Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

Is Satan Stealing Our Nation?

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I was praying this morning on the way to work, and I felt the Lord speaking to me about the condition of our Nation. I mean, how could He not. Unless you’ve been asleep under a rock, you’ve seen the devastation occurring. We giggle at the many memes joking about the craziness of the year 2020, but I think we laugh so we won’t cry. After all, who hasn’t considered the fact when someone brings up words like “end times.” Indeed, we are living in unprecedented times, and I wonder if we can truly see what is happening around us.

This morning as I prayed I had a vision of people on their knees. It was Saints of God, bowing in worship, and as they prayed light from Heaven beamed down into their bodies. It was as if the Holy Spirit was infusing His people with the power they needed, and the thought of this gave me hope. I prayed for revival, knowing that was what we needed, and then I received clarity on the battle to prevent awakening in our world. We were under attack, like never before, and if we were in end times, then we needed to have eyes to see and ears to hear! That is what I prayed for.

When COVID-19 first descended on our country, and it became apparent that the danger we faced was real, I could see a light peeking through the darkness. I know many of you saw it too. The light was shining from the life of others, as the Lord worked through His people to bring hope to a shocked world. We were witnesses to things we had never before encountered, and as we tried to make our way through the surreal fog of uncertainty, the essence of hope beamed like a beacon to persevere. People came together, communities stood tall, and voices rose. You could actually see faith in action, and while church buildings closed, the true church (the body of believers) came out of the woodwork to hold up the weak and weary. I was so proud.

It felt like revival was working its way through the country. Bibles were flying off store shelves and the Bible App reached record downloads. People who normally stayed away from entering a church building were showing up to watch services online, and the healing power of Jesus was reaching people it never had before. A pandemic was upon us, but in true, Awesome God fashion, the Lord was working it for good.

I remember thinking to myself, this is it. A great awakening is upon us.

But then the dastardly sandman slinked out of the grass, ready to close eyes however he could.

You began to see videos popping up on Facebook, and it was almost like the church of conspiracy theories was born. It stepped up its recruiting efforts in an unparalleled fashion, and it was like everyone I knew was suddenly “woke.” Isn’t it ironic how the medium the devil used to distract God’s people from His work, closing their eyes to what He really wanted them to do, was termed such a thing?

Everyone became suspicious. And while I’m a realist, aware of government intrusion, even I couldn’t believe the uproar. Helpers became hiders. People who had formerly been encouraging each other, suddenly began arguing amongst themselves. United people became fragmented factions, hurling ugly words over whether to stay at home or not. Masked men versus the unmasked, and vaccinators fighting with oil infusers. Ridiculous. Petty arguments over politics, and an ever-present stream of shock-factor videos that threatened to disappear if you didn’t watch right away!

While there was nothing wrong with awareness of media manipulation or political propaganda, the problem came with Satan using the work of evil men to further divide good people. The devil was taking something that should have been for the good of mankind and using it to drive a wedge between them. Tempers flared, and instead of us finding the strength we needed to persevere through difficult times in Jesus, we tried to find it in knowledge, as if uncovering conspiracy would make a very real virus suddenly disappear. Instead of finding unity in our fear of the unknown, we allowed evil to thin our patience, replacing it with anger at our neighbor, when really we were just angry with a situation we couldn’t control.

Basically, a time that could have been a win for the church, became an opportunity for losing our cool. What should have been a time of spiritual awakening, instead became a time of distracted slumber. Y’all, we fell for it hook, line, and sinker. I’m guilty too. In times where I could have shown compassion, I responded in frustration. Pride abounded, with each group certain of only one thing; they were right about absolutely everything. We forgot how to humble ourselves, and Satan lapped it up like the dog he is. Evil fed off our anger, and if we could see into the spiritual realm, I’m certain we would have seen demonic forces strengthened by the vapors of our fear and rage. A time when the Nation could have come together, when the church had the utmost opportunity to be a witness of love, we instead fought over whether Outback Steakhouse should open back up their dining room. It’s a laughable comment, until you realize it’s true. We lashed out when we could have loved instead. Fueled by fear and a lack of control, we found false security in fighting over petty indifferences. As if proving that a face mask does no good in public, that would somehow make everything fall into place.

I realize I’m getting too wordy, so please hang with me and I’ll try to tie this up. My point is, our Nation needs a wake up call, but every time God sends one, we fall for Satan’s lullaby! The Lord calls us to follow Him, but Satan whispers for us to hit the snooze button just one more time.

The remnant prayed for healing, and in His mercy the Lord heard their cries. He brought abundant blessing, cutting off Corona before it could carry out its full potential! But then do you know what we did?! The same people who had prayed for an end to the pandemic cursed it coming to an end. Instead of seeing God’s grace and answer to our prayers, they shouted, “I knew it was a hoax!”

That’s right. The Lord blessed His people with healing, but the devil whispered lies. The great deceiver laughed and laughed.

The Lord still allowed us to reap His blessing despite the blatant denial of His goodness. We began to see the cloud of COVID lift, case numbers go down, and communities opening back up. The light of the Lord’s favor was shining on our country once again. When the Lord blesses, the enemy will try and attack. Especially when the Lord is trying to show us His character, the enemy will come up with the next strategy to distract, divide, and blind.

Evil came to the forefront in a horrendous way, by act of murder. It started with Ahmaud Arbery and Breonna Porter, and came to an explosion with the tragic death of George Floyd. Satan wanted death and destruction, and he brought it by senseless violence. The Lord desires healing, truth, and justice, and He used the video evidence of the obvious murder of George Floyd to illuminate a very real problem in America. He utilized the work of Satan to try and bring some good from the devastation. He opened eyes to racism, that it still existed today, and He opened hearts to compassion and empathy for the marginalized, black community. People who had turned a deaf ear, buried their head in the sand, or simply been blinded by a spirit of apathy, suddenly could see what the black community had been screaming for years!

Once again we are faced with an option. Will we sleep, or will we wake up? Will we have eyes to see and ears to hear, or will we remain blind? Satan is tricky and he will use the cover of religion (over true relationship with Jesus) to keep God’s people asleep. Satan will use division, pride, and anything he possibly can. So, while we may think the devil simply uses bigotry and obvious racist behavior to serve his purposes, in reality he uses so much more. He can cause us to deny racism is an issue, or he can make us apathetic to the plight of others. He can keep us silent with fear of what others may think, or by injecting confusion into the issue.

False thoughts like these.

I don’t agree with violence and rioting, so therefore I can’t stand with Black Lives Matter.

But I believe all lives matter, therefore I can’t stand with Black Lives Matter.

I don’t think all cops are bad, so I can’t support the black community.

These are just a few examples of the confusion that seeps into our thinking, and we inadvertently allow the distractions to prevent us from carrying out God’s will for our world. We’ve gotta stop! We have to recognize the fact that it’s not flesh and blood we fight, but principalities and powers of darkness. We must walk in love, compassion, and humility, facing all pandemics, areas of injustice, and really, all issues with a kingdom mindset. We need eyes wide open, and we need to consider what is not only important to our society as a whole, but also to the souls of society. What brings salvation? Is it arguments over a difference of opinion, or is it a kind, humble heart that considers the feelings of another?

