We thought today was the final day before travel restrictions came into force (as it turns out, we heard someone jogging through Alhaurín got stopped by the police and fined). Anyway, based on that, Tim and I decide to continue as planned with our run training and drive out to the other side of Alhaurín el Grande to run a 14km trail. It was blissful, honestly, to run with the dogs along the hillside contour and to think more about whether I was rolling through my foot, springing with my achilles, and firing my glutes than about hand-washing, food rationing, and spotting viral symptoms.
We return home and, apart from the relative lack of movement on the roads (not completely different to a usual Sunday morning), everything seems pretty normal. Our elderly neighbour is standing in the street under a red umbrella, talking to another neighbour through her gate. Those two watch out for one another, and we have let them know that we can buy groceries for them if they prefer not to go to the store. One of them is a widow in her mid-eighties, so there’s good reason for her to stay home. She just returned to Spain after visiting family in South Africa and I’m wondering if she wishes she’d stayed there.
We have brunch with the girls and talk about loading the online platform for Manu’s schooling, so that she’s ready for tomorrow. We light the fire and enjoy the cosy feel of the house, aware that by this time next week we might be feeling differently about staying home with books and mugs of tea. The cooler weather seems like a mercy; it’s easier to want to stay home when the weather is cool and damp. We hear the kids next door as they play, but otherwise the street is quiet and none of the cars parked curb side have moved in the last couple of days.
Things get busier when friends turn up for a ‘final visit.’ Their eldest daughter needs to borrow paint for a school art project she’ll be working on from home. They also grab an arm-load of books to read aloud together with their four kids in the coming days. After staying for a cup of tea and a chat, they head out in search of a park, hoping that they won’t find it closed just yet. The kids need to burn off some steam and today may be the last chance to do that all together.
Our parents call us, first mine and then Tim’s. My parents are conscious that Manu has been concerned about them and their relative vulnerability to the Corona virus, so they chat with her and try to commiserate with the State of Alert in Spain (the UK seems to be about a week or so behind contagion levels here). Tim’s parents already sent her an audio message and, in a curiously timed administrative moment, they discussed with Tim the details of their Will.
In the evening, Tim gets Manu’s online school platform working and I talk to her about the family schedule. Initially, she doesn’t respond well to the idea that she can’t just roll out of bed at 9:30 in time for class at 9:40 (still in her pyjamas, of course). Thankfully, she rallies relatively quickly to learning that showering,family devotions, and breakfast will still be necessary fixtures of her morning. I can see that it will be helpful to have a family schedule, with shared expectations of mealtimes, quiet times, chores and (please God) time to work.
All this is casting a very different light on Tim’s intentions to release his local leadership responsibilities in order to reflect on what ministry will look like in the next season. Indeed, the training and ministry centre will be closed, as will the local outreach centre. Two staff families and two or three single staff call the former their home, but apart from them there will be no one gathering at the usual meeting or training times. One couple and a young single woman travelled into Morocco a week ago and may opt to stay there rather than try to return to Spain. Most people are confused and unsure what is okay and what is not and, while we continue to support them relationally, it’s odd for Tim not to be making decisions at a time like this.
I think back just a few days. Tim had returned from a 5-day debrief in France, where he had had time to process some of the events of the last 6 years, including the losses involved in a demanding season of leadership. He wanted to also identify the gifts of this season, and we had sat at the local golf course for a couple of hours with that in mind. Over coffee, I had asked him questions and helped him to draw out those things for which he is grateful. We talked of adventures in different nations, and the way our house has enabled us to host people, and shared family experiences. It seems so timely now, to head into these weeks of restriction with gratitude on our minds.
The house is growing quiet. It’s time for Manu to go to bed and for the dogs to go out to their kennel. Tomorrow brings with it a new reality: Manu schooling from home, which she always said she would never do, and all of us confined to barracks. For now everyone is at peace, and I am grateful.
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