Friday 20 March

It's already Day 5. We've had an entire working week confined to the house and it doesn't look likely to end soon. News from Italy is dire and I can only imagine that Spain will follow along similar lines. The original directive that spoke of a two week lockdown only ever seemed a starting point and I don't know anyone who thought this would be over within a fortnight. Schools are now giving 11 April as a possible end point, and I imagine that is being said for the sake of the kids.

So what to do? When days stretch into weeks and you are home with the same couple of people, leaving only briefly for groceries or dog-walking, and then only individually ... there is a great need to contain the days within some sort of structure. It makes me think of a canal, with its sections of waterway interspersed with locks that regulate the flow of water. Without a routine, we'd be in a river that has flooded its banks, water sloshing everywhere and no way to helpfully direct it!

Like any good Brit, my morning starts with tea! I love the fragrance of the tea leaves, the familiar rhythm of measuring them into the pot, adding boiling water, leaving it to stand. Such a simple joy.

 The tea comes with me back to the bedroom for what is, for me, the most delicious part of the day. While the house is quiet (come rain or shine, Tim is always on the balcony upstairs at this time) I relish the uninterrupted time to read, journal, reflect and pray. During the chaos of these days, this feels more vital than ever. In these morning moments, I remind myself the greater truth beyond the latest news updates; I ground myself in the unchanging and yet ever responsive reality of God. This is a time to reflect on how our unusual situation is affecting me, and a time to bring to mind people in other places who we care about.

Today I find myself thinking about a team mate who was visiting Morocco with her dad when Spain declared a State of Alarm. She will ride out the lockdown from there, while today her dad will travel 6 hours to Marrakech where he will try to get on a flight for Americans seeking repatriation. There is no guarantee he'll make it, so I add my prayer that he will.

For the longest time, a morning workout has been part of my routine and now I need it more than ever. I use an online platform with hundreds of program options and this week I started one that was shot live. While my body needs the purposeful activity, I also need the positive and fun vibe that is so evident in the room as the cast workout. These workouts are keeping me positive and help me to feel that, rather than 'wasted time,' our days in confinement have intention and, if nothing else, I can stay fit!

 I shower and make sure Manu is getting ready for school. She is delighted to be able to attend school in her PJs! Her timetable runs from 9:30 to 4:30, so her morning is relaxed enough for her to read in bed before she gets up. This makes for a happier girl!

At 9 all four of us gather at the kitchen bench for breakfast and a family devotion. We use the brilliant book of modern liturgy called Every Moment Holy - I have been amazed this week how appropriate a liturgy for 'waiting in line' or 'experiencing road rage' has been for living in lockdown (they hadn't thought to write one for that eventuality!). We read a psalm each day and pray for those we know who are sick, or vulnerable.

Then it's time for the school run, which has been drastically reduced from 50 minutes to a quick hop from kitchen to bedroom!

Time for me to do some work and mornings I use for desk-work. This week I have been rearranging a training course that would have been starting in May - now moved to November - as well as doing some writing related to our organisation's response to the pandemic. I would normally have been doing some work on a personal study project but I have found it difficult to focus on that this week. I am grateful for a couple of calls with co-workers or young leaders based in other places - it's good to hear how they are doing and to keep focusing on ways to respond positively when circumstances are out of our control.

We all stop to share Manu's mid-morning break time - although honestly, we are simply the providers of snacks that she scoffs in between racing around on the patio with a soccer ball, or playing swingball. The poor kid is missing more opportunities to MOVE and these 20 minutes must not be wasted!

 Later, I am on lunch duty. I have never loved the obligation to cook every day that family life entails, but these days it feels grounding in ways that are good. Again, we gather from bedroom, den or garden for 20-30 minutes of chatter around the food. Away from computers, news feed and social media, these are the moments that feel the most normal, the most real in a surreal world.

In a normal week, I keep afternoons for spiritual direction. Wonderfully, these sessions can continue uninterrupted by the abnormal circumstances in which people find themselves. In fact, we are all even more in touch with our desire to be accompanied by someone who will listen well and help us to find God in all the crazy. Today I connect with a woman who lives alone; I can't imagine how isolating that must feel. Like all of us, she is grateful she has a dog so that she is permitted to go out for short walks.

Manu finishes school at 4:30 and, while she enlists her sister in running around with her, I take Bracken out for a walk. We can only go out one at a time and I find myself missing the chats that dog-walking usually makes possible.

It's Friday and our usual routine includes a Sabbath meal shared with friends. I love this bookend to the week and so we find a way to check in with one another from our 3 different homes. Although it's strange to be sharing this time online, instead of around a table laden with food, we lean into the familiar rhythm of our family-friendly liturgy. We share communion and can't stop ourselves from trying to sing our regular song, although we are all out of time and end up sliding into laughter. There are a few tears - we miss and are concerned for these special friends.

At 8pm the evening is punctuated by the sound of applause as neighbours come outside to express their support for the hard-working medical staff. It is a moment of connection and solidarity at a time when it is easy to feel cut off from the rest of the world. The neighbour whose house adjoins ours says hello from her balcony, thanking us for the bag of lemons Tim had hung on her door.

These are days for slow cooking: making dough from scratch, slicing ingredients over a glass of wine. By the time the applause has died down, the pizza is ready to come out of the oven. We carry the baking trays with us to the den, where the girls drape themselves over the floor and sofa in their usual weekend movie-night fashion. We have been saving Beauty & The Beast for tonight, a sort of reward for navigating the first week of homeschool for Manu (she's a big fan of Emma Watson, of Hermione fame).

And then it's time for a book, and bed. I have to stop myself from returning to social media at night, a surefire way to disrupt my sleep. We turn out the lights and prepare for another, all too similar day, tomorrow.