Do you know the biggest barrier to revival in our country? It’s us. In my vision I saw God pouring His Spirit into His children, but I’m afraid when we close our eyes to injustice, our hearts to compassion, and our lives to working together for good, we also close off the flow of His power and blessing. In the end, we all miss out. We all lose. But none so much as the lost who never get to see Jesus in us.

How Would Jesus Respond to Black Lives Matter?

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There are so many aspects of society and its response to racism and inequality that I could talk about, but there’s really only one small part of this very large issue that I wish to discuss today. And that’s the thing. In essence this is a really small part. It’s a small act of service that we can provide to our brothers and sisters in the midst of a very large issue. In fact, this tiny concession means a big deal to the people in the muck of this mess, and who wouldn’t want to sacrifice (if I can even use such a lofty word) something so minuscule to make a huge impact on the feelings of another?

I think one of the bigger things bothering me during this uprising following the heinous murder of George Floyd (aside from blatant ignorance and racism, of course) is the position of some Christian brothers and sisters. Their perhaps well-meaning proclamations are hitting the ground flat, and they don’t represent me, although I am not one who is worthy to judge. You see, I too used to feel much the same as pious phrases I see pop up on social media, but I am grateful that the longer I live, the more the Lord reveals things to me. So, I thought I’d share what He’s saying.

As Christians (white Christians, that is), it’s easy to say things like, “Jesus died for us all!” And while I agree that’s true, we can’t stop there at such a deep-seated issue. After all, Jesus died to conquer sin, something that sadly still abounds and must be confronted. Remember when Jesus got angry and confronted sin in His Dad’s house?

We as white Christians will say that love is colorblind, and that the Lord only looks on the inside of a man. Again, these things are true, but the problem is that man doesn’t just look at the inside. In fact, they mostly look at the outside. They can’t help themselves. It’s that sin nature. Although we should desire to see people like Jesus, the problem is, we do not. We can’t change an entire society in a day. So, Karen, while I agree we should judge mankind by the red blood we all bleed, there’s too many bad people not doing that. We need to face up to that first.

And here’s the one I hate the most. Do you know I even said it before myself? I thought it was the Christian thing to say; what Jesus Himself would say. But now I realize I was just saying what I wanted to believe. What mattered to me. I was being selfish. I joined the band of good people saying “All Lives Matter,” but I never considered how far off base I was. Although all lives do matter to Jesus, in the face of inequality and racial injustice, I really don’t believe that’s what Jesus would say. I know, I know. I’m freaking you Caucasian, Southern Baptists out right now, but if we could ask Jesus how He felt about the Black Lives Matter movement, I really don’t think He’d respond like a large number of His followers.

Jesus would not say “all lives matter.”

When I was praying about this earlier and asking the Lord to reveal to me His heart on the matter I kept thinking about the verses in the Bible where Jesus washed the disciples’ feet. I started to Google “what the Bible says about equality ” or something to that nature, but my mind just kept telling me the feet washing was all I needed to know.

I felt like Jesus said to my heart, “when you say Black Lives Matter, you’re washing feet.”

Y’all, stay with me. In John 13:1-17 we read the account of Jesus washing the feet of His disciples. First off, you need to understand something about feet back then. They were dirty. Everyone wore saddles, walked in the desert, and probably in animal excrement too. Every house had a basin at the door so people coming in could wash their nasty feet before entering. Even the poor homes had a basin for guests. The richer homes, though, had a servant who actually would wash the feet of the guests. Can you imagine having that job?!

When Jesus washed the feet of His disciples He was taking a posture of humility. He was saying that even though His Dad was The King and it was His House, that He would lower Himself to the role of a servant, washing away our dirt, and making us more suitable to come into His home.

Posture of Humility. I want you to think about that.

John 13: 12-15 When he had finished washing their feet, he put on his clothes and returned to his place. “Do you understand what I have done for you?” he asked them. ““You call me ‘Teacher and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you.

Do your remember the greatest commandment? It was to love the Lord your God, and second to love your neighbor as yourself. Our black neighbors have not felt very loved, and rightly so. They have felt less than us. Do you remember who Jesus revealed Himself as Savior to first? A Samaritan woman, who historically was considered less than a Jewish man, not only because of gender, but also race. Yet Jesus chose her for a very special event in history; to be the first to know the Son of God had come to earth to save mankind.

Jesus came to save us all, but He also understood what it was like to be marginalized. He revealed Himself to a Samaritan Woman to prove that He stood with the weak, the ones who were judged unfairly, the people who felt wounded by society. He loves us all, and He came to save us all, but He chose to reveal Himself to a woman who had been treated unfairly based on things other than her soul. He also took on the role of a servant to show mankind that humility is the best way to love!

Posture of Humility.

When people are hurting, Jesus takes a posture of humility. When people are treated unfairly, He takes a posture of humility. Yes, He throws tables too, but the beginning of having a servant heart comes with humbling yourself. It comes with saying, “I will be less, so you can be more.”

To answer back to Black Lives Matter with All Lives Matter, while basically true, is really the opposite of what Jesus would do. Check your heart and ask why the phrase bothers you so much. Is it because it implies white lives don’t matter to people? Or that police lives don’t matter? Or that your life doesn’t matter?

1 John 3:16 By this we know love, that he laid down his life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers.

No one is asking you to lay down your physical life, even though Jesus did, but if you truly want to follow His example, you would see that a huge part of being a Christian is laying down yourself. We must constantly lay down our own desires and look at the desires of others. We must constantly check our own selfish ambition and motives. We must take the role of servant and see to the hurting people around us, forgetting our own pain, and only seeing that of others. When Jesus washed the disciples feet He knew Judas would betray Him, that Peter would deny Him, and that Thomas would doubt Him, yet He washed their feet anyway. He took a posture of humility that said, “it’s ok that I’m giving my life. This isn’t about me right now. It’s about you. Let me wash your feet.”

Do you see now? If you see someone hurting, cry with them. If you see someone angry, listen to their words. Hug them. No one is asking you to hang on a cross simply by answering, “yes, your life does matter. I’m sorry people have treated you like it didn’t.”

I would encourage you to lay down your pride and take the position of Jesus. Take a position of humility. The position of a servant who sees the injustice towards others and offers to wash their feet.

Could I Trust You Not to Murder My Black Son?

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I have been appalled by the far too frequent news reports and shocking videos of blatant murder of innocent black men by white men. And even as I typed those last five words, “black men by white men,” I cringed. I didn’t want to type the transparent truth, because in doing so I admit the ugliness of the race I share, but the time for sweeping under the rug or hiding your head in a hole has passed. I think I used to tell myself, I’m not racist, therefore I’m good, despite the atrocities abounding. But I believe God is bringing the obvious evil to the forefront as of late so we can all make the change. Not just pass it off to those we feel are responsible. That’s not what God is calling us to do.

