Life on the line consistently assumes some degree of risk - a worldwide pandemic increases that risk in ways we had not prepared for.
At the beginning of shutdowns and state restrictions, we’d uprooted our cozy campground in TN and were preparing to change states. In that instant, I feared that we’d made the wrong decision. Though linework is inevitably essential, I feared the amount of time that would pass before we received a bid call.
Two weeks passed and our call came. We loaded up for IL. The ghost town that our new campground presented as left an eerie feeling in the pit of my stomach. Open only for those traveling for work, we found ourselves amongst six couples total at a campground suited for 100+ rigs. No community buildings open, playgrounds roped off, all activities canceled. Orientation was foreign as well. PPE packaged in individual boxes, all documents signed electronically.
His return from the first day on the job sat the tone for how we’d continue to handle daily life moving forward.
I meet him outside as he pulls in. Spray bottle filled with 90% alcohol, I spray him from head to toe, the bottom of his boots included. As he goes inside to put all of his clothes straight into the wash, I spray his truck in the same manner - inside and out. Before his clothes finish in the washer, I’ve continued to disinfect his cooler, his jacket, his wallet, his knife, his keys.. the list lengthens. We’ve gone through more detergent and disinfectant in the last month than in the previous six.
A few weeks ago, a coworker called in sick. My heart sank. We uprooted our normal lives to travel for the benefit of our future. If one of us falls fatally ill with COVID-19, this has all been for nothing.
In such an uncertain time, I’ve learned to hug a little tighter, laugh a little more often, and continue thanking God each day that he comes home safe.
With a little faith, we’ll all get through this.