by Robin Gray

We are entering Passion Week under a Stay at Home order here in Florida.  There are now over 311,000 positive cases in the U.S., and the death toll has climbed to 8,438.  A somber press conference by the President last week estimated that deaths in America could be as high as 100,000-240,000 by the time Covid-19 is done with us.

A difficult Easter for healthcare workers…

Nurses in New York are begging for proper isolation gear in order to protect themselves as they care for sick and dying patients.  Politicians and pundits are blaming each other, but the virus doesn’t care who you are. It doesn’t care who you vote for or pray to.  It doesn’t care about your nationality, race or gender. Covid-19 attacks, sickens and kills indiscriminately.  

I love being a nurse.  I’ve been one virtually all of my adult life.  And I can’t help but feel a sense of empathy and comradery with other nurses across the country.  So when I hear about healthcare workers being exposed to this disease without the proper equipment necessary to protect them, it makes me angry and sad.   Contrary to popular opinion, nurses didn’t “sign up for this.” They signed up to help heal the sick and care for the dying, true enough. But they didn’t sign up to run headlong into a dangerous pandemic without the proper isolation protection.  And they never thought they would be called on to do it, but here we are.

A hard learned lesson from a tiny teacher…

I am unapologetically Christian, and a believer in miracles and the goodness of God.  But I learned as a sixteen year old girl that sometimes the miracle does not manifest in the way you believed it would.  My baby brother taught me that lesson.  

My step-mother had a normal, healthy pregnancy, but experienced a difficult delivery.  Because appropriate medical care was withheld from her when she needed it, my little brother was born with a devastating birth injury that caused him severe brain damage.  They told us he would not live a month, but we were people of faith. They told us he would never walk, talk, or even smile, but we were people of faith. My father took us to church every single time the door was open throughout our entire lives, and taught us to believe in the goodness of God and the presence of miracles, so we just believed.  We had people praying for Tray all over north Florida and south Georgia. We took him to pastors and faith leaders for the laying on of hands. We prayed and we watched him get sicker and suffer, but we were people of faith. And one day, the call came that he was gone.

I need him most when my doubt is the greatest…

I asked God then to help me understand.  I couldn’t grasp the fact that his answer had been “No” to such people of faith.  I was so angry, and so very sad.

That’s when I need God the most.  When I don’t get it. When all the healing scriptures and the faith formulas don’t work.  That’s when my prayer is often, “Help me understand this, God. Help me get it, because I don’t feel like you’ve held up your end of this agreement.  I asked, I believed, but you didn’t show. Do you understand where I’m coming from?”

And Jesus gently sits beside me and says, “Yes.  I get it. I understand. Go review Matthew 26 again and tell me what you see.”

A “socially distanced” Savior…

Ahhh… there he is in the picture.  The Jesus in the garden at midnight, with his sleeping friends and his personal anguish, sweating blood and dread.  He knew what was coming. Had known it for a long time. He’d tried to warn them, let them know what to expect. But there they were sleeping after he’d asked them to stay up and watch with him.  And there he was alone… The “socially distanced” Jesus.

“Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, ‘My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me.  Yet not as I will, but as you will.’” Matthew 26:39. 

And there it is… the very human side of Jesus asking for a reprieve if there could be some other way, and in the same breath acknowledging the sovereignty of God his Father, even in the midst of his own misgivings.

He’s been there.  He gets it. He wants you to bring it to him…

Jesus came out of that prayer with a determined purpose and went to the cross.  My Daddy lost his first son and came back to the podium to lead worship. I cannot ascribe some purpose to the deaths of thousands of people all over this country and this planet, and it would be presumptive of me to do so.  But in a couple of hours I’m going to make myself a cup of coffee, put on my scrubs, and pray for my colleagues in New York, Italy, and all across the world on my drive to work. 

It does give me great comfort to know these things:

Life is hard, but God is good.

Death is sure, but heaven awaits.

And Jesus knows exactly how I feel about all of it…

“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are — yet he did not sin.  Let us then approach God’s throne with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.” Hebrews 4:15-16

By Robin Gray

I’m writing this blog post tonight during a global pandemic.  We are all monitoring our behavior, keeping away from vulnerable family members and limiting our contact with the public.  These times are scary and depressing. People in other states and countries are getting sick and some are dying. The whole world is hurting and in need of love and prayers.

