Dear Bible Class Teacher,

I don’t know how long you’ve been teaching your students about God’s Word. Maybe weeks. Maybe months. Maybe decades.

I don’t know how many people—young, old, or somewhere in between—have sat at your feet and listened to you explain stories from the Bible, as best you can. Maybe a few. Maybe a few hundred. Maybe more.

I don’t know how long it takes you to prep each week. Maybe 15 minutes. Maybe several hours. Maybe additional time assembling crafts, making copies, or studying commentaries. Time you could have spent on other pursuits.

I don’t know how many adult Bible classes you’ve missed because you counted it worthy to be a teacher—a giver—rather than solely a receiver. Maybe a few. Maybe a lifetime’s worth.

I don’t know how the Coronavirus has affected your teaching ministry. Maybe you’re still teaching in person. Maybe you’re Zooming lessons remotely. Maybe the class you teach has been postponed for a season.

I don’t know how often you’ve gotten positive feedback from your students, their parents, or your church leadership. Maybe weekly. Maybe occasionally. Maybe never.

Here’s what I do know…

What you do matters.
What you do makes a difference.
What you do affects eternity.

Two quick stories…

Among the many fine, dedicated Bible class teachers who have taught and encouraged me through the years, Miss Edith Focht stands out. From 1974-1979, ages 8-13, I sat at the feet of Miss Edith and learned God’s Word. I’m pretty sure we hit every story in the Bible.

Our classroom was in a dark, dank, cinder block room in the basement of the Dover Church of Christ in Delaware—the first room on the right once you descend the steps. Our congregation was small, and I was often the only student in class on Sunday mornings. Regardless, Miss Edith made me feel special, like I belonged. Armed with a felt board and a big heart, she brought Bible stories to life in a powerful, compelling way. I climbed those basement steps after class each week with a little better understanding of how much God loves me.

During heavy rains, the church basement flooded, but that didn’t stop Miss Edith. We would sit around the little table with our Bibles open and our shoes resting in water. Miss Edith would present the lesson from God’s Word with the sound of sump pumps and deacons with mops in the background. If the lesson was on Noah or the parting of the Red Sea, our wet predicament would serve as a prop. Regardless of the conditions, Miss Edith was going to teach, and teach she did—with passion, energy, and most of all love. Week after week, month after month, for six years, Miss Edith changed my life.

As I sit here, in 2020, writing a book about the Bible, my mind keeps going back to Miss Edith. With the help of the internet, I learned this week that Edith M. Focht died peacefully at her Delaware home, at the age of 80, on February 10, 2010. Her obituary reads, “She was a long time member of the Dover Church of Christ and enjoyed volunteering her time with the related church activities.” Based on my experience with her and the impact she had on my life, that one sentence recap of her ministry seems so inadequate. Thus, this blog.

Edith mattered.
Edith made a difference.
Edith affected eternity.

I’m not sure, as an 8-13 year-old boy, it ever occurred to me to thank Miss Edith. Maybe I did. I’m not even sure, at the time, I fully understood how she was building a spiritual foundation for me. But she was. I get it now. I plan to give her a high five and a hug when my journey is over and we meet again. In the meantime, I’m thanking you, the soldiers of Christ who follow in her footsteps. You matter too! Your impact can be just as great on the Bible class student, young or old, sitting at your feet!

Second story…

A few years ago, while visiting the Lafayette Church of Christ in Ballwin, MO (where my youngest son, Kyle, ministers at), I sat in Bob Clark’s Bible class. Bob, the preaching minister for this congregation, told the class about a large bone which sits on his desk. He used the bone as an illustration for how to study Scripture. In short, (1) Dogs are passionate about bones; (2) Dogs chew on bones; (3) Dogs sometimes bury a bone but dig it up later to chew some more; and (4) A bone kept in a package and stored in a cabinet doesn’t do the dog any good.

His illustration was simple, but highly effective. He spent a few moments on it and then went on to something else, like a good Bible class teacher will do.

And now, as Paul Harvey would say, the rest of the story…

I took notes in Bob’s class that day. If a teacher or preacher uses an effective illustration, there’s a good chance I’m going to record it in my Bible.

