The COVID Years – The Hilariously Dangerous 2021 Wyatt Family Letter

The Wyatt, Annual Semi-annual, Christmas, New Year, Valentine’s Day Letter

Hey, it’s us – the Wyatts. Just when you thought you had finally seen the last of us, here we are emerging. I know we missed a year. Saying anything that indicates this has been a unique time in the world has become cliché, so I am struggling to know how to begin our normal nonsense. As long-time subscribers know, nothing is sacred in the Wyatt letter except God Himself. We make fun of everything else—mostly ourselves—but few things are off-limits.

Now I face a new dilemma because politically incorrect humor can get you banned from the major social programming (oops, I mean social media) platforms. We could be condemned to live apart from the electronic world because our opinions fall outside of the acceptable parameters of the all-knowing algorithms. That might be a blessing but then there are the verbal attacks you get from those “woke” people you know. I am afraid they have been woke by the wrong waker and he got them up on the wrong side of the bed. That is one reason I have not written this letter until now. It was all too raw. Anger, not humor, was in style and my attempts at being funny were not well received. So I let it rest, hoping the insanity would settle. I have to remember; cops see a lot that ordinary people don’t and we get a little jaded. Perhaps the people that really care will forgive me and have a little chuckle.

Like everyone, we have been battling the virus both at the ICU where I work and at home. As I type this, I am quarantined with COVID and just broke my 102-degree temp. But there is a lot more to our COVID story. Imagine you’re watching me at my computer, typing and I fade but my voice continues as we move into a flashback scene. You watch as I move through my duties in the Intensive Care Unit at the hospital.

At the beginning of 2020, we began to hear about the coronavirus. Throughout the year we learned what we were supposed to think about the disease from the “official sources.” And we better not question them. But why would we? I mean they must be extremely clever to be able to make the rules, enforce the rules, profit from the rules, but never have to follow the rules.

So here are some of the things we have learned. They say the virus morphs. Well, that is old news, as the name has been changing from the beginning. First, it was the coronavirus and there were jokes about beer and crowns. But then things started switching. It got called China virus, Covid, Novel Coronavirus, Delta, Omicron, and a lot of things that shouldn’t be repeated in polite society. Since the public couldn’t decide on a name, we of course needed guidance, from one of the many bureaucratic organizations that determine what we should think and speak. So, the World Health Organization stepped in.

WHO

That’s what I said the World Health Organization.

WHO

What are you, an owl? I’m telling you it’s the World Health Organization.

WHO

See what I mean. Why should this group get to name anything; they don’t even know “who” they are. But in this “Brave New World” being confused about who you are, instantly raises your social influence, so according to WHO knows WHO the virus shall henceforth be called COVID-19. It makes you wonder how we missed the first 18.

Since “COVID-19” has become an excuse for everything we never thought we would see in this country, I have decided to blame everything on COVID. Why didn’t you put out a letter last year – Uh? COVID. Hey, that worked pretty well. Let’s try something else. Why aren’t you working? – COVID. Why haven’t you showered this month? – COVID. Why didn’t you pay your mortgage? – COVID. Little Johnny why are you hitting your sister? – you know why, mom. Why aren’t you in school? Why didn’t you pay your taxes?…(sound of everything coming to a screeching halt.)[This is the IRS breaking into this letter. Now you have gone too far, Buster. How are we supposed to pay for all those other excuses? And go take a shower.] Oh well, the fun only lasts so long.

Most of you know, when I am not writing, I work night/weekend shifts in the ICU of our local hospital. Starting in March 2020, COVID-19 started making an appearance and began changing everything.

To envision hospital life during COVID, here is an exercise. Imagine you are a society lady, and you are going to fix dinner for some very fancy guests while wearing your evening dress. (Guys work with me here. Imagine it’s a barbecue, a tuxedo and you really care two cents what you look like.) You don’t want to get your nice clothes dirty, mess up your makeup (sorry guys, no help), or stain the clean tablecloth.

