Becoming Chicagoans in a Time of Pandemic

by Mary Beth and Larry Lake

The idea of moving to Chicago wasn’t a new one. Long drives back and forth became the fascinating counterpoint to our lives in Camp Hill, Pennsylvania, ever since we drove out with our son Nick the week of 9/11 when he began his first year at Northwestern. Lots of parents fall in love with the town where their kids go to college, and we were no exception. We took full advantage of our visits, and the list of new things to see in the city of Chicago kept growing. The workweek following a visit was one of recovery. Late nights, too much good food, lots of walking, full days of sightseeing, and nights of theater or musical performances took their toll.

Once our daughter-in-law, Janelle, became part of our visits and then part of our family, we realized we could keep getting to know Chicago. Nick and Janelle’s networks as artists, already firmly established in the city, would keep them here and only deepen with time. 

When Maxine was born, our center of gravity shifted. Just as we had waited for years for our firstborn, Nick and Janelle had also waited to become parents. Our Chicago visits morphed into lots of cuddles, naps, and meals at home, punctuated by carefully orchestrated visits to new Chicago sites: Harold Washington Library, Garfield Park Conservatory, and picnics at Ping Tom Park. The now-familiar theme intensified when their second daughter, Lyra, was born. 

By the time Mary Beth retired in December 2018, we knew we would move to Chicago, but our plan was for a year or two of relaxation first. But God had a different idea and used a springtime visit to give us a vision of what living here could be like, and there was no stopping us. 

Chicago visits that fell on a weekend had always included going to church with Nick and Janelle. If we hit a Thursday night, we were included in their Community Group. We liked what we saw and resonated with what we heard. We saw Nick’s family integrating into a larger family of care, love, and support. By the time the idea of moving became the reality of moving, we knew HTC Downtown would become our church home. 

Our Chicago visits became a series of meetings with our realtor. During the exhausting process of moving, our idea of downtime, a break from the intensity of emptying the house we had loved for 33 years, was to populate Google Maps with little green flags of “want to go” places in Chicago. After a long day, we would collapse into bed. Our evening prayers from The Divine Hours often end with this one: 

Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ, give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love’s sake. 

Depending on the day, we thought of ourselves as the weary or the joyous. We reassured each other that the pressure would soon be off, and we could get to know “our city.” By the end of 2019, we made our first drive to Chicago as residents, not visitors.  

After a few weeks of “condo camping,” our PODs were delivered, and we started unpacking. The plan was to tackle the important stuff before leaving mid-February for Mary Beth’s dad’s 90th birthday party and a vacation with friends. We would return and begin regular family dinners and one day a week of “girl care.” We decreed Wednesdays as Adventure Day, when we would go out and experience something new in Chicago, a museum, a garden, or a restaurant. After all, we wanted to be intentional about becoming Chicagoans.

But God had a different idea. So quickly, restrictions became the rule as the coronavirus pandemic spread. By mid-March, social distancing was decreed. No groups were allowed in the parks or libraries and museums were closed, even biking was limited to close to home. We heard that the arboretums and botanical gardens were a riot of springtime colors, but we could not visit.

Because of our ages, we’re considered the fragile elderly (surely 60-somethings aren’t that fragile, are they?), so we undertake no impromptu trips to hardware stores or pharmacies. We receive a weekly delivery of online-ordered groceries in the lobby downstairs while wearing masks and blue gloves. After Larry brings the grocery trolley upstairs on the elevator, (Mary Beth calls it her urban granny look), we unpack and check the receipt to notice all the substituted items or the ones out of stock. We miss being able to improvise as we shop.

Although home is still populated with some full boxes, other boxes are unpacked that we didn’t expect to open until next winter. This spring’s unexpected time of hibernation has meant we’ve begun to work slowly through a box of family photos and the letters Larry’s dad’s Aunt Helen wrote from central China when she was a missionary there a century ago. Imagine our surprise to learn that in 1920, she was based in Wuchang, which is now one of 13 districts in the city of Wuhan! Not running errands around town for extension cords or drill bits means Larry has more time to write. In a two month period, he wrote two short stories and an essay, submitted them to magazines, and completed a book proposal for a university publisher in Australia.

We like going to church in our pajamas and stepping into the kitchen for a sweet roll and a refill on coffee during the Apostles’ Creed. Even our interview for church membership was online. In morning Zoom prayer calls, we’ve talked with more HTC people than we did in the three months before all this happened. As birth and death, job loss and moving, sickness and flood, weddings, and family crises occur, we “rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep” (Romans 12:15). 

We have been given a crash course in what living for Christ in the city of Chicago means. When we participate in the Zoom prayer calls, our day is informed by a psalm of lament or prayer for the anxiety of another. We have learned the names of each medical worker in the congregation. We pray for hospital policy makers to balance science and humanity as people die alone. We pray for Mayor Lightfoot, Governor Pritzker, President Trump, and other leaders to be wise in their decision-making. We learn to turn news stories from other cities into prayers, crying out to our powerful God when racism results in murder. We pray against violence in homes where abuse could increase during stay-at-home orders. We pray against racism hurting the Chinese, Blacks, and Latinx in our congregation and city. 

God has gotten our attention. We are learning to see our new city and church with His eyes and to hear the news with His ears. Our evening prayers focus our hearts on “bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted.” Even in a time of distancing and disappointment and frustration, we can be aware, as the psalmist says, that “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). As our city opens up, sure, we’ll restart our Adventure Days, but God has used this season to root us in Chicago and in HTC. In important ways, He has helped us become Chicagoans without leaving our new home.

Mary Beth and Larry met when they were students at Wheaton College. Larry is a retired professor from Messiah College, and Mary Beth retired from Pennsylvania Department of Transportation. Their daughter Maggie lives in Pennsylvania.