In wanting to bring light to an ever present problem I knew I must use my platform to speak, but I didn’t want to just make some flowery post on Facebook, that while it got a few hundred “likes,” did about as much for the issue as the same digital, blue thumbs could do. I wanted God’s heart for me personally on this issue, and I prayed to Him for what I should say.

Immediately after asking I felt the Lord say, “think about this like a mother would.”

As far as mothering goes, I had experienced an exhausting week. My eldest child had unexpectedly experienced a grand mal (tonic-clonic) seizure. She had been hospitalized, gone through all the testing, been diagnosed with epilepsy, and placed on maintenance medication. We were now going through the aftermath of medication side effects, and the worst part, me trying not to worry to death for her. That’s what moms did, though. We worried about our babies.

At the Lord’s prompting I tried to imagine how I would respond to recent events in a motherly sense. If my child wasn’t the pale, Caucasian young woman she was, how would that change things for me? Could I trust all my social media contacts not to murder my black son if I had one?

Although I’m a Floridian now, living in a multicultural melting pot, I was most recently raised in Mississippi. There are a lot of good people in the South, who love their neighbor like themself, but there also still exists a prevalent attitude of racism. We want to think it’s not an issue anymore, like, since it no longer resembles the film Mississippi Burning, or the plantation isn’t worked by slaves, that a long-held stigma has been erased. It hasn’t.

Even though I was raised by a woman who had traveled the world, teaching me the color of a man’s skin didn’t define him, I was impacted by the small minds around me. It didn’t matter my very first friend had been named Tanisha, or that my Dad has bucked the system of his family’s belief. My father had been in the army, standing in battle with men of every color, who would lay down their life for his. If that doesn’t change your mindset, not much else will. Their support enabled me to go out with a black guy in high school, but my own regrettable fear of ridicule caused me to break it off.

I can still remember the gruff voice of a stranger on the phone the day following my date, “are you dating a nigger?!”

But even my personal brushes with racism hold little water when compared to the gravity of living in the midst of it. I may think I’ve experienced racism in my life, and could share a handful of stories like the one above, but in reality I have no clue. I don’t know personally what it’s like to be the target of hate simply because of the color of my skin.

I can sympathize related to still existing racism I’ve seen in the South, but in the end I can’t empathize; I can’t even imagine. I cannot understand the fact that even though I’m an intelligent, well-spoken, college-educated, professional, that I could be murdered despite all those things if my skin was any color but white. I mean, the idea is ludicrous, am I right?! And those of us privileged enough to think it doesn’t happen that way, are even being shown that it does. I suppose if there’s anything that the enemy has meant for evil, that God can use for good, it’s the evidence and awareness that racism is real, that it still exists, and that it can kill.

So, this morning, while I had the privilege of only being able to imagine, I did make the conscious effort to imagine. To imagine what it must be like to be the mother of a black child. I have just experienced the stress of illness in my daughter, and I found that difficult. I was pushing away thoughts that they put her on the same anti seizure medicine my mother had been on. My mother, who died of a seizure in her sleep. I had what I considered to be a sizable amount of faith in Jesus, but worries for the life of my baby, those thoughts rocked my soul. Imagine if every time your child left the house you had to worry about the chance of them being murdered? Not because of anything they had done wrong, but just because of the assumption they had or would based on how much melanin their skin contained.

I will confess ignorance. In the past I have said things were better. I’ve stood safely in my white skin and said it’s not that bad. I’ve tried to relate, even, stating all the ways I had been judged on outward appearance. Not that my inconveniences could even compare to fear of death, but in my self-centered, narrow vision, I was sure it did. But the thing is, as God brings to light the evil of man and the injustice out there, we can’t claim ignorance any longer. As we see the blatant disregard for human life, especially aimed at men of color, it’s an affront to anyone with eyes to claim racism doesn’t exist. To claim anything other than the fact it does, is an exercise in denial to the worst degree.

I hate that racism is real. It was easier to tell myself incidents were few and far between, but pretending we live in a better world just doesn’t make it so. Times are changing, and God is bringing light to the evils of mankind. Our job as Christians is to see what He is bringing to light. It’s to admit we see it, and not hide our heads in the sand. Our task as followers of Jesus is to stand firm and speak up for those who are persecuted. It’s to call out injustice and evildoers. It’s to help carry the burden. Your friends of color have been carrying it on their own for far too long.

Galatians 6:2 Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.

I would encourage you to stop and consider your life. Consider how it would change if your skin was a different color. Imagine your life as a mother, or a father. How would it change if you realized being pulled over for a traffic violation could get your child shot? Or even jogging down the road could end tragically. What if the talk you gave your teenager wasn’t just about the birds and the bees, but about the utmost importance of respecting authority figures who carried guns?

We often argue when injustice comes to light, thinking if we can put the center point on cops or guns that it will shift the focus. We say police aren’t bad, or that gun laws need to be reformed. But these are just distractions from the truth. In my opinion, there are a lot of good police! My white cousin was murdered by bad cops, but I still say the majority of police are fair and upright. But we’re not talking about police lives, or the fact that they also matter. We won’t lessen any brother or sister by distracting from their life. To say racism is real, and to say someone shouldn’t be treated differently based on the color of their skin, isn’t to say one kind of people deserve better treatment. I think they just want equal treatment, and I don’t think that’s too much to ask.

I would like to think we’re finally headed in the right direction. Eyes are being opened and heads are coming out of the sand. You can’t deny something any longer that blares itself outside the shadows, yet sadly, people still do. It’s up to us, the followers of Christ, to stand and speak out against evil. It must be held accountable, and no longer be allowed to hide. True change doesn’t happen on Facebook, or even at the hands of a well-thought blog post. It comes by the hands and feet of people everywhere. It starts in the hearts of every man and woman. We must admit there’s a problem, then work to resolve that issue in our own thoughts and feelings. To personally place ourselves in the shoes of another. Change continues as we impress that heart change to our children, and to everyone in our home. Change prevails when we carry that heart of Christ into our communities, onto our job sites, and into our every conversation and interaction.

It comes down to me to be a sanctity of life issue. All life is precious to our Lord, and our job is to see our fellow man as He does. It’s not a goal to not see color, but rather to see each color as precious, equal, and designed precisely, uniquely, and with a great purpose by God. Who are we to thwart what He has created? And who are we to ignore the attacks of Satan to divide and destroy mankind?

Letting Go of What You Love

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My daughter is at a friend’s house. Well, actually, it’s another RV, and she’s just playing in her friend’s lot/yard. It’s only maybe half a mile away, a simple bike ride, perhaps even within whistling distance if I could make one of those super loud whistles through my lips and tongue like my mother could do. So, she was close, but that didn’t make it any easier. It just didn’t.

Yesterday evening she had asked me if she could ride her bike to her best buddy’s house.

“I could tell when we video chatted that she was scared for me,” my daughter had said. “I want to make sure she can see that I’m ok.”

She was ok, but had literally been discharged from the hospital a couple of hours prior, so at her request yesterday, I had answered, “you’re so tired, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Seeing her disappointment I had added, “but me or your dad can drive you there.”

