By Ann Farabee

That word — COVID — still feels like it belongs to someone else — not me.

My writing often is built around the retelling of my personal experiences, but this one….

This one felt different.
This one felt a little too painful.
This one left me feeling like the story would go on forever.

I tried to get control of it and just let it pass. But I knew. It was COVID and it seemed to be doing exactly what it wanted to do when it wanted to do it.

This has been one of the weakest and most vulnerable times of my life — of our lives. Not only was it me that had been sick, but also my husband and my son. God had allowed both of them to recover much more quickly than me, but the lingering symptoms, the quarantine, and my continued sickness — was tough.

Friends and family kept messaging me, “Are you going to write about it?”

My answer was always the same, “No.”
It was too personal.
Most days the description was something to the effect of, “I am sick. I am still sick.”

Not much of a story.

Truth was — I did not want to write about it. Ever. I felt that nothing could come out of this evil virus that would even remotely be something that could give spiritual inspiration to others. I wanted to forget it.

An enemy had attacked our bodies.
I had not been sure we would win this battle.
I had not been sure if we would be around to raise our grandsons to adulthood.
It was scary for our family.

But on this day — day 20 of the virus — I woke up early. I got out of bed, without even giving it a thought.

Everyone was still asleep. I walked downstairs, opened the blinds, took a deep breath and looked outside.

That girl that runs by my house every morning was running by on day 20 at the exact time I opened my blinds.

It made me smile. I wanted to call out to her, “Good morning! I made it! I think I’m going to live! I can keep watching you run by every morning as I drink my coffee! It’s so good to see you!”

We had waved occasionally, but no, I do not know her.
But — on this day — Day 20 — I did know her. I sure was excited to see her.

So maybe everything was normal?
Except my normal no longer felt normal — until I saw her.
Reassurance came.
The girl was still running. Life had been going on. It still was. It was beautiful.
I cried — for it had been a long 20 days.
Perhaps my normal would return one day.

That’s when I knew — I wanted to share my COVID story with you.
For you — are special to me.

I hope my story gave you hope.
I hope my story encouraged you.
I hope if you are sick that you will be made well.
I hope my normal will return to normal.
I hope that I will always love and appreciate normal.

Isaiah 40:31 says that those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.
That is the promise I held on to.

No, COVID could not and did not control me.
For there is always hope — and hope controls me.

Contact me at annfarabee@gmail.com .