But today, I needed a Coronavirus break.  Today, I needed a happy day. So I turned off the TV and took my dogs for a long bike ride on the St. Marks Bike Trail.  The sun was warm and bright and we listened to seventies tunes. I smiled and waved at other riders and they smiled and waved back, all of us keeping well beyond the required six foot distance.  We stopped to watch the river roll on toward the sea and then came back for a late afternoon swim. It almost seemed like a beautiful, normal spring day.

Better days…

“Better days are coming,” I said to myself.  “There is still so much to look forward to.” Indeed, there is.  I have a new grandbaby coming in October. My sister and I are going on vacation to the beach in September.  One day (someday soon I hope) we will gather as a family again at my Mama’s and have an old fashioned family singing with lots of home cooking and neck hugging. 

I have seen so many posts requesting prayer from around the world during this epidemic.  It was especially touching to watch a video of people from Brazil go to their windows during this lockdown and sing “Because He Lives.”  Surely, God is near during the most difficult times of our lives, and he is near us now. But he is also with us in happier times, even though we may not notice.

When you invite Jesus to the party…

John chapter 2 tells the story of Jesus’ first miracle, and it happened during one of those happy times.  There was a wedding celebration in Cana, and Jesus, his friends and his Mama were invited to the party. Just quoting this conversation directly from the Bible makes me smile.  

“When the wine was gone, Jesus’ mother said to him, ‘They have no more wine.’

‘Woman, why do you involve me?’ Jesus replied.  ‘My hour has not yet come.’  

His mother said to the servants, ‘Do whatever he tells you.’” (John 2:3-5)  

So the servants filled the jars with water just as he told them, then they drew up and served the best wine in the history of wines to all of the wedding guests. 

“What Jesus did here in Cana of Galilee was the first of the signs through which he revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.” (John 2:11)  

The first miracle; an act of kindness in a moment of joy…

Jesus’ first miracle wasn’t healing the sick, raising the dead, or even feeding the multitudes.  It was making wine at a wedding celebration. He was there because he was invited, and he did it because his Mama asked him to.  We call it a miracle, although on a scale of minor to major, it may not appear very significant. For that bride and that groom, he revealed his glory through an act of kindness on their special day.  And to them, it probably meant the world.

Inviting Jesus to the celebration…

Better days are coming for us.  I’m confident that our prayers are being heard.  Someday, our doctors and scientists will find an effective treatment that will save more lives and beat this virus back into the shadows where it belongs.   And when that day arrives and we can finally join with each other in celebration, let’s not forget to invite Jesus to the party. He may not pour a glass of wine for me since he knows I’ll abuse the privilege, but I’m sure he’ll help me sing a song or two.  

Your very existence brings him joy.  

“The LORD your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves.  He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing.” (Zephaniah 3:17)

by Robin Gray

I’m a nurse, and that is sometimes both a blessing and a curse. I understand a lot of things medically, and when I don’t understand them I know what resources to go to in order to better understand. I’ve been fortunate enough to be able to help some of my family members through difficult illnesses, and I have been blessed to watch them recover good health or witness them pass from this life to the next.

But I also see symptoms and hear diagnoses on occasion that give me insight into what may come based on my medical knowledge and work experience, and sometimes those insights are not good ones. I’m also a “worst case scenario” thinker and that certainly doesn’t help. I’ve told my sister on more than one occasion, “Sometimes I know just enough to worry myself to death.”

Fear of global proportion

This week we have been told that we are facing a global pandemic and our state and federal governments have declared a state of emergency. Coronavirus (CoVid-19) has wreaked havoc in other countries and there are now confirmed cases in 49 states as of today. In Italy, the number of critically sick and dying patients has overwhelmed the medical community and shut down the nation. People around me range in their reactions to this news from either all out panic, or not taking the threat seriously at all. I find myself somewhere in the middle. I’m concerned, but not panic stricken. (I could go off on a “nurse” trail here about the importance of social distancing, self-isolation if you are sick, and good handwashing, but the CDC and the WHO websites are far more expert at explaining those things than I will ever be.)

