“Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator, but among those whom I love, I can; all of them make me laugh.”
― W.H. Auden
Vociferous bird song greets me in the morning these days and sunlight emerges in breathtaking pinks and oranges. Whether I wake refreshed or a little bedraggled from middle-aged sleep disruptions, opportunities for joy beckon just outside my window.
During the pandemic, especially that first spring of 2020, what had become the annual sense of liberation and excitement of spring turned foreboding. There was an eeriness to the natural world’s awakening as we heard mounting death tolls, and we weren’t yet sure it was even safe to gather with people from other households outdoors. Our family has a ‘porchrait’ from that time, supporting a local photographer who was taking family photos of folks perched on their front steps from a safe distance. It was late April, just a few weeks into the pandemic. We already looked somehow different. Three years later, I find myself still vaguely mistrustful of the sun and birds – as if the decades of my life of fully joyous springs disappeared under the shadow of Covid.
There is so much to mourn as we reconfigure ourselves and our world after the years of pandemic living. Alongside the mourning, glimmers of joy remembered, shared, offered and celebrated helps us to make meaning and keep going.
As we continue to reconnect with folks we haven’t seen in a long time, there are many joys we recall that we didn’t get a chance to share in real time while Covid ruled our lives. Our circles became smaller and our stories of daily struggles and celebrations somehow became smaller too. I find delight in reconnecting with an old friend and then remembering a story I suppressed for lack of a fresh audience. Telling it outside the family for the first time, I get to revisit that small moment of domestic hilarity or mishap. Both the memory and the knowledge that I have friends who want to listen to my life minutiae are balms to heal some of those pandemic wounds.
Joy in the form of shared laughter continually heals us, no matter how tough the circumstances we face. On April 30, we’ll share in joy in the form of humor! I would love to know your favorite (clean) jokes or funny stories to weave into the service. Would you please Meanwhile…
from Rev. Parisa
“Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator, but among those whom I love, I can; all of them make me laugh.”
― W.H. Auden
Vociferous bird song greets me in the morning these days and sunlight emerges in breathtaking pinks and oranges. Whether I wake refreshed or a little bedraggled from middle-aged sleep disruptions, opportunities for joy beckon just outside my window.
During the pandemic, especially that first spring of 2020, what had become the annual sense of liberation and excitement of spring turned foreboding. There was an eeriness to the natural world’s awakening as we heard mounting death tolls, and we weren’t yet sure it was even safe to gather with people from other households outdoors. Our family has a ‘porchrait’ from that time, supporting a local photographer who was taking family photos of folks perched on their front steps from a safe distance. It was late April, just a few weeks into the pandemic. We already looked somehow different. Three years later, I find myself still vaguely mistrustful of the sun and birds – as if the decades of my life of fully joyous springs disappeared under the shadow of Covid.
There is so much to mourn as we reconfigure ourselves and our world after the years of pandemic living. Alongside the mourning, glimmers of joy remembered, shared, offered and celebrated helps us to make meaning and keep going.
As we continue to reconnect with folks we haven’t seen in a long time, there are many joys we recall that we didn’t get a chance to share in real time while Covid ruled our lives. Our circles became smaller and our stories of daily struggles and celebrations somehow became smaller too. I find delight in reconnecting with an old friend and then remembering a story I suppressed for lack of a fresh audience. Telling it outside the family for the first time, I get to revisit that small moment of domestic hilarity or mishap. Both the memory and the knowledge that I have friends who want to listen to my life minutiae are balms to heal some of those pandemic wounds.
Joy in the form of shared laughter continually heals us, no matter how tough the circumstances we face. On April 30, we’ll share in joy in the form of humor! I would love to know your favorite (clean) jokes or funny stories to weave into the service. Would you please share them here by April 25th?