A couple of years later, I extracted his metaphor from the margin of my Bible and included it in Faith in the Margins, my 365-day devotional book. You’ll find it on January 8th.

A year later, in 2019, Ms. Donna Kesler of Cleveland, NC, purchased Faith in the Margins and began reading the devotionals. Later, she purchased the book for her niece, Lee Jan and also for Lee Jan’s friend, Mary Kossel, of Lexington, NC. Lee Jan and Mary share a phone devotional and prayer time together every Saturday morning.

Mary worships and works with the Lexington, NC congregation. While reading Faith in the Margins, she came across Bob’s bone metaphor and was inspired by it. So inspired, in fact, that she created a bulletin board for her church that reads, “Study My Bible Like a Dog with a Bone.” A bulletin board that children and others walk by, read, and are likely inspired by.

All because a guy named Bob was led by the Spirit to teach a Bible class. Yes, his simple illustration about a dog and a bone traveled 768 miles, from Bob => Steve => Donna => Lee Jan => Mary, and ended up on a bulletin board in NC for myriad students to learn from, because that’s how God works. When Christians sow bountifully, we can expect to reap bountifully (see 2 Corinthians 9:6). When you teach passionately, expect God to bring about great results, even though you may never know about them this side of eternity.

So, to the Bible Class teachers out there, thank you. THANK YOU! You matter. You make a difference. You affect eternity. How far God will extend the seeds that you sow, and what messengers he’ll use along the way, is up to God. Let’s also trust him with the results–to bring forth the increase (see 1 Corinthians 3:7). Your job—our job—is simply to teach. To scatter seed. Even in dark, dank, flooded basement classrooms. Even with only one student.

Sow seed and let God do the rest.

On this Thanksgiving Day
I stop and ponder…
Enough?

A partly cloudy day today
But the sun came up, and that’s enough

No Alabama trip, as planned today
But East Tennessee will be enough

No dear children to enjoy this day
But I’ve got Lil Jan, much more than enough

No dad to share a meal with this day
But chatting by phone will be enough

No mom to give a hug this day
But she’s in heaven, and that’s enough

No hanging with friends, as planned today
But playing games with in-laws will be enough

No Turkey Trot to run this day
But a morning jog will be enough

I’ll return with partially numb feet this day
But two feet I have, and that’s enough

I’ll treat glaucoma with eye drops this day
But two eyes I have, and that’s enough

No massive feast to consume this day
But Cracker Barrel takeout will be enough

No backyard football to play this day
But watching the Cowboys will be enough

The movie theaters are closed today
But I’ve got a good book, and that’s enough

No crowds at Macy’s parade today
But there’ll still be floats, and that’s enough

No mansion over our heads today
But a God-provided home, and that’s enough

No fancy cars in the garage today
But there’s a Honda Fit, and that’s enough

Not the richest guy in town today
But God always provides, and that’s enough

No walks along the beach today,
But a mountain view will be enough

No worshipping in person, for us, these days
But streaming it live, for now, is enough

A year half-empty, it seems, this day
But a year also half-full, and that’s enough

Only 24 hours in the day, this day
But I’ve got this moment, and that’s enough

What’s the future hold? I don’t know today
But God holds the future, and that’s enough

On this Thanksgiving Day
I bow my head
And thank my God
For always giving me…

Enough

“But the people refused to listen to Samuel. “No!” they said. “We want a king over us. Then we will be like all the other nations, with a king to lead us and to go out before us and fight our battles.”            – 1 Samuel 8:19-20

Americans get pretty worked up over election results. The stakes always seem so high…

       Donald Trump promised to Make America Great Again. Who wouldn’t want that?

       Barack Obama offered Hope and Change. Sign me up!

       George W. Bush served up Compassionate Conservatism. Give me a double order of that, please!

       Dwight Eisenhower said he would bring Peace and Prosperity. How soon can we start?

       Even as young student, I voted for Student Council President candidates who promised longer recesses, less homework, and field trips to Disney World. If we can just elect the right person, surely good things will happen and our lives will improve.

       The Israelites were no different. Although God promised to lead them and make them prosperous as their eternal king, that wasn’t enough. They wanted an earthly king like the nations around them. With the right earthly king on the throne, they would find success in battle and economic prosperity…or so they thought. 

