Figuring It Out (Allie Spors)
Me looking down on the Lauterbrunnen valley
God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Psalm 46:1
I was sixteen. I was in Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland. And I knew a few things. First, I knew I had just spent ten hours traveling with my parents and three younger siblings. Second, I knew we had wedged our way, all six of us and about twice as many bags, into a small restaurant that was less than pleased to have us. Third, I knew my mom was having a hard time communicating with our landlord so we could get into the apartment we would call home during our time in Europe. Finally, I knew a ham sandwich did not cost $14 in the United States, and I didn’t understand why the Swiss could get away with charging so much.
I looked at my dad and asked, “What in the world are we going to do here for six weeks?”
To their credit, my parents had done their best to prepare my siblings and me for the demands of international travel. But despite those warnings, I found myself in an unfamiliar place, I wasn’t in control, and I didn’t know what to expect.
These days, I find myself asking questions quite similar to the one I asked in Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland. Not too long ago St. Louis announced it was prohibiting social gatherings of 50 people or more for eight weeks. Now we are down to ten people or less, and we are sheltering in place.
When the first announcement went out, I looked at my husband and asked, “What in the world are we going to do for eight weeks?” I find myself, once again, in an unfamiliar place. I am not in control, and I don’t know what to expect.
Eight weeks with no social gatherings will mean immediate changes. No Easter service with church. No church at all. No professional events. Even just thinking about the cancellation of one upcoming talk—with the author and podcaster I love most—makes me mourn.
And these are just a few of my disappointments. For those around me, eight weeks with no social gatherings means far more: a rescheduled wedding or funeral, a missed trip, a cancelled commencement ceremony, the inability to see loved ones for an extended period of time.
And still these losses are not the most pressing problems. What if there is a shortage of ventilators? What of the families of those who have already died or will die? What of the now certain economic cost?
I suspect I’m not the only one asking what we are going to do for eight weeks, not to mention the weeks that follow.
I don’t remember exactly how my dad answered my question the first time I asked it in Switzerland. But I am certain he said something like this: “We will figure it out.” That was usually what he said. He didn’t necessarily have any precise answer to give at the moment our questions arose. He had, instead, a frame of mind. He’d figure it out. We’d figure it out, together.
That was his way. When I was in second grade I lost my lunch card. Our school administrators had done a good job impressing upon their students the consequences of losing a lunch card, and I dramatically explained the gravity of the situation to my dad, with tears rolling down my cheeks. “What are we going to do?” I begged.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said. “I eat your problems for breakfast.
As my earthly father comforted me so many times, so our heavenly father comforts us now. We do not have all the answers or explanations, but we will figure this out—each day, a little more, what to do and how to do it.
Whatever God’s plans and purposes, whatever his “figuring” on a level I do not know, I have nonetheless seen him at work figuring things out mostly through the influence of my church family. For others who have seen the same, this season will be particularly difficult, given that most of us are physically separated from our church families. And yet, I am writing this piece after having just concluded a long Google Hangout session with my church community group. We ordinarily meet on Tuesday nights, and though we could not physically gather, it was encouraging and refreshing to see everyone’s faces and hear everyone’s voices.
This is what we are doing for eight weeks. We are figuring it out.
That is not an answer, per se. It is not exactly an explanation. It is, instead, a frame of mind. It is to say that God is with us still, even now. He eats my problems for breakfast.
Allie Spors is a former chief of staff and current board member of the Carver Project and a 2018 graduate of Washington University School of Law.
Further Reading:
Chris Brauns, A Brick in the Valley (reflection on the psalms in a time like ours by the author’s father)
Tim Keller, “Peace in Times of Suffering and Uncertainty” (streaming video)
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