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October 26, 2020: We are huddled in a covered wagon while arrows of the deadly COVID-19 virus whistle over our heads.
During this second wave of the pandemic, little Belgium is once again one of the hardest hit countries in Europe.
Our former prime minister, our bishop, local people such as our car mechanic, residents in the seniors’ home, members of families to whom we distribute food parcels, and the couple across the street have come down with the virus; some are seriously ill. Everyone here seems to know someone in their immediate family or circle of friends who is afflicted. Nobody has been spared. It is scary.
We are coping by doing the duty of the moment: Morning prayers at 7:30 followed by adoration, Mass generally in the evening in local parishes or communities, (in Brussels, no Masses are allowed until at least November 19), the Chaplet of the Divine Mercy after our evening meal.
The garden is being put to bed, the laundry washed and ironed, our rooms and hallways are swept clean, and, yes, for now, we receive for coffee, in an isolated part of the house and with social distancing, a friend or two.
Many are very anxious, especially the elderly and the widowed, because they can’t see their families and don’t even know if they themselves will be the next statistic. We listen with open hearts, having no easy answers except to turn towards God. They leave reassured, feeling a new peace.
Nowadays we no longer have to ask the question, “Now how many for dinner?” The answer is always the same, “five.” We are opening up a bit more among ourselves; there is a bit more vulnerability. We touch upon questions we never dreamed of that begin with, “What if…?”
Our guest “suite” on the second floor is ready in case one of us gets sick. But, if that were to happen, the other four would be quarantined.
We are increasing the number of phone calls to our friends, many of whom do not have computers and cannot take advantage of social media. We have decided to split them up among us so that we can all share in this chitchat apostolate. It is amazing how a few words over the phone can make such a difference.
We are reassured by the arrival of a new pastor to our municipality. Fr. François is a Passionist priest originally from the Congo. He has a great passion for the Mass, and he preaches the Gospel with great conviction.
He was happy to accompany us in the delivery of food parcels to the poor, seeing first hand their sad living conditions as well as the ravages of illness. Obviously, he has arrived in the sector at a difficult time.
Thanks to a hot summer, supplemented by water lugged in from the municipal well, our garden has produced a Thanksgiving table’s variety of crops. Much of our fruits and vegetables have been processed into Mason jars or freezer bags and the next challenge will be apples donated by friends.
Yes, fairly soon, snow tires will need to be installed on our two cars (even though last year we never really saw any snow). Wood will need to be moved inside to warm the stove-centered corner of our little library, and we will need to bundle up as we wander through the green-covered hills and valleys of the foothills of the Ardennes.
In these foothills, “God holds us in the palm of his hands,” as the old Irish saying goes. We know it’s the same for all of you.