And that’s what we had done. We had driven her the little more than a football field distance to see her friend. This morning, she had slept in later than me, and as I sat in the living room I found myself wanting to go check on her in the bed. She had an acute seizure less than 48 hours prior, and I had not stopped replaying the scene in my head. I saw her eyes rolled back, and it brought tears to my own eyes, the memory was so fresh. It hurt just to recall the event I could not control, and my husband said as much.

“I keep seeing it in my head,” he commented from the other end of the couch. “I think the worst part was just watching it happen, because really there was nothing we could do to make the seizure stop. We just had to wait for it to end.”

I wanted to go check on her then, and even as I realized the irrationality of the desire, it made me feel better to look at her still, sleeping face, to kiss her forehead. My worried mind had wondered, what if she has another seizure, and you’re not there to help her? Somehow placing my eyes on her helped, but I also knew I couldn’t always have her in my sight.

We had allowed her to have her friend over this afternoon, but when the little girl needed to go back home, Chloe had asked to go with her. I heard Ben say he’d drive her there, but when he appeared in our bedroom a minute later I realized he had not.

“Did she ride her bike there?” I asked.

He replied, “yeah, I told her to come back in 40 minutes. I’ve got to just let it go.”

I nodded understanding. We had already began the discussion in the bathroom earlier. After I had been praying in the shower, I had asked him, “are you finding yourself worried about her?”

The nurse discharging us had told my daughter, “Wanna know the best part? Your life doesn’t have to change. You can do everything you’ve always done; you’ll just have to take a pill twice a day.”

I knew he had said it for her, but I also think it was a bit for me. Regardless, knowing and doing were two different things. I didn’t want her to feel different or handicapped. I remember how bad it felt for me as a little girl to be treated like the “weird, sick kid.” I remember teachers saying I shouldn’t be allowed in the computer lab with the other students because the screen might induce a seizure. I remember not being allowed to ride the three wheeler with my cousins because of the worry of me hitting my head. I remember the way kids treated me different. I even remember some family members questioning my mom for allowing me to get my driver’s license. It was not cool. I didn’t want her to feel like epilepsy made her abnormal. Just because her brain waves were.

I didn’t want to treat my baby like she was made of glass, but I also realized this was still new. It was a fresh insult to my senses, and I cut myself some slack for that. As with anytime I find myself in turmoil or worry, I had sought the Lord’s voice in the midst of my concern.

He reminded me of my own childhood. I had only had one seizure in my twelve year diagnosis of epilepsy. That’s unheard of! My first seizure had been my last, and even though I stayed on medication until I was twenty, I never had a seizure after third grade.

As I thought of this I felt the Lord say, “you see, I was with you then. Always. Even though you didn’t realize it.”

At the time of my diagnosis I did not know the Lord. I had not gone to church, and I had even initially been raised in an atheist home. I didn’t understand things like prayer and healing, or even calling out to Jesus for help. And even when we began attending a church on Sunday as I went through elementary school, it never occurred to me or was suggested to me to pray about my diagnosis. It was just something I lived with.

Last night my daughter had said, “I hope I don’t have to take medicine until I’m twenty like you did. Why did God wait so long to heal you?”

Even though the answer was easy, it surprised me when I had said, “I never thought to ask Him to. It wasn’t until I was twenty that people prayed for me about it.”

As I stood in the shower talking to My Father, and He reminded me of His presence through my time with epilepsy, I realized the gift of His love. I had not known Him and I didn’t pray to Him, but He knew me. He loved me even when I didn’t know He cared, and He had poured out His favor and mercy on me even then. He was the reason I had only one seizure. He was the reason my illness was not worse. He had always wanted to heal me, but He had to wait until the right time.

“I had to wait until you would know it was me.”

As I listened to the Spirit of the Lord I realized He loves Chloe, my firstborn, even more than I love her. He didn’t want to see her in pain or sickness. It hurt His heart too when she convulsed on my lap, but just like me, He was also with her. He would take care of her. I was reminded of how He cared for me, even when I didn’t know Him, and I thought, how much more will He pour out His favor on my daughter who cries out to Him in faith! On my daughter who we all intercede for!

Then I pictured myself at the feet of Jesus, at His thrown. I laid down my worry, my anxiety, and my child. I surrendered my girl to Him. I trusted that the One who loved her even more than I did, that He would do what was best for her life. I released her. I let go of what I loved. In return, I took the gift of His peace and comfort.

The fact is, I can’t always be with my child. I don’t know if she might have further seizures. I can’t control the future of her illness any more than I could control her seizing body days prior. But I can trust the God who has all control. So that’s where I am with this right now.

Before I even got halfway through this post my daughter returned from her friend’s house. She was all smiles and no worries. She sat on the bed with me as I wrote, telling story after story of her latest slime she had made, and I realized some things didn’t change. Her epilepsy had not changed the joyful nature she exuded, and the Father who had held me as a sick child was the same Father who now held her. And that gave me peace.

Something I Learned When My Daughter Got Sick

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I am naive when it comes to dealing with sick children. Sure, I’m a nurse, but I haven’t dealt with pediatrics since a Nursing Clinical in 2002. Yet even if I was used to working with sick kids, I don’t think it would have had any bearing on this issue, because the sick kid ended up being my own.

It’s easier not to worry about the worse case scenario when the child belongs to someone else, but when they’re your child, it changes everything. I’m thankful Jesus took the wheel for me yesterday when my nine year old began having an unexpected seizure. That’s the only explanation I have for not totally freaking out. I mean, they tell me at work that I’m totally calm in the face of chaos and everyone loves my extra chill demeanor when crap goes down, but this was totally different. It was different because the patient was my baby. My children have never been sick, hospitalized, or on any kind of medicine other than a week long antibiotic, so this was new for me.

I realize that the Lord often utilizes trying situations to draw people closer to Him. I mean, I’ve seen it time and time again, when calamity strikes, folks hit their knees. When tragedy falls, people finally look up. In the face of an uncontrollable situation, that is when God’s children usually cry out in earnest petition and pleading prayer. Even in my own past, I can think of a terrible situation leading me back to Jesus. I had fallen away from listening to the Lord, and it wasn’t until I was faced with an unexpected divorce that I cried out in surrender for His help. I had not heard His voice in my life in many years, but at that (my) lowest point I did. In retrospect, I realize I simply wasn’t listening very well until then.

This morning when I woke up in the hospital bed, cuddled up to my little girl, I found worried thoughts had returned. I had naturally experienced them the day before in the ambulance, the Emergency Room, and later hospital room as we waited for answers. Yet each time worries came, I was able to combat them with truth. This morning I wondered about why they had not done a scan of her head. My medical mind told me it was because the chance of it being anything other than a genetic cause was slim, and that made a CT not necessary. But my human heart worried for things like tumors or the dreaded ‘C’ word which I had to push from my mind.

As I sat up drinking coffee and thinking in the quiet, dim hospital room, I realized I was grateful for that auto pilot I had mentioned earlier. My husband and I agreed we had both been moved through the day before by the Spirit, and I knew it was Spirit and Truth that helped me answer the hard questions with wisdom that my young, confused daughter asked of me.

