador of peace but not understanding justice.

Lord, forgive me for being so passionate about Your great love for all nations and tribes, races and languages, yet somehow not having eyes to see and ears to hear the trauma and injustice of my Black brothers and sisters.

Lord, forgive us for our White supremacy—for standing too high on a pillar of infection—like an abscess on our nation. It’s disgusting.

Lance it. Drain it. Then, heal it.

Like a boil that must be opened with all its ugliness to the natural medicines of air and light, injustice must be exposed to the light of human conscience before it can be cured. MLK Jr.

I see now that racism is a White problem.

I understand now that Black Lives Matter—so much. I’m sorry I never said so sooner.

I hear your cries of grief. I’m sorry it took me so long.

I shudder at the images of George Floyd’s murder. And Ahmaud Arbery, and Breonna Taylor. I’m sorry for your loss. Your losses. I’m sorry for the innumerable losses that have gone unseen.

I can know better.

I can be better.

I can do better.

It’s not your responsibility to enlighten me. But many have taken the time to love me where I’m at and patiently help me get to a better place. Thank you.

I know I’ll mess up again. I know racism has had its ugly effect on me. I know there are still offensive ways in me.

Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me and lead me in the way everlasting. (Psalm 139:23-24)

For context: I am white. I am a follower of Jesus. I deeply value the authority of the Bible. I am a church goer. I work in non-profit contexts. I have been on an intensive journey of listening, learning, and lamenting since May 8, 2020–what would have been Ahmaud Arbery’s 25th birthday.

The influencers who have significantly informed my understanding, challenged my beliefs on issues of systemic racism, and shaped how I craft my words are: Dr. MLK Jr., Dr. Robin Diangelo, Dr. Anita Phillips, Jemar Tisby, and Mona Haydar. And my friends, Befkadu Meshesha and Ian Simkins.

Compromised: Immuno-and-Otherwise

April 17, 2020April 17, 2020 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 4 Comments

I got a call the other day from Dr. K, my former hematologist-oncologist of 15 years. From Michigan. I don’t know if it’s the weight of the heavy Colorado spring snow on budding branches, or the heaviness of a pandemic that hangs on every soul, but I cherish the check ins that comes my way.

Being officially in the immunocompromised category by chronic leukemia and the immunotherapy treatment for it, I feel privileged to receive random check in calls from caring people wanting to know if I am doing okay during this pandemonium that has taken over the globe. They want to make sure I am taking extra care of myself.

Emotionally Broadsided

When Dr. K called, I felt emotionally broadsided by the unexpected check in. I’m sure he has a million things to think about at the main hospital, hit hard with COVID-19, in the heart of Detroit. But he paused to think of me. To make sure I was doing okay.

That call confirmed my self-diagnosis. I am emotionally compromised. Yup. Emotions are just below the surface and ready to well up. At. Any. Moment.

Just a fair warning: If you call to check in and say kind things—I’ll probably cry. If you stop to tell me your sad or touching news—I’ll probably cry. It’s possible I might start out laughing at something and end up crying. Or vice versa. Why limit ourselves to one emotion at a time when we can feel multiple, complex emotions simultaneously?

Mentally Tumbled

And then there’s my brain. My thoughts tumble around in my head like wet laundry. The significant intertwined with the curious and bombarded with the mundane and distracted. Chaotic and scattered. It’s the opposite of focused. I’m lacking goals, and trajectory is vague. So many thoughts circling around in each presented moment. Yup. Definitely mentally compromised, too.

“How is Strength my Weakness?”

My favorite part of the movie Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle is when the characters discover that they each have specific strengths and weakness within the Jumanji game. Kevin Hart’s character discovers that strength is actually on his list of Weaknesses.

I love his question:

“How is strength my weakness?”

But I also like to flip things around:

What if weakness is actually my strength?

What if tears are my superpower? And grief is a place I’ve grown comfortable with?

What if chronic hope comes from chronic illness?

What if immunocompromised means I’m also immuno-alert?

What if mentally scattered means centered in the present?

What if my limitations are the exact ingredients of sensitive, present, and vulnerable I need now, in the middle of a pandemic?