To keep tidy you cover your gown with a long apron, wear a mask over your lipstick, a face shield to protect your blush, and Playtex living gloves for your fingernail polish. Now you must serve your guests the appetizers. You take off the apron, take off the face shield, the mask, and the gloves, wash your hands to avoid staining anything and take out the plate of crab puffs with a smile on your face. Then you go back to the kitchen and before entering you put all your protective gear back on, stir the soup and toss the greens. Now it’s time to serve the first course. Everything comes off, hands washed, smile on, and out you go with the soup and salad. Soup on the table, a little chit-chat, and back to the kitchen. You layer up, infuse the turkey with an IV, bandage the ham and turn it so it doesn’t get bed sores, put drops in the potatoes’ eyes, check the lab results on the vegetables so you know they’re seasoned correctly, and lotion the rolls with butter. Protective gear off, smile, serve the main course, (Oh drat you forgot the ice for the guest in room 204, now you’ll have to put on the stupid gear just to get it and the desert is burning in the oven, your mother-in-law sent down a recipe change from the main office and…don’t forget to smile).

So that was our life for the first three quarters of the year and then things got bad. Around October/November of 2020 COVID really hit Northwest Arkansas. The whole town showed up for dinner, plus overnight company flying in from out-of-state, everything started burning, the guests started dying, we ran out of everything right down to our Playtex living gloves, our evening gown ripped, the tablecloth got stained, and…it got really hard to smile.

[STOP – This is the authority in charge of appropriate outrage. We interrupt this letter to announce that the preceding analogy is sexist in nature, may contain COVID misinformation, and is insensitive. You are not permitted to find it funny or informative. Please return to your homes and someone will be around shortly to assist you in being properly offended.]

Rats. I did it again. Always getting myself in trouble. But that’s the way it is. Hero one minute, villain the next. I’m used to it. I was a cop you know. Like Dr. Suess, once a wonderful child’s storybook author until overnight he became a racist whose books should be banned. Think of all those millions of people who for decades were enduring the onslaught of the evil doctor’s outrageous poetry without knowing what they were being subjected to. It just shows that it is never too late to be offended. But get your complaints in early or you could be lost in the crowd.

Oh well, since I’m already in dutch (drat, I probably just offended somebody in the Netherlands). Anyway, I decided to commemorate our new enlightenment with a poem.

How the Grinch (Someone Worse) Stole Unity

(The way the “Dr.” might say it)

God loved the world, He loved it a lot.

But someone who lived down below…did not.

We must stop this forgiveness from working.

We must stop it right now,” the evil one sneered, “And I know just how.”

“I need a new trick,” the old snake hissed.”

So, he sent out a demon he called activist.

When people have plenty, they need something to do.

I’ll give them something and when it’s all through…

It used to be happy meant healthy and warm.

But now you’re entitled to oh so much more.

Now to be happy you need something to scorn.

Outrage and offense are necessities now.

If you can’t find it in you,

I’ll show you how.

I won’t expect payment.

Compensation – no need.

It’s all on the house. Call it all free.

I can market your anger.

It’s worth it to me.

Rebekah is most excited about her new venture – coloring Scripture cards featuring her whimsical art and Bible verses to comfort those who might be depressed or going through tough times. She is making these cards available to download for free on our website at www.kentwyatt.org. Rebekah asks for prayer that the people who need them will find the Scripture cards. Samples of her cards are enclosed but there are more available on the website.

Kwinn still works at the cancer clinic in Rogers and commutes each day. About this time last year, he and our daughter-in-law Calista decided to move in with us while they prepared to purchase a house. We put up a wall to divide our home into two parts and shared the kitchen and laundry. What was supposed to be a few months at most, turned into a year as they found it impossible to compete in the current housing market. Kwinn and Calista are prequalified but unless you have cash and are prepared to pay way over the asking price, someone (often from out of state) will snatch up any house that comes up for sale before you can put in an offer.