I had several times in my stress yesterday where I wanted to pull out my Bible and read God’s Word. Several times where I wanted to seek His wisdom through prayer. But there was always something going on, people coming in, tests being done, my daughter needing my assistance. By the time we finally settled down for the night my eyes were seeing double, and even though I cracked my Bible open to Zechariah and then John, I could barely focus on the words.

This morning I was grateful that I didn’t wait until personal illness struck my family to seek Him. It’s hard to seek Jesus in the middle of a storm. But for me, I found that I could feel Him in the midst of the tumultuous waves and thundering roar. The fiery trial attempted to consume me when I watched my baby convulse, and later when I tried to help console her steady tears. Yet I could see Jesus in the fire with me, just like the people who looked down in the fiery furnace where three Hebrew men were tossed saw Him.

When she asked me tough questions, God spoke wisdom and truth to me through His Word that popped up in my mind. When I felt worried, His Spirit soothed me. When I wanted to be angry (and say things I’d regret) for hospital policy that said my husband couldn’t be in the room with us, the Fruit of the Spirit prevailed. When my emotions were more than I could handle, His comfort covered me like a blanket. Faith prevailed, fear was abolished, and I saw my daughter also miraculously change from being scared to pieces to speaking the most mature knowledge and spirit-led prayers. We didn’t have to seek Him for truth, comfort, and wisdom in the midst of our situation. We simply walked in what we already knew and held in our hearts, and I can’t explain how much of a blessing it was to have this occur!

I would encourage anyone reading this post right now to understand that you don’t need to wait until a struggle occurs to ask the Lord to get you through it. I think that would be really hard. Much harder than it has to be. I would encourage you to seek Him in the calm. Seek Him in the ordinary, in the seemingly perfect. Don’t wait to seek Him when things fall apart; seek Him now. I read the Bible every day, and I didn’t always do this. I was almost forty years old before I began to daily saturate myself with scripture. So, please understand I don’t come to you from some “perfect Christian” place. There’s no such thing! I simply wish to impart what I have learned.

By taking in God’s Word daily, praying continuously, and thereby investing in my relationship with Him, I was more able to deal with stress and uncertainty when it came my way. I was grateful for the scripture that flooded my thoughts. It soothed me. I was grateful for the prayers of so many saints, but I was also thankful that I didn’t feel dependent on their prayers. I knew my Father heard me. He’s used to my voice. We slipped easily into conversation when I needed His voice the most. This doesn’t happen overnight, but rather through persistent time with Him. You never know when tragedy will strike, but when it does, you will want an open, easily accessible, and comfortable line of communication with Christ. For me, I found I was at the end of myself. I could barely find the way to walk upright, much less hear the whisper of a voice if I did not know what to listen for. My gift through all of this was my connection to Jesus.

I am thankful for the hospital, the fine doctors and nurses, and modern medicine. I’m thankful for our wonderful family and friends. I’m abundantly thankful for my strong husband. But above all, I’m thankful for Jesus. He held this momma up, so I was able to hold my baby up. If I learned anything through this illness of epilepsy so far, it is how blessed I am to have someone walking through the fire with me. I depend on the presence of my wonderful spouse so much, but yesterday a fever kept him from being able to be with us. Yet even in Ben’s absence, I had a solid rock to stand on. I had a tower of refuge and strength, and that Spirit helped me help my child. I watched that same Spirit transform her mind. I am grateful that in a difficult situation, when seeking the Lord would have been hard, I did not have to look far for Him. I only had to look for Him in me.

Why Do Bad Things Happen?

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I feel surreal right now. There’s been a lot of that lately, I suppose. I mean, I know I’m not the only one who looks around at masked men and empty store shelves and thinks, “is this real life?” The last three months have felt more like a SciFi movie. But even more than the craziest day of pandemic pandemonium, today I feel like I’m in a haze. As I sit in a very uncomfortable hospital recliner, watching my daughter sleep, through my own grainy eyes, I feel off kilter. Was that really me that lowered my seizing daughter to the floor this morning? It seems like something that happened in a dream.

This morning my nine year old had a grand mal seizure. She was napping on my lap, when suddenly I felt something and looked down. Her body was clenched tight and stiff, her muscles tensed up, and her whole body shaking vigorously. Her eyelids half open, and her eyes rolled back.

I called her name, even though I knew she wouldn’t answer. “Chloe!!!” I screamed.

It turns out she heard that part, but she told me it sounded like a whisper. The music that had been playing was barely audible to her, she had relayed. Later, in the ER, she said she was trying to sit up when she heard me, but she couldn’t move.

When I say I lowered her to the floor, that sounds graceful. I think it was more of a klutzy descent. I threw us down to the ground, more likely, and turned her to the side as I’d always been taught. As I turned my slobbering, seizing baby on her side, stroked her hair, and whispered reassurances, the familiarity of the situation didn’t go unnoticed. I had been the same age when my mother witnessed me having a grand mal seizure. I prayed, “no satan, this ends with me. This curse does not follow my daughter.”

I can’t believe I had the clarity to look at my watch when it started, but I did. I was so happy when her convulsions stopped just before two minutes, and I kept wiping her tears off her face while repeating, “momma’s here, you’re gonna be ok.”

She was seemingly unresponsive at first, but a mild knuckle rub of her sternum caused her eyelids to flutter. I smiled at that small victory. Within five minutes she could tell me in a slurred voice where she was, and by the time I got into the back of the ambulance I could see her perking up. I could tell because she looked scared.

She cried most of the ambulance ride to Orlando Health’s Pediatric Hospital, and I prayed with her for God to help her be brave. I guess that prayer was for me too.

They decided to admit her and have attached her to a continuous EEG monitor to watch the electrical activity of her brain. It was all so familiar. The gel and electrodes, even the strobe light test in her face. I wanted to call my mom so bad and ask her, “how did you deal with this when it was me,” but I couldn’t. That made me cry, but I waited until she was asleep.

In the ER she asked me if God knew this would happen, and I answered yes. Then she asked if He knew, then why He let it happen? I was reminded of this verse.

John 9: 1-3

As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”

“Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him.”

I told Chloe that He let it happen so He could show His power by healing her, that she could have a testimony like mine. I was miraculously healed of epilepsy. After taking medication three times a day since eight years of age, I was totally healed of my seizure disorder. If you’ve never heard that story, you can read it here.

I have had the opportunity to share my testimony of healing with every EMT, doctor, nurse, and tech we’ve encountered since we arrived. It’s easy when I have to give the significance of my history in light of her situation.

At one point a doctor said, “so it just went away, then?”

And Chloe interrupted, “no, Mom, you were healed!”

She was very confused in the ambulance. Imagine the last thing you remember is feeling weird, your hearing being almost gone, and you can’t move, then waking up in an ambulance. In the ER she was frightened, but now she feels better. She told me, “thank you for making me feel brave and not afraid.”

