The Darkness before Dawn

In this complicated world we do what we can to create order. We organize, corral, and categorize because life is busy, busy, busy and time is a precious commodity. There is so much to do and so little time, and yet we are told we CAN do it all and we CAN have it all. Life coaches provide strategy, self-help books teach positive thinking, and even Oprah promises that if we put our mind to it, we can do and become anything we want.

But then, a microscopic virus emerges and the world as we know it comes to a screeching halt.

Suddenly, our sense of invincibility is shattered with the realization that we are dependent creatures. No person is an island, and with that knowledge comes a measure of vulnerability. So much of what we need in life depends on the work of others: the farmer harvests the crop, factories package it, trucks deliver it, and grocery stores stock it. People work behind the scenes to ensure we have electricity and running water. Trash collectors collect our trash, pharmacists fill our prescriptions, teachers teach our children, and mail carriers deliver our one-click orders from Amazon. 

In the hurricane of our busy lives, the Coronavirus pandemic has pushed the pause button on Life, and all that categorizing and organizing means nothing as we now take one day at a time with a new perspective. I am humbled by how much I need others and inspired by how much we need each other; furthermore, the fact that I am dependent on someone else means that someone out there is dependent on me.

And so, I have work to do. As do we all.

During these days of social distancing and self-isolation, and even as we read stories of stockpiling and listen to the doom and gloom featured on the nightly news, the best of humanity reveals itself again and again as people are choosing to think in terms of “we” and “us” instead of “I” and “me”. 

The stories are heartwarming: civic groups shopping for the elderly; parents sharing homeschooling tips on Facebook; mothers sewing masks to donate to local hospitals; children writing thank you notes to health professionals and members of law enforcement; neighbors gathering on balconies or front porches to share musical talents from afar; priests pastors, and rabbis holding services online; residents of China sending inspirational messages to Italy; and people staying home in solidarity, both to fight the spread of the disease as well as to honor those who are working on the front lines. Every kind gesture reflects what it means to love your neighbor. When my mother, who likes to make her own bread, mentioned how she couldn’t find a bag of flour anywhere, her neighbor stopped by with the gift of a 5-pound bag.

This is not to say the events unfolding daily aren’t sobering, frightening even. We must acknowledge this. But in darkness there is light, in silence there is music, and in the face of overwhelming odds there is faith and hope.

IF we work together.

It has taken a microscopic virus—scary and lethal—to unite us in a big way. Even closed borders, travel bans, and self-isolation cannot stop us from seeing how the world is not so very big after all and, in all the ways that are important, we are more alike than we are different.

Outside our bedroom window is a tree where, every morning, two birds perch on a branch to sing during the darkest hour just before dawn. The birds trill, warble and whistle, but as soon as the sun begins to rise over the horizon they stop singing and fly away. In many ways, we are in that period of darkness before dawn.

Nobel Peace Prize recipient Desmond Tutu once said, “Do your little bit of good where you are; it’s those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world.” We are all in this thing called Life together, and if we do our part for the common good, just like the birds we will soon be able to spread our wings and fly once again into the morning sun.

Maria Novajosky is a freelance writer and author of the book An Ocean, an Airplane, and Two Countries Full of Kisses.