Hands and Feet

 

When we speak of war and it’s heroes we raise monuments. We tell stories of heroism and sacrifice. We make movies that show the grand gestures and often individual feats that raise one human above the others. Our heroes are often loud, decorated and somehow superhuman. 

But today, as I lie here recovering from a very mild dose of Covid, these are my heroes…

The paediatric nurse, Debbie, who slipped her personal phone number into my handbag yesterday after giving me my third (and final) covid test. I told her that Eva had been having fevers and she told me to contact her if needed. Last night after trying in vain to get Eva’s fever of 40 down we phoned her and she gave us all the advice we needed. She stayed up into the night waiting for us to phone back with a progress report and this morning she has seen to our little girl and has confirmed both an ear infection and tonsillitis. If it wasn’t for her I don’t know what we would have done. 

The friend, Cherrie, who, on the day I had my worst symptoms of Covid and was single parenting my two children because Stephen was away, sent me various scriptures saying that I was on her mind. When I told her I was struggling she delivered two magnificent home cooked meals to my gate. 

Cray Cray Sarah who dropped everything to get Eva her antibiotics and who sends me regular pictures of herself in various pairs of tracksuit pants just to keep me smiling. 

Dr Zahnne Fullerton, ICU doctor at Groote Schuur and old school friend, who on seeing my desperate attempts at trying to work out on social media whether I had side effects of the vaccination or Covid contacted me personally and offered incredible advice and comfort. And this same woman is baring witness to the most hellish time in recent human history but still has time to show love and care to some random girl from her past. 

My family, who in their prisons of quarantine and illness, have sent meals, medication and continual messages of concern and support. 

And here are my other heroes…

The brave little boy who walks into school everyday hiding his grief behind his mask. He has lost his father, a doctor, and now he has to continue to face the unseen monster every day, it’s grip on humanity relentless. 

The teacher who, despite comorbidity, shows up every day and navigates a generation of demotivated and broken school children through their day. 

The religious leaders, who despite their own burn out and fear, somehow find the words for funerals, sermons, prayers and chapel services. 

The people who have lost all income but are still finding reasons to be hopeful and resilient. 

The parents who have fought hard to ensure that their children are not scarred by this pandemic. Who find ways every day to create normal, healthy memories for their children. 

We all know who the heroes are. They are plentiful. They won’t all have monuments raised in their honour. They won’t all have films made about their lives. The chicken casseroles they deliver to our doorsteps won’t be canonised in a recipe book for the ages. 

If anything this pandemic has been about the hands  and feet - the millions of silently moving saints who are bringing witness of Christ into the world. In the war that we are fighting they are the ones who stand five meters away from us with a Woolies lasagne and a smile hidden behind their masks. 

We all have our stories of the moment when God’s voice was silent but when the neighbour made fudge. When prayers went unanswered but the nurse answered the late night call. When we were unable to move but the hands and feet of those around us moved for us. 

We are building a mighty kingdom and this time the heroes are everywhere and countless.