I told her it was all Jesus. He’s certainly holding me, and I’m grateful for that. I still feel like I could cry again, but I also feel God’s hand. I am grateful that we are right where we need to be. I wasn’t sure in November of this last year why I felt so certain that we needed to take a permanent job in Florida. We all loved the travel nurse life! When COVID came and travel jobs became scarce, unless you wanted NYC, I knew God’s will had placed us in a secure place. For the past two years we’ve been without traditional health insurance. With super healthy children and great health ourselves, it was easy to forgo the coverage, but I find that when we really need it, here it is. I am constantly in awe of God’s goodness to us. All I know is God is unchanging, and His goodness to us remains.

I will keep you all updated at this proceeds, and I look forward to telling you how God has used it for good. I covet your prayers. I am tired and very emotional. Ben and I are separated during this. He had a 100.0 temp, either due to rushing here in Central FL heat or a current tooth infection being treated with antibiotics, but regardless he wasn’t allowed to come inside the hospital. No children under 18 allowed either. I’m super grateful for FaceTime and Video Messenger. I’m also thankful for all the prayers already given, the hands laid on Chloe (in person and in Spirit), and the wonderful support of family and our church.

The Gift of Giggles and Gal Time

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As I drove to work this morning the sun had yet to peek over the horizon, but a smile had already risen on my face. Despite the dark hour, sleepy brain, and still full coffee mug, I felt a joyful energy flowing through my veins. My thoughts came back to my eldest daughter’s giggle, the one that had just recently tickled my ears, and I beamed anew. I realized her sweet spirit had injected itself into my marrow, and I felt rejuvenated by the memory of her smile. What a gift!

Just to let you know, my oldest daughter, still age nine, loves to sleep. In fact, she reminds me of a teenage boy. If we didn’t make her wake she would Rip Van Winkle her life away. Even on school days, she didn’t get up until at least nine or ten, thanks to her homeschool schedule. Yet there she had sat when I opened the bathroom door. After a hot shower I had opened the door to allow the steam to exit, and sitting on the floor, waiting patiently, she smiled underneath sleepy eyes.

This wasn’t the first time my girl had woken up as I got ready, and as I hugged her tight I commented, “I hoped I’d see you.”

It had all started a couple of months ago. My big girl had heard me leaving for work, and she had woken brightly to give me a goodbye hug and kiss. Later that night, when I had returned home, she had exclaimed with conspiratorial glee, “I saw you this morning!”

It was like it had been our secret meeting, something that she as the eldest child could take part in alone, and it became apparent it was a big deal to her. So much so, that she started telling me before bed to wake her in the morning before I left. At first, I tried to let it go. I had whispered her name, and when I didn’t get an answer, gone about my way. I liked the quiet time in the mornings to reflect and pray, and surely she didn’t really want to wake up intentionally at 6:00 am!

Boy, was I wrong. I had to hear all about her disappointment. Then she took to adding to her bedtime prayers, “and let me wake up before Mom goes to work.”

Gulp.

The first morning the Lord answered her prayer, you would have thought He had caused the sun to stand still like He did for Joshua in the Old Testament. She had gushed to me at bedtime about how God had heard her. Spurred by her childlike faith she ended her prayers in the same manner, petitioning the Lord to wake her when I got up.

Well, He did. She woke up, and it seemed to make her so happy, I didn’t tell her not to. It got to where I found myself praying in the shower for God to help her wake up, and I assumed I was praying that prayer for her benefit, but this morning I started to wonder if it wasn’t also for me.

“Bark, bark, bark,” came the sound of our family dog.

She had giggled, holding a hand over her laughing mouth, and I had snickered along with her. That was the scene this morning when we had sat on the bed together before I left for the day. While I pulled on my compression socks she had shared story after story with me, like we were two gossiping girls at the back of the school bus, and the driver, aka dog, had let us know we were getting too loud. As I heard my husband grumble, “be quiet, Lizzie,” I stifled more laughter, and I exchanged amused glances with my daughter. We almost got caught!

As I later drove to work, still feeling the high of giggles and great big hugs, it hit me the absolute gift of these unexpected yet joyful meetings. I had not known I needed them, but now felt myself abundantly grateful for them. I couldn’t believe I had almost brushed off her attempts to meet with me, assuming we could always find a better and more convenient time. I had almost forgotten that one day she wouldn’t remember to pick up the phone and check in with her ole mom, much less get up hours early for daily gab sessions.

I didn’t know when might be our last morning to hug, or lay on the bed together while I played with her hair, neglecting thoughts that I needed to hurry up and get moving. I had grown to adore our morning prayers and hearing her middle-school-age thoughts on life. And I knew I better savor these precious moments while I could. I had to savor the fact that she wanted to spend time with me even more than she wanted to sleep in, and it humbled me to realize I must be pretty darn special in her book. The thought made me smile again.

Then I pondered, “is this how God feels when His children take the extra time to have a conversation with Him?”

All I know is, I’m grateful for this morning. I’m glad I took the time, that I enjoyed the time, and that I recognized that time with those you love is so very precious. Sometimes you might have to carve that much needed time out of your day, whether it’s to wake early, stay up a little late, or curtail your lunch break. I’m certainly glad my daughter felt I was worth it, and I’m blessed to see the gift that arrived this morning in the package of giggles and gal time.

We All Need It

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Nothing like a big ole dose of humility shoved in your face to choke down the ego. Sure enough, like milk squirting out of my nose, I had made a mess of myself, a reminder that I was so much of a work in progress, that it wasn’t even funny.

It had started out good enough, I suppose. I had felt myself feeling constricted by time as I drove alone to the grocery store. I always went to the grocery store solo lately. I would rush through the aisles quickly and uncomfortably, with a ripple of unintentional nervousness running below the surface. I would wear a hot covering over my face in the 92 degree, sunny weather of Florida, and I would hope for things like paper towels and toilet paper. But even though grocery shopping had changed, that wasn’t what was making me feel harried, not all of it, at least.

I looked at the clock. I had one hour. I calculated the trip there, the trip back, and guesstimated how much time I’d allow myself to sprint through the aisles. The pool opened at 2pm, and it was 1:03. I’d have to hurry.

See, this had never been a thing before, but like most things we took for granted (like breathing easily and being ok with running out of hand sanitizer), the new pool rules were just another straw on the haggard camel’s back of new regulations status post the corona virus.

Look, I’m a nurse, so I totally got it. I supported it, in fact. I had championed flattening the curve, and I still voted yes on wearing face masks in public. I understood the “why” of the way things were, but that didn’t mean I hated them any less than the next guy. I hated that I couldn’t go to the pool when I wanted. I hated that there were now set blocks, in two hour increments, complete with a maximum number of allowed people at one time. But mostly, I hated being in a hurry. I hated feeling like I needed to rush. I had spent the past few years building a slow, relaxing life, and I hated that the past few months had upset my balance. I did not feel chill.

But more than I hated the inconvenience, I hated feeling anything but peace. So, I centered myself in Jesus. I said, “Brie, you will not feel angry or rushed today.”

Then I drove slowly over the speed bumps out of my neighborhood, quite content with my amazing knack for being so cool, calm, and collected, even when things weren’t going my way. I even told myself, “so what, if you don’t get to go to the pool. It’s just one day of swimming.”