Jesus predicts a coming fear

There is a story in John’s gospel that speaks of an impending state of panic. A conversation occurred between Jesus and his disciples on the eve of Passover. It was a night of celebration and joy, and yet Jesus was warning them of events to come. He knew that he would be betrayed by Judas, and denied by Peter. He knew that the rest of the disciples would scatter in fear. He knew he would be tried, convicted, and crucified. And he also knew that these events would induce shear panic into all of those that loved him. So he left them a few instructions about abiding in his teachings, and loving each other. Then he gave them a gift that would transcend any panic or fear that might come their way.

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” (John 14:27)

Jesus knew that there would be a moment in the coming hours that would induce shear panic and fear for each of them, and he wanted them to remember in that moment that his peace would transcend their circumstances.

Fear on a personal level

I have a family member very near and dear to my heart that has been experiencing a health crisis in the last few weeks. I will not tell her story here, because it is not mine to tell. But I will admit that there have been nights and days when sleep has eluded me and worry has troubled me for her. About two weeks ago I said out loud, “Okay Lord, I’m giving her to you and I’m going to sleep. If anyone loves her more than me, it’s you. I trust you with her.” And then I let the peace that passes understanding calm my fears and close my eyes.

When the world gives you facts, God gives you peace

I do not know yet what the outcome of this disease will be. I certainly hope it will be minimal upon our nation and our people. I believe in science and facts, and gathering as much information as possible. I’m grateful for the protective measures that now appear to be undertaken by our state and federal government. I’m thankful for the scientists and researchers tasked with finding a treatment, a vaccine, and hopefully a cure. I’m grateful for the leadership and preparedness currently being implemented in our hospitals and other treatment facilities.

The world can provide us with facts, and my mind is prepared to accept the facts. But only God can give us peace, and my heart has fully embraced his peace.

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)

by Robin Gray

In starting this blog it was my intention to begin in John 1 and go through the life of Jesus, then move on to other topics as I feel directed.  But my approach to my faith is not always linear, and it speaks to me through whatever life situation I may be facing. So today, I’ll be taking a short detour further into the gospel of John as I feel guided there by the Spirit and my little grandson, Triston.

My daughter messaged me this morning and wanted me to find my four year old grandson a Bible that she could read to him on his level of understanding.  I try to buy books for him and his little sister as often as I can and his mother reads to them. One of those books happened to be about a little boy whose grandfather died, and now Triston has quite a few questions and concerns.  I don’t know why I bought him the book, but I think I probably picked it up right after Triston’s great-grandpa passed away last July, a mere four days after he turned four. She wants the Bible to help him understand the concept of death from a faith perspective, the way I tried to teach her and her sister when they were little.  That’s a tough thing for a little mind to comprehend, but he is asking, and his questions deserve answers.  

In our group chat this morning my sister suggested that perhaps he was struggling with the idea of separation from the people he loves.  I thought about her statement and my response is, 

“Don’t we all?”  

Don’t we all dread that separation the most?  Isn’t that the hardest thing about death, knowing that we can’t just pick up the phone, or go by to visit, or get a hug, or just see a precious face one more time?  

“Lazarus is dead…”

John chapter eleven tells us the story of a family of two sisters and a brother who had a rather close relationship with Jesus.  The sisters sent word to him that their brother was sick, and pleaded with him to come. In spite of that personal friendship, Jesus waited two more days, telling his disciples that the sickness “would not end in death” (John 11:4).  So when the two days passed and he told them that Lazarus was sleeping and they needed to return to Judea, the confused disciples assumed he meant that Lazarus was indeed just asleep until Jesus matter of factly said to them, “Lazarus is dead, and for your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe” (John 11:15).

Huh???  He just said the sickness wouldn’t kill him, and now he says he’s dead!   (Exasperation, incredulity, confusion… I can almost see the “wow” emoji on their faces now!)

“Lord, if you had been here…”

After a four day journey to Judea and the little house in Bethany,  Jesus encountered his friend Martha who went out to meet him. Initially, Mary didn’t even come out of the house.   The sisters were sad. They were grieving. But more than that, I believe they were hurt with their friend, and greatly disappointed and confused by their brother’s death and Jesus’s reluctance to come when they called. 

Their frustration culminated in a single statement spoken by both sisters at different moments.  Martha, when she went out to meet him, and Mary when Jesus called for her a short time later.  

“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died…”

How that statement resonates with me today like it did the first time I read it and understood it.  How often I have felt that, thought that, said that over the death of someone I love so much. “Lord, if you had only been here…” the unspoken conclusion of that thought is “but you weren’t… you weren’t here… and now hope is lost.”

