RATIONING IN ISOLATION

I made four cups of chickory coffee this morning – drank two. I’ll warm up the remaining two cups tomorrow. Enough.

Filled the car with gas the day before I began self-isolating. Bought over $100 worth of groceries at my favorite discount grocer, frozen meats and vegetables mostly. No hoarding of paper goods had yet been talked about. That same day, I picked up my regular armful of books at the library. Having all I figured I’d need, any other errands will be nonessential through April.

I had planned a trip to see my Minnesota granddaughters for the end of April and decided to self-isolate as part of the preparation, Gathered art supplies around the house – they’re always eager for art supplies.

The car’s in the garage; I’m rationing my road time. I’ve made three trips to the post office (6.2 miles round trip each) in six weeks.  Beans are in the crock pot; rationing food resources. Thawing one package of meat a week; bought four dozen eggs for protein. My old chest freezer is half full of contents stored for just such a moment as this.

In my disaster room, I had enough resources to share with an old friend. Rice, lentils, and ready-to-eat packets of brown rice and veggies. One loaf of homemade bread and half a pan of brownies. Dropped the sack off on his deck, hoping it would keep him home from the grocer a few days.

God is good; I am grateful.

That phrase has re-emerged as a sort of mantra in these weeks of isolation restrictions. It first flowed from my lips the day I got laid off from the student services department of the college. My supervisor had drastically scaled back my hours offering me two 2-hour time slots to cover staff lunch breaks. And only on the days he knew I worked my other job at the middle school. He told me If I refused to accept his offer, “we have no need of you.”

I loved every part of working for community college, whatever role I filled over the years, but now it was over. As I walked to my car, arms loaded and stunned, my voice spoke unprompted. “God is good; I am grateful.” 

I didn’t know how I was going to make it. I felt set up and betrayed, but I made the choice to walk forward. Believing that surprising statement was true. I began to experience a sense of gratefulness in the middle of some uncomfortable mysteries. In the middle of great pain. Not change the pain, but still believe God is good.

Today, I’am grateful even in my self-rationing. I’ve self-rationed before. One summer in the mid-1980s, I promised my spouse I would keep the cost of our family vacation week within his $200 limit; otherwise there would be no vacation. I took one bite from each of the three kids’ 69-cent burrito for my lunch and bought mickey D’s breakfast sandwiches for five with $5.39. We all slept in our pop-up tent at free campsites in the Black Hills. We all enjoyed that vacation.

God is good; I am grateful.

But it isn’t really about rationing; it’s about thinking small. Thinking small sets my mind in a mode of gratitude for provision. Do I eat the whole bowl of popcorn tonight? It is enough, and the rest is enough for tomorrow.

If I have the same inventory but have a deprivation mindset, I feel like it’s hoarding. But an attitude of “enough” toward this rationing feels like stewardship.

What can I steward better these days? My energy? My eyes? My mind?

Yes, I’ll self-isolate in this place for a while, but I will not hunker down in dread. I have enough. And I’ll make creative adjustments and revel in this place, this home. I will savor this retreat space and time.

I will breathe deep; celebrate healthy lungs.

I am grateful.