MARY REICHARD, HOST: Today is Monday, October 5th. So glad you’ve joined us today for The World and Everything in It. Good morning! I’m Mary Reichard.
NICK EICHER, HOST: And I’m Nick Eicher. WORLD Commentator Kim Henderson now on the one thing that has not changed despite the reality of COVID.
KIM HENDERSON: Be careful what you post on Craigslist. The couch you’re sitting on, debating whether or not it’s time for it to go? Well, it can be loaded up by someone named Bev and headed down the highway before you have time to realize what you’ve done.
I know this from first-hand experience, and I must say it’s amazing how much more space a room has when that happens–and how much less seating, which can be a real problem. So I joke with my husband as I set out to shop for a new sofa: Get me a license. I’m on a hunt.
After all, how hard can it be? I’m just making a decision that we’ll have to live with what, 10 years at the most? It only has to match the rug, the paint, the drapes, the shades, my skin tone, and every other stick of furniture in the room, right? Not to mention the fabric has to hide popcorn stains, and the frame has to suit the napping preferences of all parties involved. Oh, and there’s those measurements it has to fit, too.
So, the task had to be done, but after a few disappointing attempts, my quest turned into the kind of thing you bemoan to your friends. One listened to my sad story, then told one of her own. It seems her mother-in-law has been searching for a sofa, too. For three years.
Three years? Now I admit, that scared me. I decided to find something. Anything. It’s just furniture, right?
So the question is, why are we still sofaless weeks after our couch went to live with Bev? I’ll tell you why. The novel coronavirus has messed up everything, even furniture shopping. More precisely, it’s messed up furniture production. You can sit all day on slip-covered sofas and chintz chairs in the showrooms, but don’t expect to take one home before Christmas. At least that’s my experience.
I realize couch conundrums are pretty low on the COVID totem pole of concerns, but it woke me up to yet another new reality. I’ve faced a few of those lately, like when my dad tested positive and suited-up pharmacy workers tossed his meds into my trunk from six yards away. And my daughter began another college semester with instructors who don’t seem to take distance learning seriously. And then there’s church. Will we ever enjoy another fellowship meal together?
At the top of the totem pole, though, would be my friend facing death at M.D. Anderson last month. The 48-year-old mother of four was alone because of COVID restrictions. As news of her situation spread, my daughter-in-law shared these hymn lyrics, the kind that can settle us in all our new realities:
Whate’er my God ordains is right,
His holy will abideth;
I will be still whate’er He doth,
And follow where He guideth.
He is my God,
Though dark my road,
He holds me that I shall not fall,
Wherefore to Him I leave it all.
I’m Kim Henderson.