This box represents so much to me.
We picked up our kids’ school materials last weekend to prepare for an indefinite period of homeschooling.  Like the rest of the known universe, our schools are closed. I am henceforth in charge of simultaneously managing the formal education of a 6th grader and a 2nd grader. I teach adults for a living; I’m well aware that I have neither the skills nor the patience to engage in primary school instruction. This box represents unfamiliar territory.
The amazing teachers, administrators, and counselors at the school cleaned out lockers and desks (think about all of the fun and yucky stuff they found). Then they packaged all the supplies we would need to ease the transition.  They put everything into carefully labeled boxes for the kids, ready to be opened and absorbed in a new environment. This box represents a dedication to learning.
I felt the love and attention each box was given as they were carefully loaded by volunteers into the car.  But something wasn’t right; it felt cold.  The sterility and caution of the current environment was apparent.  Everyone wore gloves and stood awkwardly far apart from each other.  The typical warmth of our school community was missing. This box represents social distancing.
It broke my heart to tell my daughter she couldn’t get out of the car to hug her favorite principal when we arrived at school. Teachers were fighting back tears as they waved from afar and told us how much they missed their students.  This week we’ve gotten so many emails and check-ins from everyone at school saying how hard the physical separation is. We feel it.  This box represents the love teachers have for their students.
We’ve spent the last week foraging through the books and supplies in the box.  Both kids were relieved to have familiar materials as we worked through the first week of homeschool.  The textbooks, pencil stubs, and incomplete sets of crayons provided surprising comfort.  This box represents my kids’ nervous excitement about schooling at home.
This is our daughter’s last year on the ‘lower’ campus of our school.  The thought of her not returning to her second-grade classroom, sitting with her friends, and listening to her fantastic teacher is devastating.  She may not swing at recess or eat in the cafeteria or worship in the chapel again.  This box represents an unfamiliar grief.
Our first week of distance learning, utilizing the tools carefully packed in this box, was fraught with highs and lows. We are all adjusting and finding ways to connect to the material, to normalcy, and to each other. There were no instructions in the box. There were no answers in the box. This box represents an indefinite period of uncertainty.
Also, I’m really delayed in getting this post together. It has been on my ‘To Do’ list for almost a week.  I find my ability to focus and prioritize my own needs has significantly diminished in quarantine. I’m working hardest to preserve calm and stability within the walls of our home without the freedom of exploration or luxury of socialization. And we’re adjusting. We’re practicing grace and finding fun where we are instead of seeking it somewhere else. This box represents a new (albeit temporary) normal.
Vulnerability is not winning or losing; it’s having the courage to show up and be seen when we have no control over the outcome.
Brene Brown