       The note from the margin reads: We still want a leader to fight our fights and fix our problems. Rather than put our trust in God, we look to earthly leaders for solutions to what ails our society and our lives. Rather than seek to become more pure and Christ-like as individuals, we focus on an earthly king who promises to make our nation greater. Rather than put our hope in a Savior who can change us, we order up hope and change from a mere mortal.

       I’m not against political parties, politicians, or free and open elections. Earthly kings, from the United States President down to the 8^th Grade Student Council President, can inspire people and bring about great change. Some leaders even pray to God and ask him to guide their actions and decisions.

       But the biggest choice we face isn’t at the ballot box. What’s truly at stake isn’t dependent on which political party holds office for the next four or eight years. While those things matter, there is a matter of greater consequence. Will we, as a nation and as individuals, choose to follow God? Will we trust in the one who created us, loves us, and sustains us?

       The warning from 1 Samuel 12:25 seems fitting: “Yet if you persist in doing evil, both you and your king will be swept away.”

“Sometimes a change of perspective is all it takes to see the light.” – Dan Brown

Every once in a while, I cross paths with someone who I believe, in retrospect, must have been placed there by God. Someone who, perhaps unintentionally, refocuses my attention and stirs me to action. Someone who, through sheer force of their example, makes a difference in my life.

In the Fall of 2017, my wife and I were doing disaster relief in Beaumont, Texas, following the devastation of Harvey, a category 4 hurricane. One day, we were assigned to work with a team from the College Church of Christ in Searcy, Arkansas. Our task was to “gut” a home that, 30 days earlier, had been under eight feet of water. Mold covered the walls and possessions. Furniture was tossed about. Total destruction. The owners, a sweet couple in their mid-80s, had been evacuated in waist-deep water in the middle of the night as Harvey moved in.

Our quickly assembled team donned protective gear, gathered wheelbarrows and crowbars, and began tearing out moldy, water-soaked drywall. We carted and carried a lifetime’s worth of now ruined possessions to the mile-long debris pile along the street. On a return trip through the house, I walked by the dining room and glanced over at a curly-headed, perspiring, middle-aged man who resembled Mark Twain. As he struggled to lift a water-logged carpet, he looked up at me and said, “Hey…uh…Doofus…come over here and help me with this.”

I sat my wheelbarrow aside, walked over to him, and firmly gripped the carpet. As we dragged it through the front door and across the lawn, I couldn’t help but laugh at this man who didn’t know my name. I found it quite humorous that of all the possible substitute names this man, our team leader, could have chosen for me… “Brother,” “Friend,” “Dude,” or even, “Hey, You”… he had instead gone with “Doofus.” (BTW, “Doofus,” according to Webster is, quite simply, “a stupid person.”) Even funnier was that I had immediately responded to that name and answered his call for help. Which begs the question: If you answer to Doofus, does that make you a Doofus? Perhaps.

So, for the rest of the week, my new friend called me Doofus and I called him Mr. Twain. We quickly realized we shared two passions: (1) disaster relief work (more specifically, slicing up trees with chainsaws); and (2) coffee (at any hour of the day or night). By the fourth or fifth night, we were hanging out at the laundromat at 11 p.m., sipping caffeinated coffee, and watching our funky clothes agitate in the washing machines before us. This is how friendships are forged.

Over the past few years, our paths have crossed a handful of times. Each time, Mr. Twain (real name: Chris Adams) has found a way to encourage me or motivate me. On one occasion, at a Starbucks in Searcy, Arkansas, we discussed and shared insights on the challenges of caring for aging (and dying) parents. I don’t remember all that he said, but I walked away feeling encouraged that another soul “got” what I was going through and had gone through, having navigated similar waters. 

More recently, my iPhone rang and I glanced at the caller I.D., which read, “Mark Twain.” I smiled and answered, anticipating the next word I would hear. “Doofus! It’s Chris.” (I’m glad he identified himself because, you know, with so many people calling me Doofus I wouldn’t know who I was talking to.) He continued,  “I’m taking a team to Louisiana in a few days. I know it’s short notice, but are you in?” After quickly glancing at my calendar, I asked, “Will you buy me a cup of coffee?” “Of course,” he answered. “Well, then, I’m in.”

