Noah knew what it was like to wait desperately for a sign of a new beginning. For forty days it rained. For months he and his family floated in the ark, eating the same food, smelling the same smells, and looking at the same faces. After a certain point you run out of things to say to each other. You even begin to run low on hope. Can God re-create this world? Is he able to start over? Can he, and we, begin again?

When the boat finally stopped rocking, Noah sent a raven on a scouting mission; it never returned. He sent a dove. It came back shivering and spent, having found no place to roost. He tried again. He pulled a dove out of the bowels of the ark and ascended the ladder. The morning sun caused them both to squint. With a prayer he let it go and watching until the bird was bot bigger than a speck.

All day he looked for the dove’s return. In between chores he opened the hatch and searched. You know the feeling. You have stood where Noah stood. You’ve known your share of floods. Flooded by sorrow at the cemetery, anger at the disability in your body, fear of the uncertainty of a pandemic. You’ve seen the floodwater rise, and you’ve likely seen the sun set on your hopes and dreams as well. You’ve been on Noah’s boat.

And you’ve needed what Noah needed; you’ve needed hope. Hope doesn’t promise an instant solution but rather the possibility of an eventual one. Sometimes all we need is a little hope.

That’s all Noah needed. And that’s what Noah received. Genesis 8:11: “When the dove returned to him in the evening, there in its beak was a freshly plucked olive leaf!”

An olive leaf. Noah would have been happy to have the bird—but to have the leaf! This leaf was more than foliage; this was promise. The bird brought more than a piece of a tree; it brought hope. For isn’t that what hope is? Hope is an olive leaf—evidence of dry land after a flood.

Are you in need of some hope? Could you use a fresh start? A redo? At some point in life we all could. The oh-so-welcome news of Scripture is this: God is a God of fresh starts. He is the author of the new chapter, the architect of the new design, the voice behind the new song.

God knows the way forward. No matter what kind of disappointment or grief or trouble or heartache you’ve encountered, God offers an opportunity to begin again. In his plan prodigals get a new robe, the weary find new strength, and the lonely find a friend.

“Those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; They shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, They shall walk and not faint.” (Isaiah 40:31 NKJV)

Your current circumstances will not get the final say in your life.

To all the Noahs of the world, to all who search the horizon for a glimpse of hope, God proclaims, “Yes!” And he comes. He comes as a dove. He comes bearing fruit from a distant land, from our future home. He comes with a leaf of promise that he can make all things new.

© Max Lucado

Results may be challenged. What a time we are in. Between the bombast and the ballots, it’s hard to see our way through to a time of hope, of peace.

Wonder what happens after November 5th? For the person of faith, it looks a lot like November 4th. Pray. Love. Trust.

Pray. Perhaps you find yourself unsure of how to pray. Everything seems so confusing, so angry, so exhausting. Here are two topics you might consider for your conversations with God.

Let’s lift up our nation. We are a family with so much shared history and an important future. Ask God to humble us, hear us and heal us. It may seem futile but remember – the power is not in the one who prays, it’s in the God who hears.

And let’s ask God to help our neighbors, and let that help start with us. Pray for the compassion to reach out to the single mom across the hall at work and the shut-in at the nursing home. Pray for hope for those still recovering from storms – whether those tempests go by the name of Helene or Milton, or divorce or chronic illness. May God bring his healing balm of hope. And pray for those neighbors with whom you disagree. Yes, even those who make you mad. The quickest way to douse the fire of anger is with a bucket of prayers. Rather than blame, pray. Jesus did this. While hanging on the cross he interceded for his enemies: “Father, forgive them; they don’t know what they’re doing” (Luke 23:34 MSG).

We are never more like Jesus than when we pray for others – those with whom you agree and those you don’t. Pray for this hurting world. God cares about it all.

Love. Now, love is not exactly the byword of the day. Contentiousness, yes. Anxiety, for sure. Fear, our constant companion. But love seems to be in short supply. Let’s check our source. This worried world is not the place to look to for steadfast love. Let’s instead turn our gaze to a gracious God whose love will never fail. Governments will fail, but God’s love will last. Crowns are temporary, but love is eternal. Your money will run out, but his love never will. Let God love you. And let him help you share that love with others. Pause for a moment, right now, and make a list of three people you can show love to today – quietly, simply and unconditionally. I promise you, that offering of love will return to you in unexpected ways, and the hope-o-meter of your
heart will rise like the morning sun.

