An Open Letter in the Time of Coronavirus

My dear friends and fellow writers, 

My mom has always told me in hard times, “Kelli, take notes. You will write about this one day.” 

We have come to the doorstep of challenging times. God willing, we will all live through these challenging times. But for many of us, the prospect that a number of people haven’t and won’t is wholly new. Those who lived through the Spanish Flu no longer walk among us. We have endured floods and terrorists and mass shootings. Our soldiers and their brave families have fought long wars for twenty years. But we have not sent our entire nation to war in a long, long time. We have not battled on our soil, on our streets, among our neighbors since the Civil War. We must remember that we don’t have to dodge bullets to be engaged in combat. 

We are living history. 

Many of you had plans—many plans—including plans for books. And while it may seem that we will have extra time for writing while we are hunkered down, loving one another through social distancing, we also have extra-urgent responsibilities: daily disinfecting; daily communication with those who are isolated; daily sharing the hope of the gospel; daily creatively caring for the needs of the homebound and vulnerable, the jobless, the poor, the homeless; ramping up production of health care supplies; changing our working models to be entirely video and online-based.  

You know the individual mountain standing before you. I am praying for you to see that we are all climbing with you, even while the routines we rely on to make our days manageable— emotionally, mentally, physically, and spiritually—these routines for every one of us have suddenly turned askew. Most of us have entered some stage of shock from rapid change. 

You are an ordinary person that today will begin to live extraordinary things. Walk through that doorway. Now is your moment to show up, to be the Joshua who sees the giants and doesn’t back down, the Churchill, the Rosa Parks, the Harriet Tubman, the Clara Barton—all ordinary, broken people who encountered their moment and said, “Here I am. Send me.” 

Now is our time to live each moment of this history-in-the-making. With eyes open, pen poised, heart ready. As you lend aid to the human story all around you, write it down. Write it for you, for your family, for posterity. Write your story down so we can tell our children and our children’s children what the Lord has done. 

And write it down for the book that beats at your breast, clamoring to be put on paper. Squeeze out the lessons you learn daily and filter your content through each new insight of God’s faithfulness and provision. 

God knew you would be writing your book at just this time. God knew he would be stirring your heart to write and write just when you might not see a way to do so—or didn’t even know you had something to say. Did Miriam know she would compose a magnificent song when she left the first shores of the Red Sea? Write down your sorrows and your joy. Write down the experience in all its “we’re living this” detail. Perhaps your words will last. Perhaps they will be ones that change the world. 

Rejoice in the Lord, and write it down. 

Philippians 4:4–7