Among many excellent lines from my favorite movie, The Shawshank Redemption, we find this one from Andy Dufresne, played by Tim Robbins: 

“Remember Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.”

Andy held on to a tiny strand of hope, despite being wrongfully imprisoned and enduring years of unimaginable hardship. He was raped and beaten multiple times and spent long periods in solitary confinement. Fortunately, Andy’s positive attitude and hope for the future helped him survive the ordeal. In fact, at the end of the film, we find him on a secluded Mexican beach, restoring an old boat as he had long dreamed of doing. 

Sadly, Andy’s elderly friend, Brooks, who lacked hope, takes his own life following his release from prison. This is unfortunately playing out in real life, as we hear reports of people who have committed suicide as a result of pandemic-induced feelings of hopelessness.

It seems the presence, or absence, of hope can make all the difference in the world.

For the past several weeks, as we’ve dealt with the Coronavirus pandemic, I’ve observed far more examples of fear and anxiety than hope. The news channels focus almost exclusively on the bad news—the numbers and rates of infection, the tragic deaths, lost jobs, and other catastrophic impacts. Bad news drives fear, and we easily take the bait. We’re afraid of things we can’t control and this pandemic seems to fit that definition.

I’m not denying or underestimating the devastating impact of this virus. Lives have been changed forever. More lives will be lost. But I don’t want to write about that. You can find that gloom and doom elsewhere. If you’re looking for more soul-crushing, negative virus news, you won’t find it here.

Instead, I want to share some good news. I’m a glass-half-full kind of guy. My hope is that the following good news will generate just a little hope in someone who feels, well, hopeless. 

1. The checks will soon be in the mail. Congress is on the verge of passing legislation that will boost unemployment insurance, incentivize businesses not to reduce payroll, and provide a desperately needed cash infusion to millions of Americans. That gives me hope.

2. While some businesses are having to close, reduce hours, or lay people off, others are hiring. The list of those hiring is long and continues to grow: 

https://fortune.com/2020/03/24/companies-hiring-right-now-near-me-coronavirus-amazon-walmart-cvs-walgreens-pizza/

If you’ve been let go from your job, I hope this list provides some hope.

3. The most powerful computer in the world, along with some of the brightest researchers on the planet, are aggressively working the problem. The Energy Department’s Summit supercomputer, located at Oak Ridge National Laboratory just 30 miles north of my home, recently identified 77 potential COVID-19 treatments, and then the Top 7. Read more about that here: 

https://futurism.com/neoscope/fastest-supercomputer-finds-potential-covid-treatments

The research has a ways to go, but the progress to date gives me hope. 

4. The number of new cases is falling where the outbreak began. The epidemic in China and the Republic of Korea has declined significantly. Wuhan province, where the virus began, recently reported no new local cases for the first time since the outbreak began. While the Chinese numbers are difficult to verify, the reports of the pandemic declining at ground zero give me a measure of hope. 

5. The Coronavirus is mutating relatively slowly, which may be good news: https://www.npr.org/2020/03/26/822107691/the-coronavirus-is-mutating-relatively-slowly-which-may-be-good-news

For now, at least, let’s drop the “may be” and just call it good news. News that gives me hope.

6. Most people infected with COVID-19 recover. While many thousands will die from the virus, and that’s tragic, estimates are that 99% of those infected will not. I pray that no one in your family or mine become infected. But if that were to happen, there’s a decent chance they would recover. That gives me hope.

7. Children seem to be infected less often and have milder disease. So far, the vast majority of infections have afflicted adults. For those with children and grandchildren, that’s got to increase your hope for a better tomorrow.

8. Churches are discovering new, innovative ways to conduct Bible studies and worship services online. If Satan thought this global pandemic would bring about the end of the church, he was badly mistaken. I know of one man who hasn’t stepped foot inside a church building in some time, but was willing to listen to a livestream of a worship service with his wife. That’s progress. A virus which could take his life might ultimately save it. That gives me hope.

9. Families are rediscovering family time. Sure, we’ll have bouts of cabin fever and will get on each other’s nerves from time to time. My wife, Janet, is concerned about my pledge to not shave until the virus has run its course—understandable if you’ve seen my Spanish moss beard. But, on the whole, this has been good for family time. We’re doing puzzles, playing games, watching sunsets, doing devotionals, and going for family hikes together. That’s more than Ann Frank got to do while hiding in an attic for two years. Our renewed family time gives me hope.