And finally, trust. It’s hard, I know. So many unknowns and the things we do know are worrisome. These are troubling times with challenges both at home and abroad. Leadership matters. But whether your preferred candidate occupies the White House or not, we can know that God’s in charge of who’s in charge. Proverbs states that a king’s heart is like a stream of water in the hand of the Lord; he directs it wherever he pleases (Proverbs 21:1).

Might I suggest we lift our eyes and shift our thoughts? We can face the problems of this world by focusing on the promises of the next. The future is not as frightening if you know the future. And you can know the future when you know who controls it.

One of my favorite sermon illustration books contains a story of a missionary and his son. They moved from England to Central Africa in the company of four other adults. Three of them died. The health of the father began to fail, so he resolved to return to England. He and his boy bounced for days across Africa in an old, broken-down wagon. Upon reaching the coast, they embarked for England by sea. Within a few hours they encountered a brutal storm. The waves and wind combined to make the sound of cannon blasts and shake the ship from stem to stern. During a lull in the tempest, the father held and warmed his son.

Then the boy asked, “Father, when shall we have a home that will not shake?”

I can’t vouch for the story. The book provides no source. But I can most certainly vouch for the question. I’ve asked it. You’ve asked it. Each and every person has felt this world with its troubles and tremors and asked, “God, when shall we have a home that will not shake?”

His answer? “Soon, dear child. Very soon.”

This world, so upside down, will be right side up. People who were rejected in this life will be respected in the next. In this age they were enslaved and sold; in the next they will rule and reign. In this age they were handicapped and sick; in the next they will serve with perfected, glorified bodies.

This sounds like heaven. This sounds like the perfect ending. This sounds like the grand conclusion to the story of God.

We can pray, we can love, and we can trust, my friend. What God says will happen, will happen.

© Max Lucado 2024

Beginning this weekend, July 27-28, I am going to serve as an interim teaching pastor at Gateway Church in Southlake, TX.

Scripture states that God is near the brokenhearted – there are ample numbers of brokenhearted people in this story. My desire is simply this—love God’s hurting people. I see this as an opportunity to do just that.

It has been erroneously reported that I am no longer at Oak Hills Church in San Antonio. Be assured, I am still a minister in my home church where I have been since 1988. I will preach in both locations this fall.

My role at Gateway is only in the interim teaching capacity, currently scheduled through the end of 2024. I will have no leadership or administrative role.

I’m honored to serve both congregations where so many wonderful people attend.

• Over 1,300 Jews, at this writing, dead. Similar number of fatalities among Palestinians.
• Barbaric acts against children and elderly.
• Over a hundred people take hostage.
• Innocent Palestinians trapped in siege-weary Gaza.
• Skirmishes in northern Israel with Hezbollah.
• Missiles streaking the Israeli sky.
• Iran suspected as complicit in the attacks.

Jesus told us this would happen.  “And you will hear of wars and rumors of wars. See that you are not troubled; for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom.” (Matthew 24:6,7)

Of the past 3,400 years of recorded history, humans have been war-free for only 268 years, or 8 percent of them. Cain was violent first. We are violent still. Yet in the last few decades, the world has seen violence escalate to new levels. The phrase “nation against nation, kingdom against kingdom” is a Hebrew idiom for a world war. A global conflict is a signal of the coming of this age.¹

Have we seen this? Yes. Twice in the last century the conflict was so universal it earned the phrase World War. More people died from war in the 20th Century than in all the other centuries combined.

We live in ever-present fear of worldwide destruction. Let one person press one button and nuclear disaster could happen. Russia has invaded Ukraine. China is threatening Taiwan. Israel feels pinched by Hamas to the south and Hezbollah to the North.