Broadsided by Grace

If I were to connect with the Designer of my strengths and weaknesses, how would that go?

I imagine it to be similar to The Apostle Paul’s process, being broadsided by grace—grace that came through a conduit of weakness.

Paul pleaded and discussed with the Divine to take away his weakness.

His Designer declared:

My grace is enough; it’s all you need.

My strength comes into its own in your weakness.

And so, the Apostle Paul relinquished himself to be broadsided by grace:

Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen. I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ’s strength moving in on my weakness. Now I take limitations in stride… And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become. (2 Cor. 12:9-10)

Weakness was the Saint’s necessary ingredient for greater sources of grace.

To hear the voice of my Designer… Not to tell me I am healed or that I am strong. But to hear that at the heart of humanity is weakness, and that on my list of strengths, weakness is at the top.

The weaker I get, the stronger I become. In my current mentally scattered state, I’m okay to sit in the presence of this paradox. I’m okay to lavishly love on another grieving soul with my unstoppable tears. I’m awkwardly eager to hold up my best super girl akimbo pose with my favorite napping blanket flapping cape-like behind me in the wind.

I’m surprisingly okay. Immuno-okay. I’m being cautious, and there’s not much to report health wise or otherwise. So strong in weakness. So okay with my compromised state (at least in this present moment).

Corona 2020 #3: Rhythms of Quarantine

April 3, 2020April 7, 2020 ~ Georgia Coats ~ Leave a comment

Sunday, March 29: In harmony with my heart

Virtual church at 11-ish. Pilates and worship. Coffee with my Sweet. I’m grateful for his enthusiasm in making my perfect cup. I have been working on the right lyrics that are in harmony with my heart. Simon and Garfunkel always have space in my struggles. But they must be interspersed with strength of the human spirit, and the hope of worship. My heart is tender towards key words: shelter, isolation, hidden, breath…

Walking makes me feel better, and alone. The city is quiet and desolate with pockets of families huddled together.

We are defined by our safe people and everyone else. Who are the people bio-connected to each other? What about those who live alone? Who are their bio-connected “we”?

Following news out of Detroit. Things are exponentially worse. The Henry Ford hospital is where my hematologist of 15 years lives. My babies were born there. It is a state of emergency.

Michigan seems like a dream to me now… I’ve come to look for America… Michigan feels like a dream to me, too, Simon & Garfunkel.

The Value of Closure

I am struggling with closure. Some things have ended abruptly and I find they wreck me more emotionally than they would at another time. My resilience is thin. With tears, it’s best to sleep on it. If my resilience is thin, others’ is too. God, help me to see as you see.

Strong for my people. Rest. Prayer. I am ready to take a small courageous step towards healthy closure in uncertainty. Courage is fear prayed up. Yup.

Monday, March 30: It’s okay not to be okay

Ella is in tears. She feels socially limited in the middle of her brother and sister. She has done everything we have thought to do at home by lunchtime. Aimlessness brings sadness.

She needs her middle school peeps. I tell her it’s okay to cry. It’s okay not to be okay.

Magic in the little things—a fixed bike, fresh berries and a can of whipped cream. Zoe and Ella set off on a park adventure of their own. Then we make lentil soup. I see her perk up just a little.

It’s okay not to be okay.

Jamin’s new tetherball arrives from Amazon. Steve and Jamin head to his school to hook it up to the pole there. Jamin is that 5^th grader—the one who has prayed for school to end since it started. He is in a happy place.

My walks get longer and more emotional as I listen through my varied lyrics. I am weak. I am strong. It feels like winter and loneliness. I rise up. I have breath. I shelter in with people I love dearly.

It helps to have purpose and set baby goals…

I have a little space in my emotional reserves to follow up my concern for my refugee neighbor friends. I check in and brought Legos for the littles (after running them through the dishwasher). I inadvertently photobombed their cute family pic—at a distance.

Seeing their faces made my heart happy. 😊

I walk in the rain and the sunshine. I am oscillating. Laughing. Crying. Purposefulness. Aimlessness. Weight of the world. Isolation. Safety. And Fear.

Everyone check in with someone, ok?

