Tag: coronavirus

Love and loss in lockdown

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It is my pleasure to introduce Tony Horsfall to my blog today. Tony is a wonderful, wise writer. This year has been particularly difficult for him, and yet he has shared with such honesty not only here, but in his new book (pictured above).

During 2020 the experience of lockdown has impacted all we do, and in particular caring for loved ones who are terminally ill, and grieving those who have passed away.

My wife Evelyn had been struggling with a recurrence of breast cancer for over four years when she was eventually told in February that her condition was terminal, with just months to live. The cancer had spread to her spine and she quickly deteriorated. We tried to care for her at home, but it became increasingly difficult, so she went into the local hospice. Because of visiting restrictions, I was allowed to go and stay with her. After a week she had improved sufficiently to be transferred to a local care home. Again, I decided to go with her – Evelyn in nursing care and myself as a resident – otherwise I would not have been able to see her.

DEALING WITH THE UNEXPECTED

The transition to a care home was a huge shock to the system. It was hot, noisy and full of hustle and bustle. It took us time to adjust, but gradually we got into a routine and had six good weeks together. Evelyn’s condition was deteriorating daily, and it was painful to watch. She needed a hoist to get her out of bed, and was slowly losing control of her bodily functions, which was a huge loss of dignity. We were aware of the risk of coronavirus in such a setting, but it was a risk we had to take.However, we both caught the virus. Surprisingly Evelyn recovered fairly quickly, but my condition worsened and I ended up in intensive care.

As I fought for my life, I thought I would never see Evelyn again. Intensive care was a lonely and frightening place. No visitors allowed; you were on your own. Across the room from me two other patients were on ventilators. I cried to God, ‘Lord, don’t let me have to go on a ventilator.’ A stream of prayer was going up for us, and with this and the medical care, I began to recover and after two weeks was allowed to return home, but not to the care home.

THE PAIN OF SEPARATION

I was physically very weak but what hurt the most was that I could no longer be with Evelyn. We had an occasional phone call, which was far from satisfactory, and soon she began to be confused. One afternoon the home called me because Evelyn was disturbed and wanted to come home. They asked me to reassure her that she was in the right place. Patiently, with tears rolling down my cheeks, I explained to her why we had taken the decision for her to be in care, and she calmed and seemed to understand. It was one of the hardest things I have ever done.

I began to feel guilty that I was at home and recovering while Evelyn was still in the care home and struggling by herself. I could be with our family, and see the grandchildren, but she was denied that pleasure. I felt I had let her down, that I had failed, since my aim had been to be with her to the end. Fortunately, God spoke a word to me: ‘She was mine long before she was yours and I won’t abandon her now’, he said. That lifted my despair, and I began to entrust her to the care of her heavenly Father.

SAYING GOODBYE

After a month of separation, we were allowed into the care home to see her as she neared the end. It was a healing time, even if a painful one. I was able to sit with her, hold her hand, feed her sips of water, give her a little food to eat and pray with her. Slowly she slipped away. Her lasts words were, ‘Thank you Jesus, you led me all the way.’

We held a Thanksgiving for her life over Zoom, which was strange but enabled people from all over the world to take part and mourn her passing. Then we had a service at the graveside, where about 70 attended, socially distanced. It was a moving tribute to her life, which was lived for Christ from a young age.

ADJUSTING TO LIFE ALONE

Grieving has not been easy during lockdown. I have missed seeing friends, being hugged, having the chance to share memories of Evelyn. Just when you most need your friends, they are not able to visit you. I have had to learn how to cook for myself and manage the house and garden. I have found eating alone especially difficult as I adjust to being single. 

Looking back, although it was a traumatic time, I can see how much God helped us. Our story is a story of love, the love we had for each other after 46 years of marriage. But also, the story of God’s love, from which nothing can separate us. Time and again he comforted me through Scripture, worship songs, acts of kindness and amazing provision. It is a story of the love of friends – those who prayed in tears, sent cards and flowers, wrote letters of encouragement, shared our journey. It is also a story of the love of strangers, of those health service professionals who cared for us, showed us kindness, went beyond the call of duty.

Perhaps this is the great gift to the world from the pandemic – the reminder that love is the most important thing of all.

