And the whistle blew
It’s been a year since we learned what it means to live during a pandemic. I still don’t understand how it happened, or why, but most importantly, no one has the answer of when it will end.
If people are now getting their second round of vaccines, does that mean in the next weeks/months the cases of COVID will decrease? Then why are they telling us to wear more than one mask? I have a hard enough time breathing through one, much less two. Why can’t the information, which determines our daily routines, be consistent? Wear a mask or not, wear two, maybe three? Go to public places with a mask, don’t go anywhere and wonder if you should go, have family over and worry if they have Covid, don’t have family over and be depressed. What the heck is happening? When will this be over? When is it my turn to get the dang vaccine? I have a stuffy nose, do I have Covid? Should I get a test?
Luckily I have a dog for a co-worker who insists I go on a walk every hour-and-a-half. My mind was racing, about all of the above questions, when I heard the train coming. Nothing unusual. The train comes nearly every hour, except this time, when I was about to have an anxiety attack, over everything I don’t know, the train didn’t blow it’s one long signal. It blew the symbolic knock everyone is familiar with. That knock that signals, “it’s just me, let me in.”
I’ve heard the train whistle a thousand times before and can’t remember it ever being anything but a warning to those sitting at the crossing, telling them not to be the wise guy, with the long threatening blows.
That’s when it happened. While concentrating on the different train whistle, I stepped in a mole tunnel (of all things, I despise these rodents) and fell to the ground. It was a hard fall and it took a few minutes to get a grip on the fact it was freezing outside and not only were my hands covered in frozen mud, I peed my pants. Yep, I said it, I peed my pants. That’s what happens when you’re over the hill and you fall to the hard ground.
There was no one to be humiliated by, except the dog and myself. I limped to the house, since I had twisted my ankle on the way down, with the dog in tow. I broke down and cried. For having to be in a pandemic, for watching my granddaughters perform their dance recital in masks, for not being able to get rid of the moles and because I’m tired of worrying.
I don’t know what 2021 will bring and whether anything will be normal again. All I could do was change my clothes, give the dog a treat and get back to the grind.
Maybe the train whistle was the knock I needed.
Luke 11:9 And I tell you, ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you.
Sandy Turner lives in Independence. Email her at firstname.lastname@example.org.