Celebrating my small mom victories. My kids seem more settled. Cake pops made. Tetherball played. Lentil soup is perfectly seasoned comfort food—reminiscent of homemade dhal from a past season of life and friendship.

Brother, let me be your shelter

Never leave you all alone

I can be the one you call when you’re low. NeedtoBreathe

I hug my people. I have people to touch and kiss. We pray together anticipating the new day. The new school schedule. A plan. A purpose. We pray that summer camp won’t be canceled.

Tuesday, March 31: Collecting scattered thoughts

Everyone sets an alarm. Online school is starting, and we have family implementation plans in place. Ella is chattery about her teachers and friends. Her eyes light up. Jamin is moaning but following the plan. Zoe persists with vigor in all her endeavors. Steve’s virtual work continues per usual. I write 3 new virtual meetings set on my empty calendar.

Time to write. To think. To be alone with my thoughts in my bustling home. Interruptions are frequent. Flexibility of this new norm.

Clarity of thought. Processing negative emotions in healthy ways. Moving forward.

Deep breath. I will turn on the news.

Physical goals: Engage my core muscles more often—to that end, wear less leggings and more regular pants. Walk a little further. Add a few extra sit ups, crunches, or pushups each time I do some. Baby steps in physical exercise make me feel like I can control something. And move forward in something.

Wednesday, April 1: Tears are my superpower

Aimlessness is real.

Scheduling is helpful.

Technology is frustrating.

Closure…find closure where you can on even the little things, since so many things ended or were put on pause so abruptly.

Zoe and I enjoy the show: Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist. Episode 8—Zoey’s Extraordinary Glitch—was so embarrassingly awkward. The main character can’t stop herself from bursting out in song to express her deep, undealt with emotions.

I courageously show up for my meeting to find closure, and I cry through the second half of it. I guess I’m still not ok and it’s going to come out somewhere—like Zoey does with song and dance in the show, I do with tears. Closure on this one thing feels good and right and satisfying. But I’m still crying. Awkward, but unapologetic. Express gratitude. Everyone’s resilience is thin. It’s okay not to be okay.

Rollerblading with my girls is a sweet time on a beautiful day. Normal, not normal. Strange, not strange. No one is out. Everyone is distant on a college campus in spring. I feel simultaneously content and overwhelmed. We go about our days distancing, while others can’t breathe. And others die. How does closure come for loved ones who experience loss?

At the end of the day I’m both relieved and bummed that there were no innovative April Fool’s jokes going on at our house. Not in a place to create and laugh and bounce back just yet.

Thursday, April 2: Wearing mascara doesn’t prevent tears

Time to face my fledgling teaching plan. A meeting with my boss. I teach adults. Moms like me who show up to my English language class after their kids are settled in school. I can just barely settle my kids to move forward with a plan of any kind. I barely have a moment to catch up with my own thoughts and emotions… innovation is measly and uninterrupted minutes to wade through emails and move towards problem-solving are things from that other life realm.

Deep breath. Grateful for the closure I found yesterday. Like the strategy for debt snowball—knocking out smaller debts first.

Moving forward.

It’s okay not to be okay. But it’s not okay to cry in this team meeting with my boss. Maybe mascara will help prevent tears.

I choose Pilates and prayer over fine-tooth-comb reading all the pertinent email strings before my meeting.

Deep breath, again. In for 3, out for 4.

🎶 And I’ll rise up…

I’ll rise up
In spite of the ache
I’ll rise up
And I’ll do it a thousand times again
For you… 🎶

Innovation, momentum, problem-solving and resilience—in short supply. Like ventilators for patients and masks for healthcare workers.

Mascara does not help prevent displaced tears in zoom meetings. But actively turning off video or audio as needed provides a sense of control over the little things.

And having a boss who hears you… doesn’t prevent tears either.

It’s cold today. There is no mustering of motivation to run the track. No energy to even think about trying to psych myself up for more than a cold, grey walk.

Listening to Simon and Garfunkel and remembering that time when I was on an island. And I missed my boat. And I cried about it… 😭💕🏝

🎶 I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room,
safe within my womb
I touch no one and no one touches me

I am a rock
I am an island
And a rock feels no pain
And an island never cries 🎶

Islands are surrounded by salt water… you would never know if they were crying.