10. Christians will have a whole new appreciation for not just worshipping together, but simply being together. I bet we’ll never take fellowship—the being together in a common bond of love—for granted again. It’s also interesting that we have a renewed interest in checking in on our widows, shut-ins, and elderly…even an organized approach. Something we should have been doing all along, perhaps? This renewed interest in our friends, neighbors, fellow Christians, and the most vulnerable among us gives me hope.

11. While we can’t fully control the outcome of this pandemic, we can take reasonable steps to avoid infection. Wash your hands regularly. Practice social distancing. You know the drill. If you follow the rules, your hope of avoiding infection will increase.

12. Janet returned from our local Walmart this afternoon and said there was “plenty of toilet paper…the shelves were full.” If that doesn’t make you want to open a can of refried beans and shout praise to the Lord, then maybe hope, for you, is elusive.

13. This, too, shall pass. We’ll get through it. We’ve survived a Civil War, world wars, terrorist attacks, the scourge of slavery, The Great Depression, and other pandemics. I can’t tell you how long we’ll be in this tunnel, only that there is a light at the end of it. That gives me hope.

14. God hears our prayers. He understands our anxiety, our pain, and our doubt. He’s on the scene and He’s involved. Keep praying for the victims, those in quarantine, our doctors and nurses on the front lines, and the researchers and scientists trying to develop a cure. Knowing that God (not me, the government, or anything else) is in control and hears my prayers gives me indescribable hope.

15. Ultimately, my hope is in Christ and an eternal home with Him in heaven. Whether I’m done in by the virus, a car accident, cancer, or old age, I’m not getting out of this life alive. You aren’t either. We’re all terminal. Like Job, our days are “but a breath.” (Job 7:16) Knowing that, I always want to be in a right relationship with God. When I am, I can echo the words of Paul who said, “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.” Our hope for glory is found in Christ and Christ alone. (Colossians 1:27) 

So, when you hit the pillow tonight, I hope you’ll consider the above 15 points along with Andy’s words to Red: Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.

Christians have hope. Hope for good things. Hope for the best of things. We know that our stories will end well, regardless of how or when they end. Virus or no virus, our future is secure. 

And that gives us hope.

I spent yesterday doing disaster relief in the tornado destruction zone in Cookeville, Tennessee. I’m always hesitant to write about these experiences. Some may view my words as an attempt to pat myself on the back or garner attention. Please understand that is not my motivation. Whatever “attention” our efforts bring gets directed at the God we serve. Jesus gets ALL the glory and honor. 

I also hope that by sharing my experience, others become more aware of opportunities to serve. Case in point: after publicly telling my story to our church family at Bible study last night, several approached me asking questions. They want to get involved and be a part of the recovery effort. That’s the goal and my motivation for this blog.

My trip to Cookeville was a spur of the moment decision. I read an article on the tornado yesterday morning and felt compelled to do something—anything. I gathered a few belongings and granola bars and took off down I-40. 

I had no plan, which is unusual for me. Sometimes you just move toward an area of need and trust that God will work the specifics. I pulled into the Jackson Street Church of Christ in Cookeville where Churches of Christ Disaster Relief, Inc. is set up and operating. They didn’t need any volunteers there that day, but said various teams were out in the community helping those who had lost homes. That’s the answer I was looking for.

With the help of Google, I learned that much of the destruction occurred along Broad Street so I headed in that direction. The main zone of destruction is only accessible by first responders, residents, and utility workers…and by foot. In fact, farther west along that road, Search and Recovery operations are still ongoing. As of yesterday, 17 individuals were still unaccounted for.

I pulled into a partially damaged subdivision where a few dozen young people were piling up debris and cutting up downed trees. Looking like a college student myself (no comments!), I parked my car and joined in. The hardworking students were from nearby Tennessee Tech University. They were highly motivated and focused.

After two hours, I downed a couple of hot dogs courtesy of a nearby makeshift food ministry. I then walked west along Broad St. into the main destruction zone. No matter how many times you do this kind of work, it always breaks your heart. To the left, a used car dealership had been reduced to rubble. The damaged cars had been tossed about along the road and into a surrounding field. 

To the right, up on a hill, a home had been damaged beyond repair. A few dozen workers were spread out across the property, cutting up trees and transporting the wood and debris to the road. A giant crane was removing sections of the roof. A U-Haul van was out front and people, presumably family members, were filling it full of whatever household items could be salvaged. I joined the work crew for about an hour, working alongside several Marines wearing t-shirts that said, “Pain is weakness leaving the body.” If that is true, I thought, this community will eventually end up stronger as a result of this tragedy.

