There is a difference between hope and faith. Right now, I have hope, but I do not have faith. I will explain, but this will be long, so I will understand if you don’t have the patience to get to the end with me.
Rewind…
2019 was a challenging year for us. Jeff lost his job, and as a result, we lost the life we had spent nearly 25 years building in California. It hurt. We mourned, and we still grieve the life we lost to some extent. We prayed 2020 would be better.
2020 started out well enough. We had just relocated to Florida. Our reward to ourselves for all we had endured and to celebrate Jeff’s (forced) retirement was to take a cruise. Jeff and I and my BFF Betsy set sail on the high seas. Covid had just hit the news, and as of the time we embarked on our voyage, there were only 60 cases in the U.S. This did not concern us at all.
We sailed into Saint Maarten and had quite an adventure. We stopped in Tortola and saw the most glorious turquoise water ever. Our next stop was San Juan, and the three of us ate, drank, and were merry in San Juan. SO merry! We totally fell in love with Puerto Rico. We didn’t know at the time that it was the last real fun we would have for more than a year. When we reached our next port, Grand Turk, we were turned away. We sat in the harbor all day. We looked longingly at a perfect beach, a Margaritaville restaurant, and lounge chairs that were calling our name but never got to dip one toe in the sand. By the time we got back to Miami, the world was closing down.
Despite that, I started a new job that I was very excited about and worked precisely two days in the office before Florida closed. We were sent to work from home. I worked from home in April and May and then got laid off along with another 80 travel agents. As you can imagine, a travel agent during a global pandemic wasn’t doing much business. I looked for a new job, but my resumes went unread and unanswered calls. I was discouraged.
Then in November of 2020, I was rehired, but not as a travel agent but a member rep. I was thankful for the job, but a very abrupt change happened; our customers had become angry and combative. Our company had a mask requirement to do business and social distancing, which enraged our customers. On an almost daily basis, we were screamed at as though those working at the counter had no say about corporate decisions. I didn’t understand the depth of the anger hurled at us. It was miserable.
In 2021, I felt like I was in survival mode. I got up every day, went to work, and prayed no one would make us push the panic button under our counter. I could tell you horror stories, but I don’t want to. Just trust me, it was highly unpleasant. And for me, this was such a huge culture shock as I had spent 20 years working in two churches where everyone was NICE. No one cussed me out or threatened to punch me in my decade at BVCC and my decade at the Rock. LOL. – I just kept asking God, “Is this really what you want for my life?” I’m crying as I write this because, for me, writing is therapy, and I feel like it’s been PTSD for a while now.
My happiest week of 2021 was meeting our friends in Las Vegas. For the first time since March of 2020, I felt normal. For a week, I recognized my life. I was lying in the sun with mountains and palm trees in our favorite hotel, with a pack of my favorite humans sipping Bloody Mary’s. We partied in the mob museum speakeasy and wandered the streets with wild abandon.
I felt safe. We were all vaccinated, and our hotel was sparkling clean, so I could just breathe easy in unmasked glory for a week. The post-vaccine high was that it was safe to roam the world again. But by the end of our week in Vegas, the city had gone back to mandatory masking. The Delta variant surged, and we were reminded the worst was not over. It was discouraging.
I didn’t want to go back to work after that week and face the reality of an understaffed office and a surly public.
I missed ministry. I missed waking up and doing something that matters. I wished my job was still to work all day on helping people who are hurting and making a difference. That wish didn’t turn into reality.
Instead, I started a new career last month in the cruise industry, which was exciting for an avid cruiser such as myself. I had hope. But today, with the latest announcements from the CDC about cruising, I’m waiting for it all to fall apart again.
And now to my point. I am hopeful that 2022 will be better. In 2019, I hoped 2020 would be better. It was not. In 2020, I hoped 2021 would be better. It was not. So, again, tonight, I hope for a future that is “normal” – but I silently wonder if we will ever go back to normal.
I know I should say, “I have faith that this will be a better year.” But I don’t have faith. The past couple of years have been harsh, not just for me but for most of the world. I cannot look you in the eyes and say, “I have faith that this will be a better year.”
But I do have HOPE. I hope people will make changes in their thinking and decision-making so that we can all stop being held hostage by this virus. I have hope that what was turned upside down in the world will right itself upward again. We can get back to the business of living, dreaming, exploring, solving problems, loving one another with warm, long embraces. I have hope that this upcoming year people will tire of bickering and try to make peace with those they are at war with. I hope that feuding families will come together and work out their issues rather than give up on valuable relationships.
I hope that our politicians will spend more time solving problems than vilifying those on the opposing side. I hope we will care more about loving people than labeling them. I hope we find our way out of this fog. I hope 2022 is like the Roaring ’20s and we have a long decade of dancing and celebration when it’s finally declared we beat this disease. I have HOPE.
If you have faith, pray for me to find some faith, too. Hope is keeping me afloat, but I wish I could believe again.
Happy New Year.
Forest Gumping my way through life 