Overwhelmed and grateful. I am definitely not an island.

Corona 2020 #2: Deep Breath

April 3, 2020April 5, 2020 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 1 Comment

Sunday, March 22: Small successes make us stronger

Virtual church in our home—that’s a good family rhythm. Coffee with my Sweet. Pilates during worship.

Deep breath. The sun is shining. We know how to rally as a family. We’ve done that before.

I learned in grad school that when things get really challenging, it helps to take on doable physical challenges. Before graduation, I was standing on my head for a solid 3 minutes or more. Today I take on my ripstick—I haven’t done that since our move to Colorado in 2018. I went further on the Poudre trail than I have ever gone on my ripstick.

I can do this. All of this.

Drive-ins—a social distancing spring break treat post family physical activity. Sonic is Mommy’s rare and spontaneously fun fried treat. Desperately wishing I could wash my hands, the Sonic manager offers us disinfectant wipes at our window. It’s the best she could do. And I was thankful.

Monday, March 23: Empathy and grief set in

Emotions are so mixed up. I can alternate tears and laughter without taking a breath. I think the complexity of emotion keeps me going. Empathy is a part of me. So is shared laughter. I can’t shut out the hurt of the world. I have to find a way in it.

Grief sets in as social media pours out the news of loved ones’ sick loved ones. There are people who can’t breathe. I feel pressure around my own lungs. Or is it my heart?

I got this song stuck in my prayers…

🎶 You give life, You are love
You bring light to the darkness
You give hope, You restore
Every heart that is broken
Great are You, Lord

It’s Your breath in our lungs
So we pour out our praise
We pour out our praise
It’s Your breath in our lungs
So we pour out our praise to You…

And all the earth will shout Your praise
Our hearts will cry, these bones will sing

Great are You, Lord 🎶

Zoe bakes her first berry pie. Yum. She has been painting and creating and plotting a socially distant picnic with a neighbor friend. She makes beautiful things. She makes me smile… with teary eyes. She is filled with purpose and plans and projects.

Wednesday, March 25: To be seen and heard

I have a regularly scheduled virtual meeting with my colleague. She hears exhaustion in my voice and heartache in my rhythm. I needed her to say that I didn’t seem ok. Someone noticed. Someone said something. I try to hold back immediate tears. I’ll save them for later. My tear bank is robust. I am tired. I am overwhelmed.

Thursday, March 26: The good, the bad, and the garbanzo beans

A walk with a friend. I bring her chickpeas and pass them at a safe distance. Canned goods are hard to come by at the grocery store and she is a garbanzo lover like myself. It feels good to do a little good. Colorado is in full shelter in place mode now. Stores close earlier. People might start to panic.

I think I am among the immunocompromised. I google articles about leukemia patients, those on immunotherapies in relation to Covid-19. I should be extra cautious.

Speaking of Covid-19… I read a comment comparing the “Covid 19” to the “Freshman 15!” Hard to curb the quarantine baking spree. I love that there are so many things to laugh together about.

Steve and I have an important virtual work meeting. The meeting delivered bad news. Not really anything to do with pandemic, just regular life bad news. It hits hard. It feels like rejection. Emotions are already at the surface and reserves of faith and grace and strength and resilience have already been reallocated.

Sprycel—my leukemia miracle med—is delivered as usual. Check. The UPS man doesn’t ask me to sign for this pricy parcel. He just leaves it and waves.

I slip out for a run on the track as I pour out my heart in my prayer. My regular running playlist doesn’t seem fitting anymore.

Why is motivation so hard?

Goal setting. That’s my specialty. First, identify barriers: It’s hard to get to goals when you’re in the midst of grief. Mourning and gratitude are both necessary. But if you haven’t mourned, it’s hard to move forward.

Steve and I zoom in with our community group. Thursday night is our regularly scheduled hangout time—part of our familiar chorus.

I’m still not okay.

News of people sick, dying, or singing out their windows is global.

Urgency and exhaustion in the voices of healthcare professionals.

More emails regarding upcoming online school than I can process.

Loved ones have sick ones.

