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By Michelle Velbis — Colorado Springs, Colorado … I am a middle school teacher and principal. As of March 30, I still dress like a professional. I still drive to my office. I still start school at 8:00 a.m. My students and I have devotions, a time of worship, and prayer. We talk about the days assignments and anything else that might be on their minds.

What’s different about teaching during a pandemic? I am the only one in my classroom. I “meet” with my students through Zoom. Staff meetings, administrative meetings, board meetings are all virtual now. I eat lunch by myself, sit a lot more than I would like in front of a computer, and spend more time creating lessons and trying to find creative ways to reach out to my students and parents.

Keeping students on task in class is hard enough. Give them all the free time they want with little or no supervision and accountability – I have some students thriving and others bombing. I send a lot more texts and emails to parents to try to keep them informed and connected to their student’s learning and achievements. Just like the students, some parents are succeeding, and others are not.

As a “coach” to my students, I really feel like I have one hand tied behind my back. Normally, I am in the ring with them, cheering them on. Online learning takes a lot of self-discipline and that is a trait that is lacking these days in my classroom under normal circumstances. Add a whole house of distractions, video games, movies, social media – who wouldn’t have a hard time focusing?

As many teachers have commented, having a mute button has been nice at times, but honestly, I miss the face-to-face connection with my students. I can’t read their body language or facial expressions, especially when they only share a black screen with their name on it. It feels institutional and impersonal.

Although, I do like the fact that I meet with every one of my students throughout the day individually. We go over math problems and anything else they might need help with. I get to see family pets, hear their siblings in the background, and once and awhile, mom or dad might pop up on the screen.

I also like the fact that my day is a little more flexible. During my lunch break, I can go for a walk if I want to. If I need to quickly “meet” with a parent between classes – no problem, I can hop on Zoom. Grading assignments from home without lugging books and strewn papers is nice. In addition, students have no excuses that they can’t find a paper – they turn their assignments in electronically.

COVID-19 has brought with it instantaneous flexibility and creative thinking. I have been stretched in ways I could never have imagined and so have my students. All in all, I think we have done pretty well. I am proud of myself, my staff, and students.

My students and I also agree that COVID-19 has given us more time with God and our families and this is something I count as a priceless blessing. Yes, we are in the middle of a storm, but we get to be in the boat with the Master Teacher.

–Michelle Velbis is principal of Springs Adventist Academy, Colorado Springs; photo supplied.

By Dany Hernandez — Littleton, Colorado … I was surrounded by a hundred strangers at a street-side restaurant in a small coastal town in southern France. If you took time to notice the conversations around you, you’d hear French, Spanish, German, Italian and of course the English of my family and friends. And although the only people I knew were those right across from me, I felt a strong connection to everyone around me. Why? Because laughter, joy, food and community, being key components of what makes us human, tap into areas of our lives that are communal to all of us and give us a sense of togetherness.

Well, and that’s why I hate COVID-19.

I’m not even going to pretend I know what New York or Italy are experiencing. I’m not going to make it sound as if I’m special in any way for getting up each day and heading to a hospital to provide support for families, patients and staff. Honestly, I feel honored and blessed to have work at a time when so many people are struggling. But, don’t be fooled this Covid-19 thing is emotionally and physically draining.

As chaplains, most of our ministry is simply being present. Many times, we sit quietly next to a family member or a dying patient with the only gift we have to offer, presence. And that is why these times are so difficult for patients, family, nurses, doctors, and chaplains. The one thing all of us can do well has been taken away from us. Many times, I’ve said that “togetherness has nothing to do with proximity” but it sure does help. COVID-19has taken from us the ability to hug someone who just lost their spouse, to shake the hand of a first-time dad, to high-five a nurse leaving the hospital after a 12-hour shift. Instead we’ve had to learn how to keep a 6-foot radius around other humans, to smile with our eyes since the rest of our bodies are covered with protective equipment, to look in the eyes of a daughter and say, “I’m sorry you can’t see your mom.”

There’s a reason God said, “It’s not good for man to be alone…” That’s not how we were created, that’s not how the divine exists. But instead we’ve been forced to watch a spouse of someone passing away in the ICU, unable to be in the room but watching from a distance. Hands on the glass door, tears down her face… talking softly and sometimes loudly, hoping the volume of her voice would penetrate the double pane glass and the unconscious state of her husband, assuring him that she was there – with him. This virus has forced us to take on much of the emotional stress of family members by sitting in their place next to the patient, by speaking the final words they’ll hear on behalf of the family, by holding a stranger’s hand until their last breath, because it was the only hand allowed in the room.

There’s a strange sort of stillness all around us these days. Our staffing needs in our hospitals have changes and what used to be a busy unit, now sits dimly lit and quiet like an abandoned western town at dusk. At the same time, our ICU, just a floor away, is the hub of frantic activity. But even in that frantic environment there’s an unsettled quietness. There’s a sense of anonymity when all of us are wearing headgear and masks. The identities and uniqueness of our caregivers erodes by blending into the common landscape of sky-blue scrubs of everyone around us. Now, we have to wear stick-on nametags on our backs and head covers, just so our co-workers and friends can know who we are. It’s easy to feel alone and unnoticed.

Our associates don’t need more snacks, although those are always welcomed. Our associates don’t need another pep-talk, even if those provide enough motivation to make it through the day. What our associates need is for the rest of the world to see their pain. What they need is to be reminded that, although this present moment sucks, this is the very thing they signed up for when they chose to pursue healthcare.

They chose to stand every day between the dead and the living, between the sick and the healthy regardless of consequences. They chose to put their lives on the line so other people, is spite of race, creed, or background, may have life. What they need is individuals from every walk of life to lift them up in prayer asking for strength, courage, peace and serenity.

