Quarantine Journals: April 11

I’ve always liked Holy Saturday.

Is that what it’s called?

The in between.

Good Friday and Easter get a lot of attention, and then there’s Saturday when nothing happens.

Silence.

Can you imagine being one of the disciples back then?

Abandoned.

Confused.

Hopeless.

Bewildered.

Utterly disappointed.

The One who was supposed to save was gone.

Dead.

Buried.

But then…

We know what happened.

We know that Sunday’s comin’.

We know that.

And yet,

we’re living in the middle

of one of the great *Saturdays* of our generation.

Death and despair surround us.

We feel frustrated. Afraid. Anxious. Lonely.

Defeated.

I imagine that Saturday some 2,000 years ago, Jesus wanted more than anything to tell his despairing disciples to lift up their eyes, to remember that He had not and would not fail them.

I imagine that if we quiet our trembling hearts long enough to listen, truly listen, we will hear Him again.

We will feel the tender touch of His nail-pierced hand under our chins, lifting our countenances.

We may feel that we’re surrounded, but

we’re surrounded by Him.

Saturday is deafeningly silent, but oh the sound when that stone rolls away tomorrow!

Sunday is comin’.

It always does.

Look up, dear friends.

Not to the hills. Not to the government. Not to hospitals or banks or experts or pundits. Not to our own feeble ways of coping.

Look up to His faithfulness.

Look up to His Word.

Look up, dear friends.

Because Sunday.

Because Sunday is a-comin’!

What a God we have! And how fortunate we are to have him, this Father of our Master Jesus! Because Jesus was raised from the dead, we’ve been given a brand-new life and have everything to live for, including a future in heaven—and the future starts now! God is keeping careful watch over us and the future. The Day is coming when you’ll have it all—life healed and whole.

I Peter 1:3-5 TMV

Quarantine diaries: April 6 we

364,723 confirmed cases.

10,781 deaths.

19,346 recovered.

*****

I couldn’t help it.

Before I opened my eyes this morning, my first thought was,

What great horror awaits us today?

The general public is panicked enough without knowing what those of us in the trenches see every day, every hour, every minute.

Again I felt faithless and inadequate as my first thoughts turned toward dread and panic instead of scripture and prayer and peace.

Some say God is trying to tell us something.

I disagree.

The God I know loves His sheep and saves even the one who is lost, even the one who is susceptible and at risk and frail and fragile to viruses and predators and harm.

The God I know parts waters and rolls stones and makes the blind see and the deaf hear and the lame leap. 

The God I know would not send this, no matter the lessons we need to learn as mere mortals flailing for purpose and meaning and LIFE.

I try to be a faith first sort of person.

I try to be an overcomer, a knees-to-the-ground, arms-up, Waymaker kind of Christian.

But I am a Christian who is a NURSE.

And my son, my beloved first born, is a nurse, too.

 

Maybe I know too much. Indeed, I have seen too much. But one thing I can assure you of, is that

this virus is TOO MUCH.

Those of you who can live stream and hashtag and blog about the glory and praise in the midst of the hurt, please carry on.

Just know that those of us in the trenches are trying to cope with Facetime-only eternal good-byes and veritable death sentences to diabetic and cardiac compromised and immunocompromised and cancer fighters and an unimaginable number of patients the virus does not discern but rather snatches too soon from this life.

I have faith.

Oh, I do have faith.

But I also know that in this world we will have trouble, and this, my friend, is a trouble of all troubles.

So forgive me if I don’t offer Psalms and comforting platitudes and Facebook Live assurances that all we be well soon enough.

I believe Jeremiah 29:11 with the best of them.

But I also know that this hurts, and will keep hurting, and will hurt tomorrow worse than it hurts today, because that is the nature of this COVID monster. It snatches and steals and devastates and defeats.

Jesus is victorious, always and indeed.

But crosses have to be carried.

And this is ours to bear today. 

Let us praise Him in the midst, indeed, and especially in this Holy week. The Passion was fraught with pain and tears and questions and fear.

There’s no telling how long this particular passion of ours will last, but His faithfulness assures deliverance. I know this in my head, and I keep it close to my heart even as I wake to new horrors every day. Because…

joy comes in the morning, too,

eventually.

Joy comes.

*****