Praying for …Toilet Paper

by Pringle Franklin

It was early March. Across the nation, toilet paper was in high demand, an unforeseen scarcity caused by COVID-19. When the shortage hit, we had 15 rolls on hand for our family of five. We did what we could to stretch our supply. 

Who knew that a respiratory virus from China would curtail civilized life in the United States? As people stayed home to slow the spread of the Coronavirus, chaos erupted in shopping patterns and supply chains. Manufacturers and distributors could not pivot in time. Popular foods and other household products also temporarily vanished. 

The first week in March, I was reducing to buying pork butt and a purple cabbage for dinner. Forget about the spaghetti and meatballs on my menu plan — faster shoppers had snatched all the ground beef, ground pork, tomatoes, and spaghetti noodles from my local store. 

For security, I purchased rice and dried beans. We would not starve. But there was no obvious substitute for toilet paper. I searched hopefully over the next few weeks, but shelves remained depressingly bare. Everyone I knew was anxious to find some T.P. 

Toilet paper rations took effect: shoppers lucky enough to find any could buy only two packages. Stores restocked at night, so early shopping became the go-to strategy. Lines formed in the parking lot before doors opened. By 9 a.m., every last quilted square had been carried away.

This contest didn’t appeal to me. I enjoy a focused prayer time in the morning, including 20 minutes of Centering Prayer. This entails giving myself over to God, releasing all pressing concerns, and sitting silently in his presence. This daily practice has deepened my trust in his goodness. Despite outward circumstances, inner calm prevails. Anxiety recedes, replaced by a surety of his constant care.

I determined that fear would not alter my routine; I continued to pray early and shop later.

March was a month of no-hitters. Despite venturing out three times a week, I failed to find any toilet paper. (Luckily my mother brought me a four-pack.) Eventually I became weary of the hunt and ignored the paper goods aisle. 

During the first week of April, we were down to five rolls. I found myself in one of the larger Harris Teeters in Charleston; by now the store was doing a remarkable job of restocking. The meat and produce departments were back to normal. Encouraged, I decided to check for the grand prize. As I turned the corner, my eyes swept over the view: as expected, nothing but empty green shelves. 

Disappointment poked me, yet I could see the humor in this. A sense of mirth bubbled up. Weeks earlier a friend had shared a YouTube video suggesting rags as a toilet paper replacement. Gross? Yes. Yet I reminded myself: no matter how weird things might get, God is bigger than any earthly problem. I planted my feet firmly on the linoleum floor and silently prayed:

Lord, I don’t care that there isn’t any toilet paper here. You are the God of abundance. You know where all the toilet paper in the world is located. You will provide, in your perfect way. Even if we run out and have to use something crazy, it will be all right. I trust in your goodness and abundance.

Not an ounce of fear remained after that. I sensed that God had received my prayer. That was enough. I felt happy enough to chuckle.

To my astonishment, the prayer was answered the following day. 

My husband, son, and I left Charleston at 5:30 a.m. to drive to Washington, D.C. —and back. The goal was to move our son’s things out of his short-term apartment. In early March, Benton had flown home when his internship closed for “two weeks”.  At that point, he expected to return. Instead, more closings and lockdowns sprung up. A month later, his lease was about to expire; we decided to zip up there, pack him up, and get the heck out.

It was just after 2 p.m. when we entered the deserted Capitol Hill apartment. His roommate, a Congressional intern from California, had moved out two weeks earlier. The dorm-style apartment was exactly as he had left it. 

“By the way, Mom,” he said, “we ordered a bunch of toilet paper on Amazon, back before there was a shortage.” Benton nodded toward the modest pantry. Eighteen jumbo rolls sat on the shelves, along with five rolls of paper towels. My eyes widened in surprise. What luxury!

“God is the God of abundance,” I said, laughing. Soon I had filled him in on my grocery store prayer.

After our return to Charleston, I resisted the urge to cling to my Charmin. I took three precious rolls to a friend who was running dangerously low. I wanted to be generous, as God had been generous with me. 

***

Other Christians have their own version of dealing with the sudden shortage of essentials. Writes Joy Hunter, director of communications for the Anglican Diocese of South Carolina:

At the grocery in the heat of the T.P. shortage, I turned into the paper goods/ cleaning aisle looking for sponges and came upon that long empty T.P. shelf. Surprisingly, I found a four-pack left.  I didn’t really need any, but I thought, “Gosh! What a find!” So I picked it up and put it in the child seat of my buggy.  

Then I walked around the store and actually felt myself smiling bigger. It was like, “Yes! Look! I’ve got toilet paper!” I imagined people glancing at me with admiration and even envy!  You would have thought I had a baby in there.  

By the time I got to the vegetable section, I started feeling guilty. “You don’t need that, Joy!”

So I went and put it back. But then, if I could have, I would have stretched my arm all the way to my back to pat myself: I got this horribly self-absorbed sense of pride in returning the toilet paper for the next person. When I got back into my car, I had to laugh. What a silly, funny, happy, little incident exposing my own humanity. Only at this time in our world!

***

Here is another recent Coronavirus/toilet paper story from Judy Rose Smith and her husband Ben, who works at a Harris Teeter store:

Friday night after another 14-hour day dealing with the panic driven public, I come home and my wife, Judy, tells me when I go back to work on Saturday before the store opens, I need to get some toilet paper and put it in my office because God has laid on her heart that there will be an elderly lady who will need it. I go into work at 5 a.m. to prepare the final touches on the store before opening.

Please keep in mind that we are doing double our normal business daily, with no let up in sight. Since I have been married to this wonderful woman for 32 years and have witnessed her visions becoming reality more times than I can remember, as I am walking the store with my grocery manager, looking at the approximately 56 packages of toilet paper that came on the truck Friday night, I pick up a 12-roll package of Angel Soft and place it in my office.

So the doors swing open at 7 a.m. and in come 200 people swarming the store. We sell out of T.P. at 7:05 a.m….. The day goes on with an increasingly irritated public because we are out of this or that, or because someone sneezed in the store and we need to send them home…etc… then it happens. I am on aisle 6 with my co-manager, halfway down the aisle, when a early 70s lady approaches me and says, ” I know the answer is no, but my 91-year-old mother does not have any toilet paper. Do you have any?”

My co-manger starts to explain that we do not –and I interrupt her to say: “I know just where your mom’s toilet paper is,” and take her to the office and hand her the 12-pack of Angel Soft. I took the time to tell her how the paper ended up in my office so she would know that God had it planned out way ahead of time!

***

Editor’s note: Pringle’s story first appeared in the Spring 2020 edition of the Jubilate Deo, the quarterly publication of the Anglican Diocese of South Carolina. Click here to see the entire issue: https://adosc.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/2020_spring_jubilate_deo_web.pdf

Here is a link to the Zero Waste Family of Four which describes how they live without toilet paper on a regular basis: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QyKnnioHtWw