Quarantined

This long blog absence constitutes one of the manifestations of a self-imposed quarantine. The sickness I haven’t wanted to spread is my own fear, doubt and discouragement; writing about it would have the effect of exposing others to my contagion. When someone you love is struggling to stay positive and hopeful, they don’t need the added burden of reading that their loved ones are struggling because of them. At least that’s how the thought process goes. It turns out, however, that my blog hiatus is rather pointless; the people I want to protect are the same ones I live with and am constantly around. Even without words, not much escapes the careful observation of those I’m closest to on a daily basis.

This is both good and bad. There’s no getting around the fact that people who are in need are – well, in need, and that means that others have to step up and sacrifice time, effort, and money in order to meet those needs. Most people I know have a very difficult time asking for help. We all hate to be a burden on someone, but even more, having to ask for help is a forced acknowledgment of our own helplessness and inadequacy. The loss of self-sufficiency and control is a heavy blow.

As it happens, though, this can also be the good part. The most wonderful thing about love is that it cares, and it is fulfilled in serving and helping those we love who are hurting. It turns out that we are designed for serving. We are designed for giving. We are designed for sharing and supporting, even in the hard things. What a marvel, that we are built in such a way that we feel the most human when we are giving ourselves to someone in need.

I once had to have a stern talk with Yvonne to make her understand that she was not helping me by shielding me from bad news about her condition; she was in fact depriving me of the fulfillment I receive from sharing in her pain and serving her.

Fortunately I have wonderful friends who care enough to say the same to me, now, so I’ll be leaving my self-imposed quarantine.