Before I could say, “Hurricane Laura,” I was in Pineville, Louisiana, knocking down trees and drinking coffee with Mr. Twain, his team (including our mutual friend, Keith Picker), and another of my long-time friends, Chuck Leasure. Twain introduced me, appropriately, as “Doofus,” and, in turn, I reflected on his rise to literary prominence in the river novels featuring Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. 

At night, we collaborated on the size and composition of teams to send out the following day and where they would go. During the day, our teams turned downed trees into firewood and sawdust. Then again at night, we snuck off just before the stores closed to buy cartons of ice cream for the assembled workers back at the building. By Sunday morning, Doofus and Twain were preaching and leading singing, respectively, for the Pineville Church of Christ, our hosts.

Fast forward to this past Friday. After finishing an afternoon run on the most perfect Fall day here in Maryville, I received a text from Chris with a bunch of photos. He and his team were in Lake Charles, doing disaster relief with the Church of Christ Disaster Response Team. Then he called me. “Doofus! It’s Chris. I’m here in Lake Charles. We’re feeding people today…hundreds of ‘em. Somebody donated a ton of pork butt and we’ve been prepping it. Do you know what’s involved in turning a ton of pork butt into sandwiches? (I did not.) Also, I just sent you some pictures that I just took. The photos are from the same spot, but I’m looking in different directions. It’s all about perspective. Write something about that.”

My first thought: You’re Mark Twain, a renowned author. Write your own story! 

Instead, I looked at the photos, and realized he was on to something…

In the first photo, you’re in Lake Charles looking down a mostly desolate Enterprise Boulevard, lined with trash and lawn debris. The blue-tarped roofs are a reminder of the back-to-back storms which have trampled this community, city, and region. No children playing. No Fall flowers being planted. Mostly dirt and debris. It’s cleaned up, at least, but still conveys kind of a hopeless feeling. That’s one perspective.

In the second photo, you’ve rotated your position and changed your perspective. You’re now looking at the front of the Enterprise Boulevard Church of Christ. Out front, a sign reads, “Church of Christ Disaster Response Team.” In this picture… from this perspective… hopelessness has turned into hope. Where you find the church building, you may be near the actual church—the body of Christ, and that means there’s hope. 

And where you find the DRT sign, you’ll find a group of volunteers who want to feed you, supply your needs, clean up your home and community and, in the name of Christ, help you get back on your feet. From this perspective, there’s still no activity… just a sign. But the sign gives hope.

In the third photo, you’ve rotated again and start to see evidence of activity. More signs, but perhaps some movement as well. An open car door. An open tool trailer. Cars beginning to queue. There appears to be some activity. Maybe what’s going on here is more than just a church building… more than just a sign. Something is happening at this place. 

In the fourth and subsequent photos, cars are lined up. Cars full of hungry people. On that day, about 900 people were served. People whose lives and neighborhoods have been wrecked by back-to-back major storms. People who, for the time being at least, are among the “least of these” contemplated in Matthew 25. If they were hungry, they drove away full. If they needed clothes, they were clothed. If they needed supplies, they were supplied. If they needed a roof tarped, drywall hung, or debris hauled, those requests were taken and would be eventually honored, as well. And whether they requested it or not, they would be prayed for—daily—by people who believe in the power of prayer.

Four photos. Same spot. But four different perspectives, depending on which way you’re facing. Cycling through the photos, we move from hopelessness to hope, from hope to happenings, and from happenings to healing. That’s how God uses his people to change the world. And he gets all the glory!

I don’t know exactly what perspective Chris had in mind on the different perspectives in these photos, but two applications come to mind for me:

First, two people at the very same spot may have very different perspectives on their circumstances depending on which way they are facing—what they are focused on. For example, one person looks at 2020 as a wasted year, due to COVID-19, social unrest, political division, and other negative factors. They focus on the first photo—the desolate street. 

Another person, standing in the same spot, views 2020 not as a waste, but an opportunity. An opportunity to sew masks for healthcare providers. An opportunity to buy groceries for an elderly neighbor with pre-existing health conditions. An opportunity to pay a few bills for a friend who is out of work. Both people are confronted with the lemon that is 2020, but only one has chosen to make lemonade. Same spot. Different attitudes and perspectives.