I do not have a national security clearance, but I can google. So, I googled the question “How Many Nations Have Nuclear Weapons?” The answer: nine! According to one report, “The warheads on just one U.S. nuclear-armed submarine have seven times the destructive power of all the bombs dropped during World War II, including the two atomic bombs dropped on Japan.”²

I’m just full of good news, aren’t I? I actually have good news, great news. Here it is: Jesus, the one who warned of these days will deliver us from these days. The birth pains will continue. The frequency of deception and division will increase, but Jesus will protect us until he comes, and He will deliver us once he comes. For that reason, Jesus spoke this next phrase, “See to it that you are not troubled” (Matthew 24:6).

How can we do this?

First make sure that you are saved. Jesus Christ died on the cross for sinners like you and me. “He does not want anyone to be lost, but he wants all people to change their hearts and lives.” (2 Peter 3:9). Have you surrendered your heart to him? If not, do so. He loves you. You were not made to experience the coming chaos. We are nearing the end. You do not want to face the final hours with no Savior. Tell him that you are a sinner, and He is a Savior. “…everyone who calls upon the Lord shall be saved…” (Rom. 10:13)

Next, “Pray for peace in Jerusalem.” (Psalm 122:6). Israel is special to God by covenant. Jesus was born there. He died there. He rose from and will return there. It’s no wonder that the tiny nation of Israel has been the most disputed land in history. It is the staging ground of God’s story of salvation. Pray urgently for the nation of Israel.

And, lastly, don’t panic. Don’t let the chaos weigh you down. Hold on. Hang tight. Hold fast to Scriptures like this one from Psalm 37:

⁷ Wait and trust the Lord.
⁸ Don’t get angry.
Don’t be upset; it only leads to trouble.
⁹ Evil people will be sent away,
but those who trust the Lord will inherit the land.
¹⁰ In a little while the wicked will be no more.
You may look for them, but they will be gone.
¹¹ People who are not proud will inherit the land
and will enjoy complete peace.
¹² The wicked make evil plans against good people.
They grind their teeth at them in anger.
¹³ But the Lord laughs at the wicked,
because he sees that their day is coming.

“See to it that you are not troubled” Jesus told us. Let’s do just that. Get right with God. Pray for Israel. And don’t panic. God is still on His throne.

¹Fruchtenbaum, Arnold; The Footsteps of the Messiah San Antonio, TX: Ariel Press, 1982)

²www.ucsusa.org

Originally appeared on FoxNews.com

I have had my own occasions in which I’ve wrestled with God. Seems we all could account for a divine wrestling match.

One of the most dramatic occurred some twenty years ago; I was about fifty years old. To the casual observer I was on top of the world. Our brand-new church sanctuary was bursting at the seams. We added new members every week. The congregation had very little debt and absolutely no doubt that their pastor was doing a great work.

Our church actually appeared on the list of popular San Antonio attractions. Tour companies bused tourists to our services. The magazine Christianity Today sent a reporter to write a profile on me. The writer called me “America’s Pastor.” Reader’s Digest designated me as the “Best Preacher in America.”

All cylinders were firing. I turned sermons into books. My publisher turned books into arena events. I wrote kids stories and recorded kids videos. It was wild!

What no one knew was this: I was a mess.

Our staff was struggling. Departments were squaring off against one another. Tacky emails were flying like missives. Ministers were competing for budget dollars. A couple of invaluable employees, weary from the tension, quietly resigned. And since I was the senior pastor, it fell to me to set things in order.

Yet, who had time for intramural squabbles? I had lessons to prepare. The problem with Sundays is that they happen each week! In addition I led a midweek prayer service and taught a weekly early morning men’s gathering. Deadlines were coming at me from all sides. I needed time to think, to pray, to study.

What’s more (or consequently) I was unhealthy. My heart had the rhythm of a Morse code message: irregular and inconsistent. The cardiologist diagnosed me with atrial fibrillation, put me on medicine, and told me to slow down. But how could I?

The staff needed me.

The pulpit required me.

The publisher was counting on me.

The entire world was looking to me.

So I did what came naturally. I began to drink.

Not publicly. I was the guy you see at the convenience store who buys the big can of beer, hides it in a sack, and presses it against his thigh so no one will see as he hurries out the door. My store of choice was on the other side of the city lest I be seen. I’d sit in the car, pull the can out of the sack, and guzzle the liquid until it took the edge off the sharp demands of the day.

