Yesterday morning found me collecting grass from our nearest park after my morning run. Our children, like all under 20 and over 65 year olds who live in the 30 biggest cities in Turkey, are banned from going outside at the moment as part of the coronavirus lockdown measures here. Like most people here, we live in an apartment. Collecting grass to make a play farm and give them a small connection with nature is the best I can do right now for my children who haven't been outside in nearly three weeks.
We're grateful for the way that the Turkish government has been working to halt the spread of COVID-19. In addition to children and the elderly being banned from going outside, everyone is being advised to stay at home as much as possible and those who are able to should work at home. Social distancing is encouraged and masks must be worn in markets, crowded public places etc. Places for leisure and entertainment, along with restaurants and cafes, are shut. Charity meetings are forbidden - most churches here are registered as charities, so church meetings are not taking place currently. The last two weekends many cities in Turkey (including our city) have been under curfew - no one is allowed to go outside of their homes at all for 48 hours. And with a national holiday tomorrow, we start a four day curfew at midnight tonight.
Being a cross-cultural worker and living in a different country is like living your life with a low level but constant background noise. Uncertainty about visas, conducting your life in a second language, raising Third Culture Kids, communicating with supporters, keeping on top of all the additional 'life admin' tasks that come with living abroad and the ways those tasks interact with and depend on each other. They all add up to make this hum that sits on the top of the normal goings-on of your life. Mostly you just live with it. A lot of the time I don't even notice it now. However COVID-19 has added a whole new layer of noise. What is usually a manageable level of background noise to live with has suddenly increased in volume.
We are meant to be returning to the UK for a summer home assignment in seven weeks. As international flights to and from Turkey are currently grounded and both countries are in lockdown, our summer 'plans' have been turned completely upside down.
So life seems hard right now. Hard when one of our children comes to us with a hopeful look in their eyes and tells us that they really like going outside. Hard not to be able to meet with our church family. Hard not to be able to see friends. Hard to think that it will be even longer before we get to see family and to introduce our baby (who is already nearly one year old) to many of them. Hard to think of all the things we'd hoped to do back in the UK this summer. Hard to live in the midst of ongoing uncertainty regarding visas anyway and especially when the uncertainty is compounded by coronavirus.
And yet.
We know we have so much to be thankful for. We're at home, safe and healthy. My husband was already working several days a week from home with his computer programming business and that has continued as normal. We don't have to worry about a loss of income. We have enough food. We might be stuck in an apartment - but it's a relatively large apartment, with a balcony. We live in a stable country with good healthcare and the government here is taking the fight against coronavirus seriously. We might not be able to return to the UK this summer, but we will return at some point. Our unearned privilege of being born in a particular place assures us and our children of the right to enter a country that many people are desperate to get to.
I've been trying to work out how to reconcile the two concepts of "this situation is hard" and "we have so much to be grateful for". Can they even be reconciled? Is it even appropriate to describe our situation as hard when so many are in harder situations? When everybody is living through this strange time, does my situation have to be extraordinary to justify being acknowledged as hard? Did our choice to move to Turkey come with the duty to unflinchingly accept all the consequences of that decision - even when the consequences were unimaginable a few months ago? Does that same logic apply to doctors, nurses, hospital cleaners, supermarket workers who probably weren't imagining a global pandemic when they signed up?
As I've pondered these questions, I've come to the realisation that the key, for me at least, is self-pity. Self-pity is never God-glorifying behaviour and yet it is so easy to slide into. My internal monologue starts to recount the difficulties and disappointments in my life right now. All these things we have to live with. All the things we can't do. When I'm focusing in on the hard things in my life through the skewed lens of self-pity, my perspective gets warped. I end up only being able to see those hard things. I miss the good things. I lose the ability to have compassion for other people's hard things. And I know from experience that the slide into self-pity rarely ends there. It twists into discontentment, envy, bitterness, resentment, anger.
I have another option though. I can look my troubles straight in the eye and say, "Yes, these things are hard. I also have many good things in my life. Other people are experiencing hard things too. Some of them are experiencing hard things because they are doing vital work. I can be thankful for their sacrifice. For others, circumstances combined with their personal situation determines their hard things. I can be compassionate towards them without being judgmental."
That could be the end. Gratitude, not self-pity. Simple, if not easy.
And yet.
From where do I get the strength to squash self-pity? When I've given out all of my emotional energy, where does the power to choose gratitude and contentment come from?
My husband is preaching this Sunday on why we don't need to fear the future, from those glorious verses at the end of Romans 8. So perhaps it was natural that the other evening, when the house was quiet and we were able to drink our mugs of tea in peace, that our conversation swung around to uncertainty and difficulties in the light of God's sovereignty plus goodness. And we reminded ourselves once again of why we can be thankful in the midst of difficult circumstances.
I can face disappointments and difficulties without an ounce of self-pity because God has promised that he's going to use the hard things for his glory. If God did not spare even his own Son for me, I do not need to doubt his goodness. I can go about my days armed with a grateful heart because God has said that nothing can separate me from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus.
And when my child asks again about going outside, I can sweep him up for a hug and tell him the truth. "I know it's hard, sweetheart. I know you want to go outside. I wish I could take you outside. But you have to stay inside right now to keep you safe and to keep others safe. And you know what? God is still God. He loves us. God says that he will use the virus to make us more like Jesus. He planned this virus because somehow, in a way I don't understand, it will help people to see how amazing and special he is. And that is a good thing. It's the most important thing."