Second, as we reflect on these photos, I think individuals and churches should ask which photo best depicts how we are seen by others—by the outside world. What perspective do they see in you? When someone among “the least of these” encounters your life, do they see Christ? Do they move from a sense of hopelessness (photo 1) to a sense of hope (photos 2-4)? Or, is my “I’m a Christian!” sign merely a mirage? 

Do our church buildings have impressive signs out front, but not much going on beyond that? Are we mostly in a comfortable, self-preservation, maintenance mode? Does our sign read, “Free Food Here! Come and Get It!” or merely, “We Wish You Well in Finding Food!” Are we the Good Samaritan who stopped and helped, or the priest who walked on by? Speaking for myself, too often I’ve walked on by.

But maybe… just maybe… our lives and our churches can be more than just signs. There can be activity beneath the surface and behind-the-scenes… something amazing going on beyond the signs. We can go where we need to go and do what we need to do to bring hope and relieve suffering. We can try, as difficult as the task may be, to be the eyes, ears, feet, and hands of Jesus. It doesn’t take driving to a disaster area or wielding a chainsaw to do this. There are hurting people all around us. 

Friends, if I may speak from the heart for a moment. We don’t need more grandiose church buildings or fancy signs. We don’t need more cross necklaces or Christian fish bumper stickers. Instead, we need more people willing to roll up their sleeves and get to work, meeting the needs of a hurting world. A world far more likely to listen to our “saving gospel message” if they’ve already seen Jesus at work in our lives. That’s what the world needs. And it starts with me.

Chris Adams, my friend, aka Mark Twain, gets that. He’s one of those servant-hearted people. A guy all-in on disaster relief—one downed tree and pork butt sandwich at a time. A Photo #4 guy who is all-in on Jesus. A guy who appreciates a good cup of coffee and a well-oiled chainsaw.

A guy who calls me Doofus.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” – A Tale of Two Cities, Charles Dickens

While traveling on a Virginia interstate in a rainstorm last week, a wave of anxiety crashed down upon me. My normally upbeat self suddenly felt deflated and depressed. This feeling caught me off guard and, being the overly rational guy that I am, I searched for an explanation.

Maybe it was the gloomy Coronavirus forecast I had just read. Over a million infections. Tens of thousands of deaths. The invisible virus was running roughshod over the world as we know it, with no end in sight. God, please do something.

Closer to home, maybe it was my concern for my eldest son, Jason (a prosthetist/orthotist), and daughter-in-law, Laci (an occupational therapist), who continue to see patients and are unable to “shelter in place.” Like many others, they are risking their own well-being to serve and treat others. God, please protect them.

Perhaps it was my mixed feelings about traveling to North Carolina to help Jason and his wife, Rachel, move into their new home. Helping them seemed like the right call, and we would take precautions, but there were risks. Specifically, we would return home to my elderly in-laws who had pre-existing conditions. Were we recklessly putting their health at risk? God, if this is a mistake, please forgive me and make it okay.

Maybe it was the 40 minutes I had been on hold with a potential mortgage lender, trying to secure financing, and a suitable timeline, for the home we were trying to purchase. If we were unable to close in 30 days, we risked losing the contract. God, I hate to be petty, but please have someone answer the phone and give me a favorable response.

More simply, maybe it was my concern about having Janet, my wife, driving on the interstate in the rain, so that I could make some important phone calls. God, please keep her alert and slow the rain.

All of those concerns joined forces and made a frontal assault on my resolve to “not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” (Philippians 4:6)

I have read and taught classes about that verse countless times. It’s so simple in concept, and so easy to do…in good times. The real test comes when you get that pit in your stomach during tough times. I wanted to believe that verse. I wanted to rise to the occasion. I wanted to practice what I had long preached and be a good example to my family. I wanted Jesus to be proud of me. But the pall of uncertainty and anxiety hung over me. Lord, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24)

And then, in this moment of intense anxiety, a song came on the radio. I wish I could say it was Bless the Lord, Oh My Soul or some old-time gospel favorite. It was not. I have no doubt God connects with his people, and they speak to one another with “psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit.” (Ephesians 5:19a)

But this was not a hymn I sang in worship. Perhaps God was taking me in a different direction. This was a song from the American rock band Styx—easily my favorite musical group during my formative middle-school years of the late 1970s. Unbeknownst to them, I sang lead vocals and backup air guitar, with the help of a basement 8-track tape player in our Dover, Delaware home. 