And now, more than ever before we are literally standing next patients in the place of family. Now more than ever, nurses, palliative care and chaplains are sharing tears with one another and experiencing grief on behalf of loved ones.

Humans need hugs, and COVID-19 has taken those away. Community and presence are both part of the healing process, and now we’ve been forced to figure out how to incorporate those things into our plan of care without the ability to be next to one another.

As frustrating as that is to all of us, I have to constantly remind myself that love always causes pain. That suffering and grief will always be a part of our lives in this world. And, that our call, even after COVID-19 is no longer a threat, will continue to be difficult and challenging.

I’m honored to be part of such an amazing group of people.

“When you go out and see the empty streets, the empty stadiums, the empty train platforms, don’t say to yourself, “It looks like the end of the world.”

What you’re seeing is love in action. What you’re seeing, in that negative space, is how much we do care for each other, for our grandparents, for our immune-compromised brothers and sisters, for the people we will never meet.

People will lose jobs over this. Some will lose their businesses. And some will lose their lives.

All the more reason to take a moment, when you’re out on your walk, or on your way to the store, or just watching the news, to look into the emptiness and marvel at all of that love.

Let it fill you and sustain you.

It isn’t the end of the world. It is the most remarkable act of global solidarity we have ever seen.                                                     

-Author Unknown

Dany Hernandez is a chaplain at Littleton Adventist Hospital: selfie photo by the author

By Dr. Heather Thompson Day — Denver, Colorado … Last week I was finishing a work project that took me till after midnight. I felt fine. Tired but, fine. Suddenly, as I was trying to re-read my document, my eyes went blurry. I literally couldn’t get them to focus on anything at all. I couldn’t see. A few minutes later I realized that I was unable to get words that I knew in my brain, to be said by my mouth. I knew that I knew them, but when I tried to say them, the part of my brain that controlled language, was simply not functioning. It lasted for about an hour, and it was very scary and frustrating.

This has happened to me only one time before. It was three years ago, and I was finishing my doctoral program and studying for comprehensive exams. I felt fine. Tired, but fine. Suddenly my eyes got blurry, and I could no longer read and then my brain struggled to provide me with language for words that I knew. I was scared I was having a mini stroke at 30. I went to the ER, and after a couple tests, was told that what I had wasn’t a stroke at all, but something called a migraine with aura, which often only occurs when someone is under acute stress. I was not fine.

I know how to take care of my family. I know how to handle tuck in’s and bath time. Every night before my kids go to sleep, I tell them one thing I am proud of them for. I know how to support my husband. I know what words to say to keep him focused, and what look to give to make him feel loved. I am really good at being a team player at work, writing the emails no one else wants to draft, and telling my boss he can count on me to tie up the loose ends.

You know what I am not good at? Taking care of myself. According to the American Institute of Stress, about 33 percent of people report feeling extreme stress. 77 percent of people experience stress that affects their physical health and 73 percent of people have stress impact their mental health. Stress is literally killing us in this country. We are buried beneath it and we all exist in it so deeply that we trick ourselves into believing it’s normal. Often, we don’t realize the toll it is taking on us physically or mentally, until there is an actual disruption to our daily lives. A panic attack, a migraine with aura, or worse.

This week, I want you to reclaim your Sabbath. The fact that as Seventh-day Adventists, we get to fully grasp a God who commands our rest, is incredibly beautiful. God doesn’t just want your worship; He wants your rest. What does that tell you about the character and image of God? Self-care should not be a privilege afforded to the wealthy. In God’s ideal government, it is a command afforded to all creation.

So, breathe. Watch the show you worry is a waste of your time. Read the book you know you won’t be able to put down. Take a nap, go for the walk, call and sit on the phone with a friend. Do something for you. Let your body take a break from the chaos that is COVID-19, and the worry that is life in 2020.

But above all that, this week, keep your Sabbath. Rest in Him. Because we serve a God who doesn’t just want your productivity. He wants your rest.

Dr. Heather Thompson Day is a member of LifeSource Adventist Fellowship, and a communication professor at Colorado University, and author of six books, including Confessions of a Christian Wife. Photo by Davide Cantelli on Unsplash

By Erick Maldonado — Loveland, Colorado … Being outside can provide a nice break from being locked in during this long quarantine. Fortunately for neighborhoods across America, kids are finding a new reason to venture outside.

“Bear Hunts,” as they’re called, involve placing stuffed bears in windows visible from the street. Kids can then walk through the neighborhood and attempt to spot them all. It adds a little bit of interest to walking around the neighborhood, especially since that’s all they can do outside now.

“I noticed bears in windows around my neighborhood, and I thought it was cute,” says Naomi Boonstra, a senior at Campion. “I looked up what they were for and decided to get in on it. Now, I see the kids in my neighborhood stopping outside the house every once in a while, to point at my three little bears in the front window. It’s a nice way to stay feeling like a community when we can’t see each other as much.” Throughout this pandemic, we’re seeing more and more people finding creative ways to draw together.

Walking through his own neighborhood, Ben Maxson, a junior at Campion, noticed a sign on a house that read, “We love the senior class of 2020!” Then he saw another house with a similar sign. He noticed that the neighborhood was full of them.

“I think it’s really cool that people still want to show their excitement for the graduating classes this year,” says Ben. “It’s a small act, but it shows big character.”

Although the pandemic has forced us into isolation, it’s nice to see the spirit of unity among communities around America. Together, we can shine a little bit of light on a dark situation.

Erick Maldonado is a Guest Contributor to This Week at Campion; photo supplied