That’s how “America’s Pastor” was coping with his world gone crazy.

Life comes with inflection points, junctures in which we know our world is about to change. Events that time-stamp life. Crossroads that demand a decision. Go this way? Or that? Everyone has them. You do. I do. Jacob did. Jacob’s came with a name: Jabbok. It is the location where Jacob wrestled with an angel and walked away with a lame hip.

My Jabbok, as it turned out, was a parking lot. The wrestling match lasted for the better part of an hour on a spring afternoon. I told God I had everything under control. The staff issues were manageable. The deadlines were manageable. The stress was manageable. The drinking was manageable. But then came a moment of truth. God didn’t touch my hip, but he spoke to my heart. Really, Max? If you have everything together, if you have a lock on this issue, then why are you hiding in a parking lot, sipping a beer that you’ve concealed in a brown paper bag?

Jabbok. That moment in which God brings you face-to-face with yourself, and what you see you don’t like.

Jabbok. When you use all your strength, only to find your strength won’t give you what you need.

Jabbok. A single touch on the hip that brings you to your knees.

Jabbok. Jab. Buck.

Yet even in the moment, or especially in that moment, God dispenses grace. Look what happened next to Jacob.

“What is your name?” the man asked. He replied, “Jacob.” (Gen. 32:27 NLT)

On the page of your Bible, there is scarcely a space between the question and the reply. In real time, however, I sense a pause, a long, painful pause. What is your name? There was only one answer, and Jacob choked to spit it out. My . . .name . . . is . . .Jacob. This was a confession. Jacob was admitting to God that he was, indeed, a Jacob: a heel, a cheater, a hustler, a smart operator, a fraud. “That’s who I am. I’m a Jacob.”

“Your name will no longer be Jacob,” the man told him. “From now on you will be called Israel, because you have fought with God and with men and have won.” (v. 28)

Of all the times to be given a new name. And of all the times to be given this name – Israel means “God fights” or “God strives.” The name celebrated, and celebrates, God’s power and loyalty.

The old Jacob fought for himself. The old Jacob relied on his wits, trickery, and fast feet. Jacob, himself, took care of himself. The new Jacob had a new source of power: God. From this day forward each introduction would be a reminder of God’s presence. “Hello, my name is God fights.” Each call to dinner a welcome instruction, “God fights, it’s time to eat.” His email address was godfights@israel.com. His business card reminded all who read it of the true power of Israel: “God fights.” His old name reflected his old self. His new name reflected his new strength. “God fights.”

What grace.

God extended it to me. Abundantly. I confessed my hypocrisy to our elders, and they did what good pastors do. They covered me with prayer and designed a plan to help me cope with demands. I admitted my struggle to the congregation and in doing so activated a dozen or so conversations with members who battled the same temptation.

We no longer see tour buses in our parking lot, and that’s fine with me. I enjoy an occasional beer—but for flavor, not stress management. And if anyone mentions the “America’s Pastor” moniker, an image comes to mind. The image of a weary, lonely preacher in a convenience store parking lot.

God met me there that day. He gave me a new name as well. Not Israel. That one was already taken. But “forgiven.” And I’m happy to wear it.

This article originally appeared on FoxNews.com.

Philippians 4:7 says, “Be anxious for nothing but in everything by prayer and petition, let your requests be made to God with thanksgiving.”

Try using the acronym CALM as a simple way to remember strategies that can help when kids (or parents) are feeling anxious or overwhelmed.

“C” – Celebrate God. “Be full of joy in the Lord always” (Philippians 4:4). When we remember who God is and what he has done, we feel full of joy and celebrate him through worship.

I don’t fault your anger. I don’t blame you for feeling heartsick. I don’t– not for a second– criticize you for wanting to turn  your back on the church and walk away. There you were, already teetering between leaving and staying. You’d had your fill of pastors, problems,  congregations and controversies. Yet, you’d done your best to keep cynicism at bay. To give the church yet another chance; the benefit of the doubt.

And now this. This bombshell. This oil spill of an announcement. This Mount Vesuvius level eruption of bad news, sad news, sickening news.

Horrible.

Add that report to the other stories of the last decade; leaders of mega-churches, diocese and ministries using their platforms for personal pleasure and profit. The final straw, right? I’m so very, very sorry. If you wash your hands of the whole mess and leave, no one would blame you.