Tony Horsfall is a retreat leader, author and mentor. Finding Refuge tells this story more fully, and is available from the author at tonyhorsfall@uwclub.net

God’s life-changing interruptions

Reflections based on Luke 1:26–49.

‘“I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered. “May it be to me as you have said.”’ (v.38)

As we continue to look at how God’s supernatural timing affects our lives, we turn now to the story of Mary. God certainly cut across her plans – to marry Joseph and set up home together. She was a young betrothed teenage girl, full of hopes for her future; she would never have imagined the scenario she now found herself in. And yet. She still submitted herself totally to God’s will and timing. However, she must have been wondering how her parents, Joseph and wider community would react to her pregnancy.

Today, we can look back at her story, knowing that God chose her, a virgin, to fulfil Old Testament prophecy concerning the Messiah’s birth (Isa. 7:14). He knew her character – her love for Him and His purposes, and her obedient, servant heart.

Many other biblical figures experienced God breaking supernaturally into their lives, such as Moses, Gideon, Samuel. So might we. Sometimes this happens because our plans are not quite He had in mind. We can be very focused on our own well-being, but God wants us to be a part of His ongoing story of salvation and love – to be His hands and feet to reach this world.

This global pandemic has interrupted all of our lives in ways unimaginable just a few short months ago. Alongside the bewildering grief and pain, it has also provided a huge opportunity for the Church to be scattered once more; to reach neighbours and friends perhaps in a completely new way.

We cry out to God to break in and stop the devastation the relentless virus is causing. What if He also wants to break into our lives afresh, and to the lives of those around us – perhaps through us?

Mary willingly submitted to God when He interrupted her plans to reveal His plan for her life. How will we respond, if He breaks into our lockdown experiences? 

Prayer: Lord we don’t understand fully what is going on in the world today, but we know we don’t have to understand to be able to trust You. We pray for Your mercy and Your love to reach far and wide. And help us to be attentive to what You are doing in this time. Help us to recognise when You do break in – and to be humble enough to do what You ask of us. Amen.

Finding our secure place in the darkness

I have held off writing about the current coronavirus pandemic, mainly because I haven’t really had a chance to formulate my thoughts much before now. Working from home (which I usually do but now there’s an extra workload), as well as helping my kids navigate online schooling, there are precious few moments of quiet in any given day. I think it is important not to simply jump on the bandwagon of making a comment without having something to say. There have also been some incredibly helpful articles out there, that I have really appreciated (as well as some scaremongering that I’ve learned to ignore).

I also know that I’m in a process of grieving – for my mum, for my dad who has not only lost his wife, but has lost all sense of community since the lockdown and is so, so lonely. It breaks my heart every time I think of him alone, surrounded by the memories of mum but with no one there to process it with. I long for him to know his maker…But that is all mixed up with a general sense of grief and loss for what is happening right now, across the world. I know there are so many who didn’t get the chance to sit next to their dying relative, as we did, and I can’t quite imagine what they are going through now. And so many who are unable to attend a family member’s funeral – how difficult not to have that closure; it seems so cruel. My heart bleeds when I see the news (so much so that I made a conscious decision not to watch it every day anymore, as I sensed my stress levels rising). 

Our world has certainly been stopped in its tracks. And, while I don’t believe God has brought the virus as judgement upon us, because God sent Jesus not to judge the world but to save all those in the world who put their faith in him* (John 3:17–18), I do believe there are lessons we are meant to learn as Christians from this time. Of course, we are meant to learn at every other time too, but this certainly seems more urgent (but also more difficult for many of us – those working around the clock in hospitals, care homes, schools and supermarkets barely have time to rest their bodies let alone nourish their spirits. But God has grace for each one of us, in our specific situations too.)

Many people have commented that they don’t want to go back to normal once this is over – indeed it has been said so many times that some are getting tired of hearing that statement. For now, I think God is calling us back to him, calling us to repent of the ‘gods’ of materialism, busyness, individualism – and anything else we’ve allowed to take his place, even in small, subtle ways. He is a jealous God, but also a loving one, and, if we take time to listen, he is calling us back, calling us closer.

I sense a need for repentance in my own life, and collectively in the Church, but I also know God is wooing us with gentle tenderness, offering comfort and hope – so that we can offer the same to those around us by pointing them to Jesus. I keep being reminded of these verses:

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ. (2 Corinthians 1:3–5). 

