At the end of December 2019, I made a list of 20 books I had hoped to read in the new year. The book list I curated had a bit of everything: memoir, self-help, fiction, and one graphic novel. My choices ranged from authors I already liked, to famous figures I wanted to learn more about, to books that topped Goodreads lists or recommendations from friends and family members. I wanted to grow in my knowledge of societal issues, exercise my imagination, laugh and cry and have interesting topics to discuss over coffee with coworkers or dinner with friends. 

And then 2020 happened. COVID-19 and the ensuing lockdown, quarantine and social distancing measures took away all coffee dates, dinner parties and, quite frankly, most conversations on all topics, interesting or otherwise. I didn’t fly to New York City to celebrate my dear friend’s 30th birthday. I didn’t leave my house for a week — and didn’t find that odd. I didn’t hold my nephew for months after he was born. And I didn’t read 20 books in 2020. 

So what did I do in 2020?

I worked my full time job from my living room, family room, kitchen table and sometimes front porch, all while taking care of my toddler. 

I helped my husband demolish and then design and rebuild our entire kitchen. 

I went through a miscarriage and then six months of another pregnancy — with just 10 more weeks to go!

I spent time at our neighborhood park almost every single day. 

I cooked delicious meals with homemade bread — and also ate Little Caesar’s too many times to count.

I went on lots of walks with friends, often with masks on, catching up loudly from across the lawn. 

I leaned on people to help me more than ever before. We wouldn’t have made it through the year without family and friends stepping up to support us.

I slept in a tent in my parents’ backyard for Walter Family Camp. 

I started a blog. 

I helped create a weekend Bible study for working moms at my church.

And I read dozens of books to Rosie, dozens of times, with silly voices and train sound effects. It’s been so fun to see her grow in her love of reading. She has favorite books and will “read” to herself for minutes on end. 

Let’s be better at celebrating small things

So I didn’t read 20 books in 2020. But I am proud of what I did do. I learned about myself, tried new things, was vulnerable with people, and spent a whole lot of time playing with my daughter. These are things I wouldn’t have necessarily gained from reading 20 books. 

This year has been hard on all of us. We have had to cancel things we looked forward to, and adjust to completely new methods of work, life, etc. Some of us have lost loved ones, and all of us have longed to be together with people we miss. As we look back on our resolutions from a year ago, it’s easy to feel like this these past 12 months didn’t bring us anything good.

But I encourage you to look back on the year and think of what you have accomplished. Not what you planned on or hoped for, but what you did and what you learned, in spite of everything. What is something small that you didn’t do, know, or appreciate before this past year?

Let’s all resolve to be better at celebrating small changes, new recipes tried, multiple Taylor Swift albums released, and other little things that help us through each year — not just 2020. I know I’d love to hear your list! 

P.S. My short, but sweet, 2020 book list

1. One Day by Gene Weingarten
2. The Sun Does Shine by Anthony Ray Hinton
3. The Montessori Toddler by Simone Davis
4. Uprooted by Naomi Novik
5. They Called Us Enemy by George Takei
6. Risen Motherhood by Emily Jensen and Laura Wifler
7. Be the Bridge by Latasha Morrison
8. What is a Girl Worth by Rachael Denhollander
9. I Want to Be Where the Normal People Are by Rachel Bloom
10/11. Ben and I are reading Harry Potter out loud, and this year we finished The Prisoner of Azkaban and The Goblet of Fire.

Early in 2020, my husband discovered mold in our kitchen ceiling. In March, I discovered I was pregnant with our second child. The kitchen renovation is now finished, but the baby didn’t make it to the second trimester.

In the first week of lockdowns and layoffs from COVID-19, we tore down a wall to make room for more counter space. My sister moved in for a few weeks to help take care of our rambunctious toddler and we celebrated Easter and birthdays together as a small, quarantined family. Then, around the fourth week of lockdown, I had a miscarriage.

It was a horrible time. We were trapped at home, afraid of everyone at the store and unsure when we would go back to work or normal life. With no running water to cook or clean with, I resorted to washing our crockpot in a shallow bathroom sink. At the same time I was crying and bleeding, when all I wanted was to have good news to share with the world, that a new baby was joining our family.

There were some very sad days where I stared at my empty walls and thought about my empty womb, and wished things were different.

A few weeks later, the renovation turned a corner. Instead of tearing down, we began building up. New walls, cabinets, and lights were installed. You could see a frame of the beautiful new space it would be.

My heart was taking longer to turn around.  The grief and loss felt unfair and without reason. I knew how much joy my daughter brought me every day, and I couldn’t understand why God would rob me of doubling that. But God continued to put on my heart something I wrote down in a journal hours before confirming the miscarriage:

my dear baby,
I so badly want to see your face, hold you in my arms, and know you. But I have faith that God sees you, holds you, and knows you — and He does the same for me.

So I clung to that word and moved forward. I kept working from home, taking care of Rosie, and watching in amazement as my husband and father-in-law made walls appear in a single day. We had appliances again! Soon — relatively speaking — my husband was installing drawer handles, a shiny green backsplash, and decorative shelves. Our kitchen was once again useful and inviting.

We planted a tree in memory of our lost baby, one that will flower in the spring a year from when the miscarriage happened. We only told our families and a few close friends, and they grieved with us and lifted us up with pizza and hugs and flowers and kind words.