But before you do, maybe you would indulge a thought?

I’m not a Baptist. I’m not an official spokesperson for Protestant clergy. But I am a survivor of sexual abuse. And I know, firsthand, how Jesus can heal. Please, I urge you,  don’t turn from Him because of them. Stick to Jesus like a barnacle to a boat.

He defended the weak, stood up for the forgotten. The idea that his church would be unsafe for his sons and daughters disturbs him deeply. And you can bet your Bible that he’ll turn a few tables. If history teaches us anything it is this: Jesus will not sit idle while his church drifts from His cause.  “I will rescue my flock from their mouths,” he declared through a prophet. “It will no longer be food for them.” (Ezekiel 34:10)

Repentance is necessary; heartfelt, tear-stained, face-on-the floor repentance. By all of us in positions of leadership. Will we see it? I pray so. Regardless, I pray that you will pursue the difficult path of seeking Christ in spite of Christians who have let you down. His pastors have failed to pastor. But when they don’t, he still does. Let him pastor you.

This article originally appeared in the Dallas Morning News.

And just like that, my pre-pandemic life has returned. Where I live, restaurants have been reopening at full capacity, grocery stores no longer require masks for the fully vaccinated, and activities that were shut down and forbidden for so long have been suddenly recommissioned: parties, church, in-house gatherings, birthdays, coffees, group lunches. A few weeks ago, I was so glad for it to all be back. My friends and life began to resemble something familiar—a pace and rhythm that had not been out of the ordinary before 2020.

It was all good and fun, albeit a bit busy, until last week, when I went back to the gym for the first time.

I, like millions of other Gold’s Gym members across the globe, had canceled my membership when COVID hit my corner of the world in March 2020. After more than a year of working out in my guest room, it felt like a good time to go back. I went on a Tuesday after work. The busiest hour at the gym. I rubbed shoulders with my numerous fellow gym-goers, shared weights, waited my turn to use different machines. I didn’t think much of it while I was there but when I got home, I noticed a restlessness in me. I felt wired for the rest of the evening and even had trouble falling asleep.

The next day I wondered if while going to the gym felt like an exciting “normal” thing to do, returning to something pre-pandemic normal will probably not feel normal for some time. My anxiety had been stirred by an activity that once helped relieve it.

During COVID, I adjusted to a different pace. A slower one, with fewer people and less to do. I cooked at home, I worked from home (rather than the coffee shop), and I spent time with a small group of people. Life came to a screeching halt for us all and while it jarred me initially, I adapted. I took care of my house plants. If I traveled, it was a short distance to a campsite or to see my family.

Life simplified itself. And now that life seems to be back, my body, mind, and spirit haven’t been able to keep up, as evidenced by the cold that landed me on my couch for two and a half days earlier this week.

I am not accustomed to the pace I once was, and I feel resistant to its returning.

Ironically, and divinely, I am studying to give a sermon on the Sabbath in a couple of weeks. I have never officially Sabbathed. I take time away from social media every weekend. I take days off. I do a decent job at self-care, but as I’ve been learning about the Sabbath, I realized Sabbath has not been a proper part of my rhythm. In fact, I’m not sure I even knew what Sabbath really was until I started reading about it. (Might I recommend Walter Brueggemann’s Sabbath as Resistance?)

While I won’t get into the details of what I’ve been learning here, I will say I wonder if learning about Sabbath hasn’t occurred at the exact right time. I wonder if in the midst of life potentially returning to normal—though we all know by now that can change on a dime—we are all going to be fumbling around for a new rhythm to live our lives by. We had a rhythm. It was forcibly stopped. Now, we must find a new one because too much has happened, too much has changed: our priorities, our thoughts, and beliefs about life and God, our fears, loves, and passions, our perceptions of self. Most likely, the old rhythm doesn’t fit us anymore.

Honoring the Sabbath may be just the ticket. A 24-hour period of rest and worship, which John Mark Comer defines in The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry as anything that indexes “your heart toward grateful recognition of God’s reality and goodness.” A hike, a chat with a friend, a yummy home-cooked meal, creating with your hands, thinking with your mind. I think everyone must Sabbath in a different way, but as long as you are oriented toward rest and worship, grounding, presence, and peace will be made available to you.