I know that this is a bewildering, difficult, painful time for so many of us, punctuated with some unexpected moments of deep joy as we see the sacrifices people are making for one another, and the rise in a collective sense of community. Let us be those that draw close to God in order to receive the comfort that we need, which may mean giving ourselves permission to rant and rail when we need to, to sit and howl at the desperate plight of so many (perhaps ourselves if we are currently battling the virus in our family or friendship groups). But let’s also give ourselves time to be reminded of the ultimate, eternal hope that we have in Christ Jesus, who: ‘For the joy that was set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God’ (Hebrews 12:2). 

We might not understand what is going on right now, and we may have myriad questions for God about the situation, but we can be reassured that Jesus is on his eternal throne, and he will never be shaken from it. That is the secure place from which we can wrestle and allow ourselves to accept the difficulties and darkness of this time – and be open to the transformation and change God may have for us in it.

*I love this quote from Phil Moore’s excellent piece on what we can learn from the message of Revelation in the upcoming May issue of Premier Christianity magazine: ‘World history is not going to end with a deadly virus or a nuclear holocaust. God’s plan for humanity will not end with a funeral, but with a wedding.’ That is a sneak preview, as I’ve been helping out with the magazine – it is packed full of helpful articles about the virus and church in this time. You can request a free copy of the magazine – wait until Monday to ensure you are getting this issue, if you would like to, but then click here. You can, of course, also sign up for a subscription…

Today is funeral day…

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Flowers from the funeral, which I brought home.

It is Easter Saturday, that day of waiting, of anticipation for those of us who know the full story – but surely a day full of deep disbelief, despair and confusion for those within the story. To finish what I started yesterday, here are the thoughts that I wrote on the day of mum’s funeral, as well a poem written by her that describes the agony of a life coming to its end – as well as the promise of new life to come…

I have been awake since the early hours, with a feeling of dread in my stomach. I have this overwhelming thought in my head: I don’t want to go. I’ve been desperate to get to my dad, to make sure he is OK now we are isolating, but now I want to hide away and pretend this isn’t happening. Because we can’t do what mum wanted, and there are so many people who can’t be with us today.

We have 100 orders of service sat here in a box, which my husband designed beautifully. Will we get to use them one day at a later celebration? Who knows… For now, we will meet and do a stripped back service, simply there to honour mum and this particular moment.

It all feels so harsh – and I’m so heartbroken. I have had a flurry of messages today from friends and one really struck me – it’s something I am going to try and cling on to as I pray for the Holy Spirit to be with us in this most awful of days: “praying you will know that you have God with you as the guest of honour bringing his comfort”. I know I need to turn to gratitude, as I try to so often when I feel myself spiralling. And I am so, so glad that we can still do today, especially as I heard yesterday of someone whose dad died alone due to the virus, and only a couple of people can be at the funeral, standing far apart. And a friend is unable to attend her grandfather’s funeral tomorrow due to symptoms in her household – but neither can the rest of the immediate family so the crematorium will go ahead without them. This is only going to get harder isn’t it? So cruel; so difficult to deal with. 

Lord, all I want to do is scream: “Why? Why is this happening? Can’t you step in and do something?” I know you are still sovereign and you are still in control – and that one day we will understand, but I certainly don’t right now. Suffering, death, isolation, loneliness is all around – and it is suffocating…

Travelling down

I was expecting to write how eerie it was, with no one else on the roads, but we have passed many cars. I have found myself pondering what everyone else must be doing. We passed one car full of orange-jacketed men, presumably construction workers off to a job. Should they be? And did all the rest of the people we have passed have legitimate reasons for being in their cars? How many were travelling to funerals just like us…and how many were flouting the guidelines to go for a drive in the country?

My thoughts were cruelly interrupted when we passed the entrance to the crematorium, zooming past in order to pick up my dad. For three years or more, we used to leave my parents’ house and, as we passed that spot, I would often have a little cry, as my immediate thought was: “Will the next time I come here be for my mum’s funeral?” That is actually coming true today…

The service

We pulled into the crematorium, to find more cars than we were expecting. We checked the list of funerals, and which chapel we would be in – one chapel had back-to-back funerals, but mum’s was the last in the chapel we were going to. We milled around outside, the eight of us waiting for our timed slot. My mum and sister’s pastor arrived, desperate to hug us but staying a distance away. My sister’s fiancé, who works in a care home, hadn’t thought he could come, but appeared and, again, kept his distance.

