Remembering, reflecting, and rolling gifts forward

On my last work-related trip in the Before, I watched the CBS Morning News in my hotel room as I got ready for the day. It was March 10, and Italy had just gone into lockdown. I shuddered at the tv footage of desolate public spaces. With equal parts naivete, willful denial, and internalized American exceptionalism, I thought, that could never happen here. Then I went to my conference, where I sat in a room full of people crowded around tables, shook hands with new acquaintances, and ate my buffet lunch after touching the same serving utensils as everyone else.

The reality of what was unfolding didn’t become real until the next day. The NBA suspended operations until further notice. The SEC men’s basketball tournament sent fans home in the middle of a game as a precursor to canceling the event entirely. These actions grabbed my attention since pro and college sports are big moneymakers with a lot of beneficiaries. Decisions to pause or end seasons would only be made under the most dire circumstances.

The dominos toppled from there. Church gathered for the last time in the building, but hardly anyone was there. The school system made attendance optional the next week before ending in-person instruction for the rest of the year. Stores began closing. Toilet paper became scarce.

All of this unprecedentedness drove me to a depth of uncertainty and fear that I had never known, compounded by the fact that it was taking place everywhere. There was nowhere a person could go within the surly bonds of earth to escape it. How could we stay healthy? Where could we turn for reliable guidance and help? How long would all of this last? What would it mean on the other side? How could I keep from pulling out every last chunk of my hair in the meantime?

I adapted, of course, like we all did. We had to. I mourn all that we have lost along the way: people, trust in leaders and institutions, jobs, small businesses that couldn’t hang on, time with loved ones, planned experiences we had to cancel, milestones we couldn’t celebrate in the same ways, position descriptions that have long since been tossed out the window, relationships with our church members uncomplicated by disagreements about masks and re-opening pressure, and so much more. And, as we all army crawl toward hope in this season of evermore available vaccines, some of the ways I am different now are good.

I’ve written before about reflecting on lessons from the pandemic. I decided recently to approach this from a slightly different angle, that of asset mapping. In this exercise you take all of the gifts you have access to - financial, physical, relational, skill-based, and anything else you can think of - and put each on a separate sticky note. Then you put them all on the wall, take stock, and dream of new ways to put those gifts together in service to your (individual or corporate) mission.

I decided to do this virtually, using Google Keep to visualize gifts I gained or unearthed during the pandemic. (If you haven’t used it before, Google Keep is very intuitive. You can find it in the Google apps tab in your Google-based email account.) I brainstormed all the gifts I could think of, then I color-coded them:

• brown for new physical assets

• yellow for new outlets/platforms

• blue for new teaching/leading opportunities

• green for new products I’ve created or credentials I’ve earned

• pink for new discoveries about myself

• purple for new skills

Here’s what this looked like:

If you want to do this exercise for yourself, your leadership team, or your church, you can start with specific gifts or with categories that prompt thinking about particular assets. Create any buckets you’d like, and make sure you think broadly about intangibles. Note that you don’t have to come up with a lot of post-its or pins for the reflection to be fruitful.

Now that I have my virtual sticky notes, I can easily refer to them when I get discouraged, and I can group them to think about what my ministry looks like in ways that take into account what this year has wrought. This asset mapping is a means of honoring the experience of this year and to using it to reimagine as necessary, even as I do the parallel process of muddling through grief.

On this one year anniversary of my initial (and slow on the uptake) understanding of what this past year would look like, I celebrate with you all the resilience you have tapped and survival skills you have developed. I can’t wait to see how you will put these gifts to faithful, ongoing use in the After(ish).