It was THE WORST game.

I broke out in a cold sweat every time our Improv group leader announced that the game was on the evening agenda.

As part of our Improv “practices”, we played a variety of games (think “Scenes from a Hat” or “House Party” from the show Whose Line Is It Anyway) to work on techniques and build team camaraderie.  But whenever Bryan said it was time for “Touch to Talk”, I wanted to sprint from the room.

“Touch to Talk” is just as horrific as it sounds: In order for your character to speak in the scene, you must be touching another character. The trick is to make the touch natural – unforced, spontaneous, nearly unnoticeable.

I failed MISERABLY – every. single. time.

As a Scandinavian stoic, I’m not much of a touchy-feely person. I’m rarely the one to initiate a hug; and I’ve never been able to place a reassuring hand on a shoulder without feeling completely unnerved. It’s pretty mind-boggling that I ended up in a profession that involves putting my hands on people (and not just shoulders) all day long. And even more unsettling how much I miss the ability to touch, now bordered on all sides by 6 feet of social space.

 

I’ll never forget the first time I studied the general make-up of a virus. I felt utterly violated at the thought that something existed that could infiltrate the minutiae of my being, hijack my cells’ God-given ability to replicate, creating more and more and MORE copies of itself before hitting the self-destruct button on the cell factory, leaving the discarded and dead cell to spill out a viral army to hijack exponentially more cells in the same way as the first. A virus isn’t even a truly living thing; just a strand or two of genetic instructions tucked inside a protein casing.
I could almost forgive a bacterium; that at least is looking to feed itself (and I generally commiserate with things trying to feed themselves). But a virus? A virus has nothing to prove, nothing to live for. It simply exists to destroy, to turn good things bad. 

 

It’s pretty scary to fight an invisible enemy. You don’t know if it’s lurking on that doorknob, the arm of that chair, that box in the mail, in the breath of a stranger or friend. You don’t know if you’re overreacting, or playing it safe, or losing your dwindling supply of marbles. Seasonal allergies become suspect. You wonder if your neighbor is infected, or your parent, or yourself.

 

Four weeks ago, I’d only use the acronym “PPE” at work, anticipating that my friends and family outside of healthcare would have no clue if I was stuttering or had an urgent bathroom need. But now the world knows what PPE is, and how important it is in the fight against infectious microorganisms.

At the hospital, we talk about what PPE is needed. We talk about the order you should use to put it on and take it off. We talk about what PPE can be reused in times of crisis (and continue to update those policies hourly). We talk about how do don and doff – put on and take off – PPE. And I kid you not: We have a designated staff member called the “Dofficer” who continuously monitors and corrects the manner in which we remove our PPE, in an attempt to further mitigate the risk of being exposed to that nasty cell-hijacking virus. As a collective whole, we’re freaking out.

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This week, I’ve been struck by the similarities between what’s going on in the news, and the celestial conflict that’s been raging for millennia. The more I think about it, the more I realize that sin is a virus. Sin isn’t a living thing; it cannot survive without a host in which to reproduce. It hijacks an otherwise good and healthy organism, wreaking havoc on a whim, causing the healthy hosts to malfunction and self-destruct. Paul the apostle understood it:

“I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. … Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it.”   Romans 7:15, 20

That’s a pile of do-do. And it’s infectious.

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I’ve always been infatuated with swords. From King Arthur, to samurai, to Roman legionnaires, swords have had my fancy. I still want a sword room: a room for all my swords. I don’t have any swords yet, but it’s because I don’t have a room for my swords. #adultgoals

(Thanks for hanging on through the blog post skipping from topic to seemingly unrelated topic. It has a point [sword pun!], I promise).

Because of my sword infatuation, I’ve always been drawn to the latter half of Ephesians 6: the ARMOR of God. Helmet, shield, breastplate, SWORD…the works. All in order to “extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one”.
Pretty expansive imagery, isn’t it? Sounds like a pretty good set of spiritual PPE against the sin virus. Even better: No Dofficer needed, no shortage of supply. The only thing needed? Just a comm line with the Good Guy (He’s got a sword, too) and a request for outfitting. But you’ve got to put it on. Every day. You can’t become complacent simply because you can’t see the enemy.

 

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A lot of us are struggling. Our routines disrupted, our lives overturned, our families splintered by 6+ feet. A pastor and friend captured the angst in a few words:

“We struggle to separate our work from our worth.”

Think about it. Whenever introductions are made, the first details nearly always include name and job: “My name is Jess, and I’m a physical therapist”; “I’m Alex – I work in sales”; “This is Andrew; he’s in second-grade”.
I mean, I’ve essentially spent my life working toward my career: 18+ years of education, thousands of hours of continuing education, and countless hours of clinical experience. Take that away, and… …

…and… … .

Uff da.

 

In this time of upheaval, have you lost your sense of worth?

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I hated “Touch to Talk”, but I’d jump at the chance to play it today if it meant social distancing was over. As social and relational beings, we’re all craving relationship to some degree, whether that be a hug or a pat on the back or even a game of cards at the same table.
I’m going to take the audacious stand to challenge you to forge a new identity in this age of social distancing:

I challenge you to “Talk to Touch”.

How will you use Talk to touch and uplift someone’s spirit, in a time we’re not allowed to physically touch? Will you send a text, just to check in? Drop a letter in the mail? Ring the phone? Care for the lawn? Organize a virtual choir to sing for the isolated? Make chalk art for passersby? Put encouraging posters up in the windows, in the yard, on the car? Pray for a friend?
Coupled with the proper spiritual PPE, this Touch can bring more sense of worth than any upended career plan. ❤️ 🗡

I’d love to know… (drop a comment! an email! ye olde passenger pigeon!):

How will you Talk to Touch?