Mid-afternoon, I continued my journey west and joined another crew hauling debris from a mostly demolished home on the north side of the road. I soon found myself working alongside a couple of Marines, a few TN Tech students, and a dozen Mennonite men—people with very different backgrounds united by a mission to rid the area of downed trees and scattered debris.

After about 45 minutes, I noticed a grey-headed, bespectacled, elderly woman sitting on the steps of the collapsed front porch of the home. She was in a long-sleeved black t-shirt, red and black checkered pants, and high work boots. I went over and sat down beside her. She had a bruised chin and abrasions on the side of her face.  

“Are you the homeowner?” I asked.

“I am,” she replied. “Thank you for your help.”

She was clearly still in shock, not quite to the phase where the reality of the situation, and corresponding grief, sets in. Rather than talk or dispense advice, my natural inclination, I decided to just listen.

For the next 10 minutes, she told me her story. At around 2 o’clock a.m., she was awoken by the sound of sirens. She was initially puzzled by this, because she didn’t hear the sound of thunderstorms or rain. She pulled her little dog close and pulled a big blanket over the two of them. 

Moments later, the “freight train”—what we now know to be an EF-4 tornado—came roaring down her street. Her home began to shake and she could hear the howl of the wind and the sound of glass breaking. Suddenly, her bed was elevated, slammed against the side of the room, and dropped. With sections of her home collapsing around her, and debris flying everywhere, she thought this is how it will end.

But God spared her. Her story wouldn’t end in a pile of rubble on Broad Street in Putnam County.

The storm passed by and things turned eerily quiet. She pushed aside some debris and cautiously stepped from her bed, still clutching her little dog. There was just enough visibility for her to realize much of her home had caved in. The only way out was through a partially broken window. She busted the remainder of it out and somehow found the strength to climb outside to freedom. Once in her side yard, she was able to make out a scene of chaos and destruction through the darkness. She couldn’t see her neighbors’ homes on account of the downed trees and debris field.

But, looking southward, off in the distance, she spotted a light.

Not knowing what else to do, she screamed to the top of her lungs.

“Heeeeelp!”

A second later, the reply.

“Walk toward the light, Miss Lambert!”

“Walk toward the light and it’ll be okay!”

Truer words have never been spoken.

Still gripping her dog, and unaware of the blood flowing from her leg, she carefully negotiated the debris field and walked toward the light. Her neighbor comforted her, stopped the flow of blood from her leg, and bandaged her wound. At daylight, her son arrived on the scene. After working his way into her home and noticing the amount of blood on the floor in her bedroom, he determined his mom needed to go to the hospital.

Miss Lambert had several staples put into her leg and had multiple bruises and abrasions all over her body. But no bones were broken, and her wounds are not life-threatening. The same cannot be said for the 18 fatalities in Putnam County alone. On top of that, 88 souls were injured and, as of today, three are still missing.

I thanked Miss Lambert for sharing her story and asked if I could pray with her. She said that would be wonderful—that she needed all the prayers she could get. I also told her that I have lots of friends around the country who would want to pray for her as well.

So, if you can go to Cookeville or Nashville or one of the other impacted communities and help, please do so. They desperately need “boots on the ground.” If you can donate to a relief agency, either directly or through your church, that would also be greatly appreciated.

Additionally, I’m asking you to pray for the families and friends of those who have lost loved ones and for the injured. Pray that the missing can be found. Pray for healing. God knows all their names and all their situations. 

I would also like to encourage you to send a card or note of encouragement to Miss Chris Lambert. Although her home is destroyed (I’ll include some photos), the post office is holding her mail for her. I know a bunch of cards would mean a lot to this elderly woman who has lost almost all of her worldly possessions. You can reach her at:

            Chris Lambert

            1681 W. Broad St.

            Cookeville, TN 38501

After returning home last night, I read an article about the disaster. One of the victims, Rodney Mathis, said, “We’ve lost everything. But you know what, it’s not what you got, it’s who you got…And we got a lot of good neighbors here. We pull together and you’ll see the community pull together and clean this up. You won’t know it in a week.”

It’s not what you got, it’s who you got. 

Miss Lambert’s got us…so let’s write to her and pray for her, along with the other victims.

In John 8:12, Jesus says, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”

Whatever situation you find yourself in—whatever struggles you’re facing in life—remember to walk toward the Light. 

Walk toward the Light and you’ll be okay.