Ode to Dumpster Fires

While searching for a Christmas gift online, I noticed many 2020 ornaments listing reminders of the pandemic. They were intended to be funny, and I like finding the humor in difficulty (operating under the assumption that it is better to laugh than to cry). However, seeing those mementos of hard things that I would rather forget made me stop and reflect. What would I memorialize about “the year of COVID” if I could only choose the good things? Was there anything worth salvaging from the wreckage of this year?

I thought back over the long months of 2020, remembering the low points and wishing it could have just been normal. But as I continued to review the year, week by week, I was surprised by the bounty of blessings that poured into my mind. Some were big – like my daughter graduating college (albeit, in the front yard) and two older family members recovering from medical crises. But even little things came to mind and made me smile, like finally completing long-pending projects or hours spent riding bikes along the river with my son. If I tried to put all of the gifts from this year on an ornament, there wouldn’t be enough room. And erasing the year would mean losing the gifts too.

I did things in 2020 I never thought I would do (like cutting other people’s hair, hoarding toilet paper, and “hugging” others from afar like a penguin flapping its wings). But the strange circumstances allowed opportunities to grow closer to friends, family, and strangers – connecting, celebrating, mourning, and serving together in new and meaningful ways as the world turned upside down.

Not only did the world change through the stress and weirdness of 2020, but I changed too, I think for the better. I was home much more than in past years, and somehow, after 25 hectic years with four kids and constant fullness, I learned how to create a healthier life rhythm, becoming more dependent on God rather than my circumstances for feeling at peace. Maybe seeing the frailty of humanity and human institutions reminded me that God is the only real source of peace, hope, and safety anyway.

2020 was a rough year by any standard – no one was left unscathed. And maybe it’s our nature to look at life and see only the worst, like the online ornament-makers did. And sometimes we see the worst because the worst occurred - we lost loved ones. I wish we could get back all the people we lost in 2020. I wish we could slough away the misery of any season and only keep the good. But the sunny patches and the shade are woven together too tightly to separate.

When I think about other hard years in my life (and some, for me, have been worse than 2020), I see that many of the best gifts came from those times. Eliminating the hard parts of life means whiting out the blessings that come during those seasons as well. Taking away 2020 or only focusing on the undeniable challenging aspects – the losses, the fear, the shark birds, the anxiety, the division, the murder hornets, the hurricanes, the unrest, the sadness – would mean giving up all the silver linings, the redeeming leftovers, and the growth achieved. The world keeps churning up negativity and destruction, but God weaves even those into something good, according to His purpose.

I wish all of life could be a sunny day, a warm breeze, and a joyful heart. But the air gets cold sometimes, the leaves fall, the birds grow quiet, and it feels like we’ll never have another warm day in the sun. In the winter, it’s hard to remember that new life is growing under all the dead leaves and the icy, cold ground, ready to surprise us in the spring.

I’m sure the 2020 ornaments will sell. There is a certain camaraderie in commiserating over shared trials and misery – a feeling of being understood and understanding others. But for me, the commiserating can quickly lead to complaining, selectively remembering only the bad stuff. It will be tempting to remember this whole year as a dumpster fire, to bemoan all the hardships. It’s too easy to grumble and can require monumental effort to call up the happy parts. It’s going to take a conscious effort to focus on the things that were good, pure, and lovely. I’ll have to be intentional about noticing how even the terrible aspects of this brutal season have left behind some unexpected gifts and graces.

Everything that happened this past year is part of me now. On January 1, I am going to carry it all into 2021, one way or another. I would rather carry it with thankfulness and not bitterness. On my 2020 ornament, I will write reminders of how God made me stronger, showed me love, gave me hope, stayed with me, and worked (is still working) all things together for good for those who love Him.

Here’s to you, 2020 – not because you were all sunshine and lollipops – but because even from a dumpster fire, God can grow flowers.

What good things will you remember about 2020? How have you seen good come from difficult seasons in life?