I worry for the most vulnerable, like my resettled refugee friends and pregnant mom friends.

I worry for my healthcare provider friends.

I am in tears for a hurting world.

Check in with your inner self. Practice heart presence. Breathe…. Oh yeah.

Steve gets a stern and caring reminder from our doctor friend to be extra cautious with his immunocompromised wife. Clarity. Caution. Heartfelt concern.

Friday, March 27: Emotional backlog

Things have to change. My heart is being pressed in on all sides. Everyone is caring about something else. I feel isolated with the whole world. I am.

So much has halted. So much to process. An emotional backlog. So many people going through something and the same things. Momentum is gone in most of life’s places.

Deep breath.

I decide to start collecting the songs I need for this new rhythm of life.

I choose carefully how often I watch the news. Today there is a healthy flow of tears watching a video montage of communities rising up and joining together.

🎶 And I’ll rise up
I’ll rise like the day
I’ll rise up
I’ll rise unafraid
I’ll rise up
And I’ll do it a thousand times again
And I’ll rise up
High like the waves
I’ll rise up
In spite of the ache
I’ll rise up
And I’ll do it a thousand times again
For you… 🎶

Thank you, Andra Day. Put that one on the playlist.

Saturday, March 28: Naming negative emotions

I cross out lots of things on my calendar that didn’t happen and that won’t happen. Good thing I write in pencil. Saturday is Ella’s choice for special breakfast. A rich cup of coffee with my Sweet. Pilates and prayers. My whole body feels heavy.

I have dealt with difficult things before. I cry. I walk. I sleep. I pray. I listen—to truth, to hope, to sadness. To divine whispers.

It’s helpful to just be present with negative emotions… 😕♥️
• grief—of losses big and small
• guilt—that we should be doing more, less, something else
• fear—of things we can’t control
• disappointment—of unfulfilled expectations
• discouragement—too many overwhelming things to take in at once
• sadness…
• madness…
•
🤲🏼👣

Tomorrows have no structure. We are oscillating between aimlessness and creativity’s blank page. Setting goals seems like such an uphill journey.

Corona 2020 #1: Cancellations & Celebrations

April 3, 2020April 3, 2020 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 2 Comments

Friday, March 13: Seismic shifts

What a strange and beautiful day. I left early on a birthday hike to celebrate my friend’s 40^thbirthday. We had the Twin Sisters trail to ourselves as we hiked through mounds of freshly fallen snow. I shared my Middle Eastern date cookies with her as a birthday treat. I had just brought them back from Michigan three days earlier. As we hiked, we processed the strange potential things that might happen, and we pondered the impact of recent social encounters and future plans.

Sharing cookies… that feels thoughtful and delightful and celebratory.

It was my kids’ last day of school before spring break. I knew I would arrive home post-hike to shifting sands.

And then the onslaught of virtual communication rushed in—every entity I am involved with is sending out emails of closure and postponement.

My kids dance around the living room celebrating the news of a second week of spring break, a.k.a., enrichment week, as the world is shutting down.

Saturday, March 14: Queen of flexibility

In normal life, I work 4 very fulfilling, part-time jobs—mainly, nonprofits, self-employment, and contract work. I am queen of finding rhythm with flexibility and faith through many changing seasons of my various jobs. And half my work is already virtual.

I got this.

Bring on change.

Bring on the unknown.

Bring on kids at home and the anticipation of spring.

Let’s keep dancing around the living room and watch as many movies as we can think of, and eat large bowls of white cheddar popcorn.

Sunday, March 15: Clean hands and pure hearts

This is ominously exciting. The CDC cancelled church gatherings of 150 or more, but our small community group is getting together to watch it virtually and enjoy Sunday brunch together. In the celebration of slowing down the pace of life and being together, there is a growing sense of urgency for quarantining. Some have opted out of our physical gathering.

Keep your hands clean and move to toe touches and elbow taps.

🎶 Give us clean hands, give us pure hearts
Let us not lift our souls to another

O God let us be a generation that seeks
That seeks your face O God of Jacob

O God let us be a generation that seeks
That seeks your face O God of Jacob 🎶

I timed it… this chorus is a solid 30 seconds of prayer AND proper hand washing.

