Part 1: When It Began

Chapter 1: Loud House

“First you need to know what has already been done. Are you aware of what God has done? Are you alert to what God is doing? Do you have any idea at all of what has been going on since God made heaven and earth and all the centuries since? If you devise a plan of action that doesn’t take into account God’s activity, you are going to do the wrong thing.” Eugene Peterson, As Kingfishers Catch Fire. (New York: WaterBrook, 2017) 139.

Sunday, March 15, 2020

	Six days ago I journaled that something must change, that life had become intolerable. Then I’d listed all aspects of life that I wasn’t enjoying, none of which included the children’s school closing for two weeks, my husband setting up his office in the middle of the living room, my prayer group refusing to meet with me, a downpour of rain, our twenty-year-old lodger losing her job, and some sort of illness that has the world in a complete panic.
	Should I be in a panic too?
	Nothing can compel me to wade into headlines about ghastly symptoms and alarming statistics. Planning amidst endless noise what the children will do for the next two weeks is problematic enough for me, thank you very much.
	Husband Steve seems positively delighted at this sudden plot twist. He didn’t want to go to work next Monday anyway. He’s happy not to fight traffic on the 5 Freeway for an hour going and an hour coming. And he thinks three adults and three children all together in a three-bedroom house is just grand.
	He’s currently setting up his work space in the living room while his Afro Celts music blares. For the time being, baby Johnny’s walker keeps him away from Steve’s desk, but any day now I’m sure he will learn to climb out of his walker, and then he will upset any semblance of order in this house.
	Earlier in the week, Steve told me to stock up on peanut butter, dry milk, canned fish, and dry beans. I obey, uncertain as to why. Is California planning on closing its grocery stores? Add the extra groceries that Steve had me buy to all the food our lodger, Shannon, brought home from Mission Square Restaurant after they let her go, and now our kitchen is jam packed with onions, pasta, frozen pizza bread, bags of lettuce, rolls of mozzarella, and five take-home boxes of baked bread. We will eat the restaurant’s food for dinner . . . if I don’t go crazy first.