Months passed, and I found out I was pregnant again. Rather than excitement, I felt cautious and hesitant. The weeks passed by and I continued to be pregnant. I made it through the first trimester, and at 19 weeks we saw our beautiful little boy squirming around and hiding behind his hands while the ultrasound technician tried to get a good photo for us. We never got to see the baby we lost, or know anything about him or her. Finally, this next new life inside me began to feel real.

We celebrated our new kitchen by baking bread and cookies and making homemade calzones. As COVID restrictions continued, we made snacks and dinners and carried them outside to share with friends on the front porch or on the lawn. I marveled that just months ago we had nothing but studs and insulation, and now we had a beautiful new place in our home to enjoy.

Today, I sit at our new counter, looking at our finished kitchen project and feeling little fluttering kicks in my belly. I try to think of how I’ve been changed by this experience. Unlike the kitchen, which gets a “wow” reaction from every person who sees it, the transformation within me has been more subtle.

I now know a kind of pain and sadness I never did before, one that is unfortunately shared by so many. Often I catch myself complaining about the trials of taking care of a now two-year-old, and realize that someone else is longing for the chance to do these tedious tasks for their own child someday. On good days I look at strangers in the park or around town and think, you are a miracle! Do you know how many things had to go right for you to exist?

I am so thankful for my beautiful girl, who gives big kisses and is learning new words every day. I’m thankful for the little boy growing inside of me, for every day he is in there and for, Lord willing, many many days on the outside, too. I’m blessed with a supportive husband who literally built me my dream kitchen, and for the family and friends who helped us through our hardest year yet.

The kitchen is done, but I’m still a work in progress. And that’s okay — we all are. The women who shared their stories of loss with me encouraged me in ways I can’t express, and I wanted to share my story with others.  We’re so excited about our new baby, but he’s not the whole story.

The kitchen is new, but we are, too.

A few months ago I was chatting with my Grandmother, whom I affectionately call Gma. If you don’t know my Gma, she’s a feisty, independent lady with a quick wit, great taste in books, and a fondness for Culver’s fish sandwiches. The daughter of Polish immigrants, she became a single mom in the 1960’s, raising her two daughters while teaching English in Detroit Public Schools. Throughout her life she has fought for justice and equality, from pushing back against gerrymandering to teaching refugees sewing skills. She knows the things that matter to her, and she lives her life accordingly.

So back to our conversation. We were talking on the phone, because sadly I’ve been unable to see her except from outside her window since the COVID pandemic began. In the middle of our catchup about Rosie’s newest words or what new style of mask she’s trying out — she’s sewn many hundreds of masks for her fellow assisted living residents and staff — she abruptly asked me this question:

What do you believe, and what will you do with that?

The question caught me off guard, and I didn’t have much of an answer at that moment. I stumbled through something about how I’m trying to balance being a mom and doing my job, and that I want to have more intentional conversations about racism with my family and friends in light of current events.

We quickly wrapped up the conversation, but after hanging up I remained stuck in my seat, struck with the depth of her question and my lack of an answer. In the weeks since that phone call, I’ve found myself coming back to it again and again.

I think in this particular political and historical moment, I see a lot of what my friends, family, and total strangers believe. I see it on social media, on the news, on billboards and front lawns and on hats. But what I don’t see a lot is what they will do with that belief.

We all are shouting from the top of our lungs about what we care about. I love refugees! I hate abortion! I want medical freedom! I want a better education for less money! I want to keep my guns! But I’m not seeing what people are doing to live out these desires, to make these changes happen, to act on their beliefs. I’m not even seeing it in myself. Yes, we can vote in a way that makes sense according to what we believe. But then what?

So what will you do?

I want to challenge you, as I am challenging myself, to do something about what you believe.

First, make a list of three things you have recently discussed/posted about online/argued over with someone. Take a hard look at that list, and then for each of those three things, brainstorm two ways you could take actual physical action on the belief you hold about that thing. An example, by me:

I care about refugees finding a warm welcome, safety and success in their new American homes. As of last week, the refugee resettlement program in the U.S. has been limited to 15,000 people for 2021 — a historic low.
BUT there are still refugees in the Lansing area who have resettled here in recent years. I can do the following to act on my belief that refugees should be welcomed to this country:

1. Frequent a refugee-owned business. Naing Myanmar Family Restaurant is a favorite of mine in Lansing and they’re currently open for takeout.
This is easy.

2. Reach back out to my friends at St. Vincent Catholic Charities, who resettle refugees in Lansing, and see if they currently need any help. I volunteered with them for a number of years, but it’s time to get back into it.
This holds more risk, because I’m already overwhelmed with work and parenting and life. What if they ask for a portion of my already limited time? But if really believe in this, I need to take action.

See? That wasn’t so hard. After you make your list of three things and two corresponding actions for each, I challenge you to share your list with one person — as I am sharing it with you. That way you have someone to hold you accountable to follow through. If you need someone to share your list with, please share it with me!

It doesn’t matter to me what your belief is, or how it may differ from mine. What I want is for each of us to think more creatively about how our beliefs matter, and what our actions say about what we believe. If we all took responsibility in a local, tangible way, I think we would find so much more satisfaction than in endless Facebook comment battles or snide comments behind each others backs.

My Gma in her 80s says at the end of that same phone call that she’s moving slowly from nerve pain and getting little accomplished on any given day. But she’s still spending her time sewing masks and giving them away — taking something she believes in, and doing something about it. What’s my excuse? What’s yours?