“Jesus wept…”

Even though he knew his purpose and that he would raise Lazarus from the tomb that day, Jesus was moved with compassion for his friends and those mourning with them.  The shortest and one of the most memorable verses in the Bible can be found in John 11:35 and simply says, “Jesus wept.” They were moved to tears by their grief, and so was he.  That also gives me hope in times of despair, that God sees, and more importantly, that God cares. And even if he doesn’t change things to my liking, it’s comforting to know that he cries right along with me.  

“I am the resurrection and the life…”

Those of us who are well familiar with the story know what happens next.  Jesus goes to Lazarus’s tomb, and asks that the stone be rolled away. Then he calls Lazarus from the grave and from death, and returns him to life.  We know how the story ends, and that is what gives us hope.  

1 Thessalonians 4:13 tells us that as Christians, we do not mourn as those without hope.  Our hope is in the response Jesus gave to Martha while her brother was yet in the grave. “I am the resurrection and the life.  The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die” (John 11:25).

Hope when it hurts the most…

That is the hope in the midst of all of our frustration and grief, our questions without answers, even sometimes our anger and overwhelming sadness and disappointment.  Mary and Martha had four sucky days. Some of us have four sucky weeks, months, years, or decades. It’s my little grandson wandering through the living room at his grandparents’ house and wondering why Papa George is not sitting in his spot on the couch watching the Gators play football.  “Oh, that’s right. He’s gone and he’s not coming back. I miss him. I’m afraid, and I wonder who will die next. It sucks, and I don’t understand…”

For every “Lord, if you had been here”

There is an “I’m the resurrection and the life.”

And when it hurts the most and it sucks the worst and we don’t understand and can’t stop crying, there’s always a “Jesus wept…” 

by Robin Gray

I believe most people go through areas of darkness at some point in their lives. Whether it is some form of addiction, a chronic disease, the death of a loved one, financial loss, the end of a marriage, a struggle with mental illness, or any of the other various things that bring us to our knees, most of us have been touched at some point or another by darkness.

My own personal experience with darkness deals primarily with depression as it has been my uninvited companion for most of my adult life. It was the catalyst that started me down a twenty year tunnel of addiction, has often distorted my opinion of myself and others, sabotaged my relationships, and kept me from the people I love most. It is a darkness that is creeping and tangible, and it is difficult to describe to anyone who has never experienced it.

I expect anyone who has gone through a particularly dark episode in life feels similarly. My sister recently experienced the death of her husband; the only man she ever loved. I tried to enter the darkness with her as closely as I could, but I could not squeeze myself inside of her pain and go through that aching grief with her. I could sit with her and be present, but I could only experience it from the outside of her breaking heart.

There are times when we enter the darkness completely alone, no matter how much we are loved, or how desperately people want to go there with us.

It is in times of darkness and loneliness that I’ve learned to rely on my faith in Christ, and what his word has taught me. In John’s introduction to Jesus, he tells us that “In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind” (John 1:4).

Just think about that for a second… In Jesus there is life, and his life is the light of all mankind. That includes me and my depression, and my sister and her grief. In Christ there is life, and his life is my light.

I have learned to invite Jesus into my dark spaces.

Twenty years ago I entered a twelve step program for recovery from alcoholism. Step three simply says that we “made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood him.” It was at that point that I had to re-examine my preconceived notions of who God was and what he was willing to do for me. I had to understand that God wasn’t angrily ready to strike me dead and make me eternally miserable for all of my many sins and mistakes. No, God loved me infinitely, and was waiting for my invitation for him to enter into my darkness with his light; not once I got myself “straightened up and sorted out,” but while I was the most sick, vulnerable and desperate.

The Amplified version of John 1:5 says “The light shines on in the darkness, and the darkness did not understand it or overpower it or appropriate it or absorb it (and is unreceptive to it.)” In other words, no matter how deep the darkness, it cannot put out the light of Christ.

I still struggle with bouts of depression from time to time. When I do, I try to physically take care of myself and follow my doctor’s instructions. I also tell myself that what I am feeling may not accurately represent reality. And I remind myself of the assurance of unconquered light in the person of my Savior, no matter how dark it may seem.

This is my promise and my hope.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:5)