Due to the social distancing rules, we had to wait for the pall bearers to carry mum’s coffin in and depart back out before we could go in. The chapel was big – sadly, we know the room would have been packed in normal circumstances. We were invited to sit on the front row but had already spoken to the pastor and elected to all stand together, in a spaced horseshoe around mum’s coffin (apart from my sister’s fiancé, who stood away from us all, at the back).

We had decided to keep the entrance and exit music mum had chosen but take out the songs we were going to sing together. So, after the pastor welcomed us and prayed, my daughter and niece read a poem that mum had picked. Then my husband read out a Bible passage and spoke a few words, in which he mentioned how the current physical limitations we are all experiencing are perhaps offering us a little insight into what mum, and others who suffer from chronic illnesses, face day by day, year by year with no let up.

It was then my turn. I read some memories of mum that my son had written (on the first day he had had off school – I took him out a few days before his school officially closed, so that we would all have the best chance of remaining healthy for the funeral day). Then I shared a poem that mum had written 13 years ago, describing the physical struggles she faced daily, but also the future hope she clung to. When I was searching through her poems a couple of years ago, as we were planning the funeral together, I had stumbled across it and asked if I could read it. I felt it would give all those who attended a real insight into her daily life. Sadly, those of us who were there had already seen those struggles up close, but it was still very special to read ‘Goodbye Death’ in honour of mum (the poem can be read below).

The pastor then shared further thoughts, including some of the things mum used to say to her when she did her weekly visits once mum was housebound. The tears flowed freely as she told us how proud mum was of us. We each smiled as the exit music came on; an upbeat jazz number that mum had chosen specifically to make people laugh after what she knew would have been an ordeal for some. When well, mum had danced some Charleston moves to that particular song; part of us wanted to do so right there in the chapel – but tears flowed again as a wave of sadness of not being able to share that moment with so many friends and family who should have been there overtook. 

Afterwards

Then it was over; we had booked a double slot because our programme had been so packed – we managed to fill half an hour, but it all seemed to be over so quickly. There was a sense of relief, but also of how unreal it seemed. Without all the others; without the refreshments we had had planned at a local vineyard for us to be able to mingle with everyone else, sharing memories and the photo montage we had pulled together, it did seem incomplete. Instead, we drove dad home, and spent the afternoon playing some of mum’s favourite games that we always played when we gathered together as a family. At one point, we discovered that most of us had been awake at 5am – that was the time mum had died on 2 February, and so it felt fitting we had each marked it mentally on the day of her funeral.

So, the day was intimate, touching, painful – and surreal. We managed to laugh as well as cry together so, in that way, it was a fitting tribute to mum. Ultimately, we had already said goodbye to mum by her bedside as she died, and the body in the coffin that was on show, was just the empty shell. We knew she had already enjoyed almost two months of dancing with her heavenly father – the service brought some sense of closure to us, but we still hope to celebrate her life with the wider group who should have been with us later this year…

Here is mum’s poem, which describes the desperate journey of her body giving way, of longing for release – and the joy of the promise of resurrection with Jesus…

Goodbye death

It’s cold in here,
A cold that reaches deep inside the bones.
The normal warmth of flesh
Is ebbing, receding, withdrawing
From a body, racked in pain.
It’s had enough, this body
It’s ready to let go,
To walk right in 
To the grisly spectre of death
Beckoning, calling to failing breath.
Flesh, no longer responding to life.
Hands, unable to grasp or reach
To hold a loved one.
Time, ticking away.
How many more rasping breaths
Until  –  Release.


No longer struggling, lungs relaxing
Letting go, it’s time now to depart.
Death has conquered the flesh
It no longer has the will to live.
But the spark inside, the soul, the spirit
Reaches out, towards the beckoning light.
The light of life is waiting, calling
Into eternal life, into everlasting day.
No more darkness, no more pain,
No more fighting the enemy, the disease,
But life again, a new abundant life
Free from pain and sorrow.
A body new, to dance, and sing and laugh
Join with the angels round the throne.
Life on earth has finalized
Now is life eternal
All promises fulfilled
A life now with our Saviour God
In heaven’s glorious light.