I love finding hope, meaningful connection, and laughter in challenging situations.

Monday, March 16: Plans proceed but toilet paper is scarce

We have summer camp coming up in July. Kids need their wellness checkups. It’s going to be a highly productive spring break. I got two out of three kids went in the health clinic for physicals and vaccinations. People wore masks and signs were posted about being cautious.

Toilet paper is a weird crisis. We forgot to pick up our usual stash at Sam’s Club last month. Oops! I feel more and more compelled to join the bandwagon of fear and scarcity. Don’t panic… we’ll find some.

In the restroom at the local medical center for my kid’s wellness checkup…

Experiencing a new kind of temptation 😳🧻🧻

Tuesday, March 17: A cold coming on

Ella’s wellness checkup is cancelled. That seems to be the new rhythm. Most things left on the calendar are also being cleared. I feel a cold coming on and my mind trails to all the places I’ve been and the people I’ve touched. I start to rethink some of our spring break interactions… and sharing date cookies.

Wednesday, March 18: Rhythm in chaos

When the winds of change disrupt normal life, I find it helpful to hold on to a familiar chorus—a loose framework of routine and rhythm. I enjoy a morning cup of coffee with my Sweet. I run the empty track at the middle school. I do regular bouts of Pilates and prayers.

My throat is sore and I dig out the thermometer. No fever. All three times.

My mom calls. She’s worried about our lack of toilet paper. My dad unpacks meat from his freezer and finds our favorite kind of Greek cheese at the restaurant depot. We arrange a socially distant walk at a park halfway between our cities. No hugs. No kisses. Just a transfer of food items and a lovely stroll. The sun is in full shine, but road signs are flashing to brace for an impending winter storm.

Still no fever. I would feel horrible if I were the one to compromise my parents’ health in their late 70s.

Thursday and Friday are cold and dark and snowy. No place to go. Every cough makes me a little nervous. Still no fever. Ella coughs and sniffles. No fever.

Saturday, March 21: Keep baking, keep running, keep dancing

The week went by so quickly. It wasn’t much of a spring break—except for excessive movie watching and creative baking and spontaneous dance parties. Keeping our rhythm–Saturday pancakes. The dog park is perfect for social distancing. Another run on the middle school track while the gym is closed and the weather is decent.

NY2020: Happy to Dis-appoint

February 1, 2020February 1, 2020 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 2 Comments

Dear Disappointment,

I’ve spent way too much time thinking about you. But don’t flatter yourself. We’re not becoming friends. In fact, I’ve acknowledged you, unwelcomed, inside the kingdom walls of my heart. I just needed a moment to reset, refocus, breathe. I guess I also needed to spend way too much time in the shower on a Wednesday morning. Rest my thoughts.

Now I’m ready to take some action.

Here’s what I know about you: You work from within to kick down little appointments. You damper dares and infect healthy fear. You friend frustration and fiend innocence about it all. Your M.O—If you can frustrate small fulfillments of goals and longings, you can make room for your older, stronger relative—discouragement. But discouragement is harder to go unnoticed, like you.

Your goal is to impede me from moving forward with mine.

You see, my 3 words for 2020 are…

small…

…..daring…

………… worthy.

It’s a tremendous trio. It’s diamond strength I’m learning to weild.

Just in the first few weeks of 2020, I have seen what you do to daring. I’m on to you. And small—that’s my word, and you can’t claim it. Thanks to MLK Jr., I’m committed to figuring out how to do small in great ways. Wouldn’t you just love to dis-appoint all that, in your small ways?

But then there’s worthy—I have intrinsic value and this is my heart space, not yours. I have authority to appoint. All you can do is kick down edifications and expectations that others have built up. You exist to make us fret the small stuff; you are right there when the cold, full glass of milk spills, and you lie in wait to see what we’ll do about it.

Well, I’m here to dis-appoint you. Because I can.

In the little kingdom of my heart, I appoint hope to reign, which means despair is not welcome in my kingdom. I appoint encouragement as ministry of defense, and offense. Discouragement will meet defeat… outside my kingdom walls.

Thanks to you, I’m taking back my appointment power.

