Riggins Christmas 2020

Next summer Linda wants us to build a fire pit in the back yard. Once we finish the project—and the governor and/or God sounds the virus all-clear—we'll invite everybody to a bonfire. Bring your masks. You won't be taking them home.

We all know people who've had COVID-19. Many of us know people it has killed. It's tragic. I pray daily for the safety of the most vulnerable, including my mom. Yet life has gone on. And by the grace of God, this has actually been a good year in our family.

Hours after Rory's birth

(Click on the pictures to enlarge them.)

In late October we welcomed our second grandchild, Rory Anne Muse, to the family. She, Laura and Sam and big brother Theo are well. Theo loves all vehicles, drawing with chalk on the driveway, books and imitating animals. (He does a great horse.) Rory's repertoire is still somewhat limited. Until delivering her Laura taught kindergarten online. Her leave extends well into 2021, when Grandmas Cindy and Linda will offer serious support. Sam continues to work hard—at the office and at home.

 

Dan got engaged to the estimable and wonderful Lauren. They plan an August wedding and as of this writing, it looks probable that the vaccines will make that happen. He has hit the home stretch in his residency at Riley Children's Hospital and hopes next to begin a fellowship in public health with an emphasis on data. She teaches and continues work on her PhD.  She also helps out with community organizations serving disadvantaged people.  

Post-proposal

 

 

Linda's parents and my mom have soldiered on, taking wise precautions that have kept them safe to date. The isolation has probably hit them the hardest. But they have lived through tough times before. Their generation remembers the Great Depression and global war. While this pandemic has frightened and inconvenienced them, their resolute attitudes never fail to impress. As the years pass Linda and I grow increasingly grateful for their example of faithful determination.

 

Thanksgiving--in many ways

 

Our lives have not changed markedly. We still visit with family. I still serve the church, though this whole thing has given me an appreciation I never expected to have for face-to-face meetings. Linda works a little here and there, enough to add some nice furniture to our cozy home. We walk our dogs. God has blessed us and we know it. Coming to Terre Haute and this church was an inspired decision. We are thankful.

Whatever your situation, we pray that you too might have peace and gratitude in your hearts. And don't forget: bring your masks.

Dogs

During my teen years our family lived in the hills southeast of Bloomington, Indiana. Our house had a panoramic view of the “Slow Side” of Lake Monroe. I loved to take our German Shepherds on lllooonnnggg walks through the forest, up and down those hills. Greta, a silver-and-black beauty, was the smartest dog I have ever known—and the mother of Wolf, my black-and-tan, hundred pound hunk of affection and anxiety. They were utterly trustworthy. I never had to leash either one. Even when we scared up a raccoon the dogs would only bark and make half-hearted rushes. They were protecting me, and I never feared for myself no matter how far from any house we got. Rumor had it bears and big cats had been sighted. I didn't believe it, and I didn't care.

We took those walks year round, except for mid-November to early December. This time of the year the bucks all get on Deer Tinder looking for hook-ups. This in turn brings Hunteri Americanus, a species closely related Homo Sapiens, into the woods. Hunteri Americanus often did not differentiate between deer and actual Canus like Greta and Wolf. It was best not to risk it.

Risk/reward lays heavy on all our minds these days. How best to calibrate shutdowns and social distancing vs. economic and mental health consequences? Do I believe in my conclusions strongly enough to take the risk of expressing them openly? What the heck should we do for Thanksgiving?

One thing about long walks: they give you time to think. If you want to. My wife Linda and I have two dogs. We take them on walks twice a day. When she has gone ninety miles away to care for our daughter's family, I take the dogs by myself. As they have little to say, it does give me time to think.

Here is something I thought this past Monday morning: I cannot muster the energy to care about the grasping at power we see in the wake of this election. I cannot find it in me to get worked up about other people's COVID decisions, unless they directly threaten the well-being of people I love. Including me. I could not care less about “owning” anybody or “winning” an exchange on social media at the cost of losing a friendship.

 When we got back to the house my “girls”, Brianna and Keela, allowed me to decouple their harnesses and pull off their sweaters. They were patient because they knew the next step in the dance: the handing out of treats. They are always so insanely happy with just one. Almost as happy as they get every time I come home from work. They seem to have grasped a teaching of both Jesus and the Eastern mystics: happiness comes not from power but from relationship. May we all find the power to live in that truth.

Memorial Thanks

Things I'm grateful for this Memorial Day.

For my father and uncles who served in the military. Only months before he died I learned my Uncle Steve had worked with the Army Intelligence branch in D.C. Uncles Bob, Norm and Don served in the Marines. Dad played the trombone in the Army band and drove a staff car for his base's commanding officer.

For my wife Linda, a wonderful partner in every way. Not that this would surprise anyone who knows her, but the love and energy she pours into our grandson are infinite. During lockdown she and I have ridden our bikes around Terre Haute to visit church members in their driveways. She can really ride, but sometimes I have to—uh—encourage her to speed up because she likes to look at the houses and yards. This has been such a fun and useful thing we have decided to keep doing it for as long as the weather and our bodies permit.

For team players. Sadly, we are not all in this together. The old divisions have reappeared in our society. While predictable when the stress lasts so long, it still bothers me when I see people making selfish, defiant choices. But thanks to those who care for others enough to do the safer thing and wear masks in public spaces, who pass on the temptation to use the crisis to push their agendas, who muster the strength to be relentlessly kind.

For the heroes in the emergency rooms and COVID wards. The word hero has gotten watered down from overuse. But these folks are gold-plated, Grade A heroes. Nobody knew what would actually happen. Try to recall how little we understood just a few weeks back. How does it spread? How deadly is it? Would this drug/therapy/public health practice work? Through all the uncertainty, and in some places swamped nearly to the drowning point, these aides, janitors, nurses and doctors grimly donned their protective gear and faced the monster day after day. I thank God for them.

For my life. I often wonder how I got to have the one I did. Sure, I worked hard in school. I've tried to show up every day. But never in a million years did I earn what I've been handed: preeminently Linda; a beautiful, practical, caring daughter; a sensitive, smart son; a grandson whose smile melts me every time; a healthy, optimistic, faithful church. Believe me, I've tried to screw it up. So far I have failed and again, I thank God.

I wish for every person who reads this far that God would give you those amazing gifts of the Spirit: love, peace, patience, hope and all the rest. Especially on Memorial Day, 2020.