Yes, that sounded good.

So, I did my shopping, even though I couldn’t slowly peruse that amazing aisle of stuff you never knew you needed at Aldi (and that was really annoying). A lady sat parked by the rubber rain boots for $9.99, not understanding I couldn’t look at those boots too at a safe social distance, but I thought I held my chill quite fabulously.

I drove home with sweat on my face, even though I shed my face mask as soon as the sun and stale air hit me, and I looked at the clock. 2:01pm. The pool had just opened, for what I might add was the last block of the day, and I tried not to be concerned.

“It’s fine,” I said. “I’ll just grab the girls when I get home, and we’ll go. After I put the groceries away. It won’t be full.”

Thirty minutes, or so, later I walked to the pool gate with my three daughters in tow, and I approached the “guard shack” at the gate.

The older man who had watched me approach from a sweltering journey of 50 yards away managed to look at his clipboard (and not my eyes) while he commented, “sorry, I only got room for one.”

I watched the jolly group of nineteen tan bodies bobbing in the cool, crisp, chlorinated water, and I said with as much joyful inflection as I could muster, “sorry, girls, we can’t go swimming. There’s no room for us.”

The grumbles began as we made the trek back to the already hot truck interior, and my eldest stomped ahead of us all with passionate disdain.

Suddenly, surprising even myself, I directed this comment to my angry middle schooler, “you know, this sucks for me too! I wanted to relax before I go to work tomorrow and wear a mask I can’t breathe in all day, but nope, not happening!”

I could have stopped there, but I didn’t. I’d like to say my raging rant didn’t continue after the truck doors closed, but that just wouldn’t be true. I’d like to forget that my raised voice, directed at the powers that be, made my four year old burst into tears, like I had projected them towards her, but I can’t seem to sweep it under the rug that easily. You could cut the tension with a knife as my nine year old messaged her neighborhood friend who planned on meeting us there, and I decided I was ready to cry right about the time the tears fell down my face.

“I have no right to be anyone’s parent,” I confessed to my husband at home, detailing the uncontrollable fit I had thrown in the vehicle. “How can I tell the girls not to overreact when I can’t even control my own self?!”

Want to hear the worst part? The message from my daughter to her friend read, “my mom is mad. I think it’s my fault cause I got mad.”

Insert knife in heart.

I read the message to my spouse, ready to burst into new tears. Bless his heart, my husband knew my hormones at the time weren’t helping matters, and he knew the stress that I (and all of us) had been under, but above all I think he understood my humanness. In all his calm understanding he tried to console me, and he tried to convince me not to be too hard on myself.

“Everyone has feelings,” he said. “We all get angry sometimes.”

Then he suggested I go back to the pool as the “one” allowed still to enter. I did say bless his heart, already, right?!

Five minutes later I sat by the water, and I texted my husband that more people might leave soon. I was having trouble getting over myself, and I still felt guilt for being a pot who tries to raise kettles not to be black. I mean, I could barely see the screen on my phone for the plank in my eye, or at least that’s how I felt. I texted that they could all join me soon, I was sure.

But he replied back, “maybe you just needed to hang out with Jesus today.”

I laughed back that, “I must need it.😆”

He replied quite simply, “we all do.”

And that was the truth of it. I needed Jesus. Every minute of every day, I needed Him, cause on my own, I was a hot mess!

Y’all, I confessed pride. It was easy sometimes to think you had it all together. Like, I thought I knew what was important in life, and I scoffed at people who didn’t. I rolled my eyes at people who got upset over trivial matters. First World Problems, I called it, and over the last month or two, I had gotten pretty fed up with listening to people gripe about theirs. Just being honest. I had floated along through all the turmoil, and while it had been hard on me too, for the most part I tried to maintain. I knew that things could always be worse, and I tried to react to inconvenience with that in mind. In fact, I realized (or God revealed) sitting by the pool, that I had been pretty proud of myself for rolling with the punches. That is, until my emotions punched me right in the gut.

I had gotten upset over the very kind of thing I had chastised people for getting upset about! I had reacted poorly to personal inconvenience, and I wanted to slap me for it. How dare I stand and tell anyone to calm down when I couldn’t maintain my own feelings. How could I lecture my children when I acted like a child sometimes? And that was when I knew it even more than I did before. That’s when Jesus reminded me just how much I need Him. Without Him, I’m a mess, and I was humbled to remember that I fall so easy. I need Jesus. We all do.

This hasn’t been an easy year for any of us, and today I am reminded how fragile human emotions can be. I’m reminded of our need for the Rock of Salvation, that strong tower that keeps us steady in all of life’s storms. I don’t have it all together, and I shouldn’t expect more of anyone than I do of myself. Today may we all be reminded to lead with kindness. You never know how close another person is to losing their chill.

How God Sees Our “Righteous Anger”

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Have you ever woken up feeling consumed by your emotions? It’s like you went to bed stewing on an issue, you drift off hoping it will finally go to bed too, but you wake up with your heart unwittingly wrapped around the same thoughts. It leaves you feeling like you didn’t sleep at all, like you must have wrestled with it all through the night, and through grainy eyes you can do one of two things.

One, you can continue to dwell on it. You can replay conversations in your mind. You can even make up new conversations based on what you wished you would have said! Or maybe that’s just me.

You can justify your feelings to yourself, making a mental tally of why you are right, and why other people are wrong. You can even convince yourself that you deserve to feel this offense. It is an honorable emotion, you decide. But the strange thing? You still won’t feel any better. Your thoughts will continue to run circles in your mind like a dog chasing its own tail.

There is another option, though. You can lay down offense. You can ask God to show you why you’re feeling the way you are. You can ask for a kingdom mindset, complete with eyes that see the situation through an eternal filter.

I recently found myself feeling offense. Red, hot anger, that I felt was justified, righteous, even. But what I couldn’t understand was, if it was righteous and justified by God, then why did I feel so bad? I’ve discovered that if I’m not feeling the peace of God, I need to ask Him why. I need to seek His purpose, His truth, and what He can teach me in the midst of all my mental mess. When I sought the Lord on offense, this is what I felt Him speak.

Do you know why this angers you? It’s not for me. It’s for you. You are offended. You are hurt. And you take that offense right into your heart and ball it up there, leaving little room for anything else. You feel justified in your feelings, but in reality it’s just unforgiveness festering there. And it pulls you away from me.

The word of the Lord reminded me of things I knew, but things that were easy to forget. In the Garden of Gethsemane even Jesus cried out for the cup to be taken. He knew God’s will, God’s plan, and God’s heart, but the part of Jesus that was human man, it had trouble letting go, even if just for a moment. He had to remind Himself, “yet not my will, but yours be done.”

I needed reminding of not my will, but His. I needed reminding of how to be angry, and this is something we all struggle with. The object of my anger was all off. I forgot it’s not flesh and blood we fight in this world, but principalities and powers of darkness. I was taking personal offense, when it reality it had nothing to do with me. I was placing far too much importance on temporal matters of this world, forgetting the comfort that lies in the eternal solution. I was acting like the remedy rested on my shoulders, rather than crying out to Jesus to resolve it. I was holding a personal grudge, even if unintentionally, rather than seeking personal intercession. I forgot to forgive, even if the offense had become overinflated in my human mind. I had forgotten to pray for the people who hurt me, and that was a straight command from Jesus.