Thanks to you, I’m reassessing what I long for, and what I hope is fulfilled in my schedule of daily life.

Thanks to you, I’m reminded that even the greatest of greats in history faced you. But the ones I aspire to be like looked past their unfilled dreams to fulfill their greater destiny.

You and I are both small. But I have the power to appoint, and you don’t.

You don’t belong here. I can acknowledge when you show up, but I don’t have to let you stay. I don’t have to let you decide who gets to make my heart home.

I don’t have to let your disses make me feel smaller or less worthy, or even less daring. You may have damper power, but I have a fire that goes before me.

NY2020: Dear Disappointment…What’s the Point of You?

January 29, 2020January 30, 2020 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 2 Comments

Dear Disappointment,

You’re not my favorite. You are a slow drain on my motivation. You make my brain fuzzy and indecisive. You send me veering off track ever so slightly. You bring fear to the party, uninvited. I feel more adept at interacting with some of your crotchety and domineering relatives, like discouragement. And over the years I have learned to set clear boundaries with despair. I see nothing redeeming about spending quality time with you.

There’s no hope for you.

I purposely keep my expectations low so I can minimize how often we hang out. I’m awesome at anticipating what is needed and adapting to people and circumstances. I can shake your little solo missions fairly quickly. But you… you just hover in the middle of my weekdays. You look for ways to accumulate and gang up. You are the frown faces in calendar next to all the appointments you dissed—my cancelled meeting, my rejection notification on an application, my feverish and coughing kids, my mediocre night’s sleep.

Recently, I invited daring into my 2020 mindset. And I’m realizing that you come in the fine print. You accompany daring wherever she goes. You are the damper on more daring attempts. You are the reason my risk-taking is so intentional and well-thought out. And yet, I turn around and there you are, still. I see you. You keep one foot in the door so frustration can just slip right in.

Go away!

At least I can learn from failure. That’s how we grow. I understand how healthy fear makes me more courageous. Grief, sadness, shame, guilt, rejection, loneliness…. I’ve had intimate relationships with all of these negative emotions and am better for them. But you? All you do is take, take, take.

What do you have to give?

Chronic disappointment becomes discouragement—the wearing down over time. Chronic discouragement untreated becomes despair—the total loss of hope. But I’m the queen of chronic hope. That was my 2019 mindset. You can’t touch my hope.

King Solomon the Wise of the ancient world said that, “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.”

Or can you? Are you the one who makes a heart sick? Are you the one who stunts tree-of-life growth? Are you the slow deferring of hope that flies under the radar? Are you the one who causes my decision fatigue, for every dis-appointed thing I have to reconfigure?

What is the point of you?

On My Mind

by Georgia

Worldview

My COVID-19 Lament

My COVID-19 Lament

Just Come

Rising Above

An individual has not started living until he can rise above the narrow confines of his individualistic concerns to the broader concerns of all humanity. MLK, Jr.

How can I rise above my personal cancer and be a part of treating malignancies that face all humanity?

Rising above is not mine to achieve. Starting to live is not mine to map out.

White Noise—A Cry of Repentance

I’m sorry.

Rather, specifically…

I’m sorry for my complicity in racism.

I’m sorry for the White sorry buts that add salt to your wounds.

I’m so sorry for reducing your trauma to my White noise.

I see now that racism is a White problem.

Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me and lead me in the way everlasting. (Psalm 139:23-24)

Compromised: Immuno-and-Otherwise

Emotionally Broadsided

Mentally Tumbled

“How is Strength my Weakness?”

Broadsided by Grace

Corona 2020 #1: Cancellations & Celebrations

Friday, March 13: Seismic shifts

Saturday, March 14: Queen of flexibility

Sunday, March 15: Clean hands and pure hearts

Monday, March 16: Plans proceed but toilet paper is scarce

Tuesday, March 17: A cold coming on

Wednesday, March 18: Rhythm in chaos

Saturday, March 21: Keep baking, keep running, keep dancing

NY2020: Happy to Dis-appoint

Dear Disappointment,

small…

…..daring…

………… worthy.

NY2020: Dear Disappointment…What’s the Point of You?

Dear Disappointment,