The Lord has used the time to teach us much about ourselves and each other. The most wonderful part was having our new granddaughter, Avery Jaimie Joy Wyatt born here in our home with the help of a midwife. You know in all those movies when the baby is about to be born and the woman in charge orders someone to boil some water, now I know why. It is for the inflatable hot tub they have the mother sitting in and the water is getting cold. We had huge pots constantly heating on the stove that Kwinn was always fetching until finally, we heard baby cries on the other side of the wall.

It has been wonderful to have Avery here every day. She and I do lots of things together and have lots of Avery songs and stories. She’s going to be a writer. I can see it in her eyes as she helps me edit.

It has begun to look like the housing market will not be slowing anytime soon. Our friends the Thompsons had a rental come open with a large yard for the Ragamuffin dog. That looks like the best option for Kwinn and Calista to have a place of their own while they wait and see if the market becomes more realistic for them. They are grateful to get the rental. They will be moving in, Lord willing, first of February.

I will miss having them in the same house, especially since we were going to be able to start charging them for three people instead of just two. Now, now. I know Avery’s little and doesn’t take up much room, but that doesn’t matter. Remember what Dr. Suess said through Horton the elephant. A person’s a person, no matter how small. I mean after all, I was cutting them slack because Avery has been living here for nine months already rent-free even if she was subleasing part of Calista’s space. I felt I needed to let that slide to make up for calling Calista “Avery’s container.” I assured her that we wouldn’t throw her out like an empty Amazon box once Avery arrived, but Rebekah still said I was rude. I hope they both will have forgotten all this when I need their help to edit my next book.

Well, I have gotten myself in trouble with just about everyone now, so I should probably be wrapping up this letter soon. The only reason I’m keeping it going is because Rebekah told me she doesn’t want me to send the letter out until we have survived COVID because we will want to add a note about that to the bottom of this letter. So now she has me wondering how it will end. I don’t know if I will be reporting that we lived or we died. The suspense is killing me. Until we know, I guess I will just have to keep writing.

Every little bit, Rebekah reminds me it’s time to use the lung exercise devices we have from previous trips to the hospital. I recommend spending time breathing together with your wife. The family that breathes together…lives together…because if you ever stop…Sorry, you’ll have to figure it out because Rebekah is telling me to get to exercising because I am not going to die on her watch.

COVID, breathing, dying…It all makes me think about Heaven. What will it be like? Besides seeing my Savior, for me, the best will be the lack of time limits. That is what appeals most about eternity. I won’t have to worry about how long I am spending on anything. I can work as long on a story as I want and still have just as long to spend on the next book. If I stop to visit with one of you, we can talk as long as we like.

I had another reminder the other day. Since I work the night shift, I sleep during the day and Rebekah is always guarding my sleep. If I wake up early, it is such a temptation to step out and see what everyone else is doing during the light of day. A while back I got up at my regular time, but Rebekah told me to get back to sleep it wasn’t time to get up yet. She pointed at the clock on the wall, “It’s only 3:00 PM. The clocks inside the bedroom said 5:00 PM and I realized the battery in the clock on the wall had died. It occurred to me that I liked what it said better. By its account I still had time. I was ahead, and I was going to stay ahead according to that clock. All time should run off that clock. That clock should rule the world. It is close to the Kingdom of God. It has eternity in its heart. Take a tip from a stopped clock and take time out today for God. I long for us all to be together in a place where we can relax and take our…whatever you take when time is no more.

Fortunately for you, this letter can’t last forever and I have finally run out of room. May the Lord come to you this year in a new way. May the trials not cause fear but instead thoughtfulness of the things that matter, none of which have much to do with this life. 1 John 2:15 (NLT) “Do not love this world nor the things it offers you, for when you love the world, you do not have the love of the Father in you.” Too often it takes times like this to get our attention. Let it not be wasted on us Lord. Help us hear you.   

God, bless, The Wyatts

P.S. WE LIVED