As I began to pray for the objects of my anger I felt an immediate peace settle over me. As I let go of my hurt, that wasn’t really warranted (from a kingdom perspective, anyway), I felt the joy begin to return. The thoughts that had plagued me finally loosened their talons in my brain, and I felt the sweet release of surrender to God. I felt at ease when I gave the battle back to the only One who could fight right anyway. I remembered that righteousness comes from Him, as all things do, and I returned the matter to His capable hands, to deal with it as He saw fit. Who was I to take offense?

The # 1 Thing We’re Missing in America

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I guess you noticed I haven’t been sharing as much lately on the blog. Honestly, I’ve been overwhelmed. Not just overwhelmed with my work as a bedside, critical care nurse on the frontline of COVID-19, but also with my emotions. I have had all the feelings over the past couple of months, and many of them are ones I don’t enjoy having. It’s been kinda heavy, and I’ve spent much of my time not saying anything rather than saying something I regret. Too bad more people don’t practice that restraint.

I’ve felt sadness for the many, sick patients I’ve seen battling this pandemic, and my heart has broken for their families. I realize that I have firsthand experience with a disease process that many others do not. It’s unknown and scary, and perhaps that’s why it’s easier for so many people to have the luxury to be flippant or apathetic about the virus. After all, it is more comfortable to claim it all a hoax or government-inflated theatrics, than to admit the frailty of human life.

I’ve oscillated between frustration and red, hot anger, melancholy and disappointment at the selfishness of my fellow man. I have seen some of the most ignorant comments, and I’ve witnessed some pretty heinous statements on social media. Why does the ability to type an opinion trump the decency of treatment of others, or why do we put on blinders to the plight of another, in favor of our own inconvenience? In other words, why are we such a selfish lot?

Do you know what we’re missing in this unprecedented pandemic? Compassion.

We’ve replaced it with selfish ambition. We’ve allowed our perspective to become quite narrow, seeing no further than our own front door.

We see how uncomfortable wearing a mask can be, how difficult it is to breathe. We become angry at someone mandating we wear something to protect ourselves or others. It’s all about “my comfort and my right to refuse.” I suppose we’re refusing the right to protect the elderly and immune compromised from the virus we could be carrying. The fact that it makes you hot should definitely precede expert opinion that it prevents the spread of germs.

Why do healthcare professionals wear them, based on hundreds of years of tested research, if they don’t really work? Perhaps we should tell doctors, nurses, and anesthesiologists it’s not necessary to wear them anymore in the operating room. While we’re at it, let’s get rid of all those pesky seatbelt and car seat laws. My body, my right to fly through the windshield!

Our perspectives have become so skewed, whereas we only see how a situation affects us personally. We forget that things could be worse, and even that they definitely are for other people.

We see that we can’t work for weeks at a time. We never consider the families who have lost their primary breadwinner forever, to death by COVID.

And I know that financial stress and income loss is serious! But fifty days in the Intensive Care Unit, waking up to a hole in your neck, and muscles so wasted you cannot move, well, that’s pretty darn serious too. We don’t think about that, though. It hasn’t happened to anyone we know personally, so the news is probably making it up. I’ll go tell that to my patient’s family. They haven’t even seen their husband/father in over a month, since he was admitted.

We are such a spoiled society in the United States. We get mad at slow internet and red lights, so naturally we’re up in arms over having to stay at home. We have to stay within the four walls of our sturdy, comfortably thermostat-adjusted dwelling. We’re protected from the elements, stuffing our bellies with an abundance of stock-piled food, and all we can say is, “I miss going into a restaurant to eat!”

All over this world mothers are crying because their children are starving. Fathers feel helpless that they cannot put a roof over their families’ heads. Families are running barefoot, with a pack of meager belongings slung over their backs, and they’re running to escape real bullets of persecution. Not the figurative bullets we think we are enduring from being forced to stay safe at home. Our inconvenience is the stuff some people dream of having, but we will never consider that.

We miss going to the mall, never thinking to thank God we have such things normally. We get angry over our children missing school activities, or our seniors not walking on stage at graduation. Do we ever consider the families who have lost children to this virus? They will never see them walk across any stage. The number of deaths by Coronavirus under age 18 seem low, until it’s your child.

Pictured above is Skylar Herbert who passed away in Detroit from COVID-19. Her father was a first responder.

Do you know I’ve even seen comments that COVID-19 only strikes “nasty” people with bad hygiene? Hmmm. I don’t even know where to begin. I could say this virus is no respecter of persons, hitting all races and socioeconomic levels, but instead I’ll ask a question. Since when is it acceptable to say one type of person is more understandable and acceptable to die? Like, it’s their fault where or what they were born into, and therefore they are less. Does this sound familiar to anyone? Gosh, we’re not much different than Hitler if we’re judging whose life matters more.

This pandemic has been really hard for me. I’ve dealt with the stress of caring for patients with the virus who nine times out of ten don’t get better, but I have tried to never let it escape me how well I have it. When my face hurt from the mask and I couldn’t breathe, or when I got tired and frustrated with the hectic environment, I would remind myself that I wasn’t scared, alone, and/or dying in a hospital bed.

Do you know the saying about trying to walk in another’s shoes? Maybe we should all lay in another’s hospital bed. It’s easy to dismiss the statistics if they’re far from your town/city, or if you tell yourself that they’re exaggerated. It’s not so easy for my Chaplain who lost his father, my friend who currently has four family members fighting the virus, or the nurses like myself who have seen more patients die with it than they can ever forget. It’s the same as the flu for someone who sits safely behind their smart phone screen on social media, sharing YouTube videos of conspiracy theories. But for the fifty year old man struggling to breathe in my hospital bed, being told to turn upside down and lay on his stomach to try and breathe better, well, this man knows it’s not like the flu at all.

It’s easy to blame the government or even Bill Gates for everything that’s going on when you’re sitting in front of your computer, but do you know who doesn’t have time for such extracurriculars? The weeping wife, pleading to God to save her husband, as she prays into his ear through the hospital room phone, hoping he can hear her, even though he won’t open his eyes. Yeah, that was hard for me to witness, but I simply joined her in prayer.

Perhaps that’s what we should be doing. Instead of complaining, let’s try sympathizing. Let’s join people in prayer, let’s offer them hope. Heck, at least offer them your hoarded toilet paper. But don’t lessen their grief and horrible situation by petty, selfish complaints. Instead of coming up with theories of why the numbers aren’t as bad as predicted, let’s thank God for His mercy, for answered prayers, and that flattening the curve and social distancing were successful. Let’s be grateful for life, not grumbling that it’s not as perfect as we believe it should be. Let’s take a moment and recognize that all the stuff we get frustrated about in this situation (like lack of toilet paper and bored children) are way better than an unexpected funeral that you can’t attend.