The song was written by their front man and lead singer, Dennis DeYoung. It appeared on their 1981 Paradise Theater album, which falls roughly between 1977’s The Grand Illusion (my all-time favorite album) and 1983’s Kilroy was Here, which featured the ubiquitous “Mr. Roboto.”

DeYoung wrote the song as a paraphrase of the Charles Dickens’ line, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” In an interview with Songwriter Universe magazine, he said, “For me, the song is simple. It’s when the world goes mad, how do you cope? And in this instance, it’s the love between two people, that they make their own paradise within their companionship, their love for each other, and their own home. And that’s what ‘The Best of Times’ is about…it’s saying that The Best of Times are when I’m alone with you.”

While on a lengthy telephone hold, with the rain pounding on our windshield, and a pit of anxiety swirling in my stomach, I listened to the song. No singing. No air guitar. I just listened…

Tonight’s the night we’ll make history
Honey, you and I
And I’ll take any risk to tie back the hands of time
And stay with you here tonight
I know you feel these are the worst of times
I do believe it’s true
When people lock their doors and hide inside
Rumor has it, it’s the end of paradise
But I know, if the world just passed us by
Baby I know, I wouldn’t have to cry, no no
The best of times are when I’m alone with you
Some rain some shine, we’ll make this a world for two
Our memories of yesterday will last a lifetime
We’ll take the best, forget the rest
And someday we’ll find
These are the best of times
These are the best of times
The headlines read, “These are the worst of times”
I do believe it’s true
I feel so helpless like a boat against the tide
I wish the summer winds could bring back paradise
But I know, if the world turned upside down
Baby, I know you’d always be around, my my
The best of times are when I’m alone with you
Some rain some shine, we’ll make this a world for two
The best of times are when I’m alone with you
Some rain some shine, we’ll make this a world for two

I don’t know that Dennis DeYoung could have foreseen a global pandemic that would wreak havoc on the world nearly 40 years later, killing (as of tonight) over 69,000 people. Still, he was on to something. So, let me repeat his earlier question: When the world goes mad, how do you cope?

For many, the world has gone mad. It’s the worst of times. The headlines confirm that. Our world has been turned upside down. We’re locking our doors and hiding inside. We feel like helpless boats against the tide. Rumor has it, it’s the end of paradise.

Still, we long for a world turned right side up. We pray for calmer waters. We wish for summer winds to bring back paradise, or at least some semblance of normalcy.

Despite all the chaos and uncertainty, DeYoung finds hope in the one he loves. Being alone with her is enough. He looks back on fond memories of yesterday that will last a lifetime. He focuses on the best and tries to forget the rest. He takes the good with the bad, the rain with the shine, and commits to a brighter future.

Although DeYoung’s outlook, at least in this song, doesn’t expressly include God…mine does. God has promised Christians a bright future and a happy ending…the best of times. God also tells us to pray to him, to make our requests known, in every situation.

So, as we drove down the interstate last week, I prayed to God…

God, please do something.
God, please protect them.
God, if this is a mistake, please forgive me and make it okay.
God, I hate to be petty, but please have someone answer the phone and give me a favorable response.
God, please keep her alert and slow the rain.
And, God, one more thing…thank you for giving me a wife and best friend to ride out this storm with.

If you’re struggling with anxiety, or even if you’re not, let me suggest you wake up every morning with a prayer on your lips and a couple of Bible verses memorized and on your heart. I recommend…

            “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” – Philippians 4:6

            “Be still and know that I am God.” – Psalm 46:10a

Finally, if you haven’t done so lately, be sure to tell the ones you love that you love them. Don’t let a day go by without your loved ones hearing those words. 

Let me begin. 

To my children, my daughters-in-law, the rest of my family, and my friends…I love you guys!

Janet…I love you! The best of times are when I’m alone with you.

Don’t ever forget that!

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.