It took me a while to adjust to life at COVID’s slow speed. I can expect it may take even longer to adjust to pre-COVID speed. If you’ve noticed your breathing has shallowed, your anxiety has heightened, or you feel nervous about small things (like I did after the gym), you aren’t alone. The world of commerce is trying to rush us back in, but our spirits are resistant. Listen to that pushback. Slow down as you need to. Put on the brakes before a cold forces you to. We can resist, and as we fumble around for a new rhythm to live by, consider following that commandment given so long ago to the Israelites, not by the god of busy, hurry, or consumption, but by the God of Sabbath.

© Andrea Lucado

It’s the expression of Jesus that puzzles us. We’ve never before seen his face like this. Jesus smiling, yes. Jesus weeping, absolutely. Jesus stern, even that. But Jesus anguished? Cheeks streaked with tears? Face flooded in sweat? Rivulets of blood dripping from his chin? You remember the night. Jesus left the city and went to the Mount of Olives, as he often did, and his followers went with him. When he reached the place, he said to them, “Pray for strength against temptation.”

Then Jesus went about a stone’s throw away from them. He kneeled down and prayed, “Father, if you are willing, take away this cup of suffering. But do what you want, not what I want.” Then an angel from heaven appeared to him to strengthen him. Being full of pain, Jesus prayed even harder. His sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground. (Luke 22:39–44)

What do we do with this image of Jesus? Simple. We turn to it when we look the same. We read it when we feel the same; we read it when we feel afraid. For isn’t it likely that fear was one of the emotions Jesus felt? One might even argue that fear was the primary emotion. He saw something in the future so fierce, so foreboding that he begged for a change of plans. “Father, if you are willing, take away this cup of suffering” (Luke 22:42).

What causes you to pray the same prayer? Facing a pandemic? Leaving your house? Being in a crowd? Walking into a hospital? Boarding an airplane? Speaking publicly? Starting a new job? Taking a spouse? Driving on a highway? The source of your fear may seem small to others. But it freezes your feet, makes your heart pound, and brings blood to your face. That’s what happened to Jesus.

He was so afraid that he bled. Doctors describe this condition as hematidrosis. Severe anxiety causes the release of chemicals that break down the capillaries in the sweat glands. When this occurs, sweat comes out tinged with blood. Jesus was more than anxious; he was afraid. Fear is worry’s big brother. If worry is a burlap bag, fear is a trunk of concrete. It wouldn’t budge. How remarkable that Jesus felt such fear. But how kind that he told us about it.

We tend to do the opposite. Gloss over our fears. Cover them up. Keep our sweaty palms in our pockets, our nausea and dry mouths a secret. Not so with Jesus. We see no mask of strength. But we do hear a request for strength.

“Father, if you are willing, take away this cup of suffering.” The first one to hear his fear is his Father. He could have gone to his mother. He could have confided in his disciples. He could have assembled a prayer meeting. All would have been appropriate, but none were his priority. He went first to his Father.

Oh, how we tend to go everywhere else. First to the bar, to the counselor, to the self-help book, or to the friend next door. Not Jesus. The first one to hear his fear was his Father in heaven. How did Jesus endure the terror of the crucifixion? He went first to the Father with his fears.

Do the same with yours. Don’t avoid life’s Gardens of Gethsemane. Enter them. Just don’t enter them alone. And while there, be honest. Pounding the ground is permitted. Tears are allowed. And if you sweat blood, you won’t be the first. Do what Jesus did; open your heart. And be specific. Jesus was. “Take this cup,” he prayed. Give God the date of the event. Provide the number of the flight. Tell him about the doctor’s appointment. Share the details of the job transfer. He has plenty of time. He also has plenty of compassion. He doesn’t think your fears are foolish or silly. He won’t tell you to “buck up” or “get tough.” He’s been where you are. He knows how you feel.

And he knows what you need. That’s why we punctuate our prayers as Jesus did. “If you are willing . . .” Was God willing? Yes and no. He didn’t take away the cross, but he took the fear. God didn’t still the storm, but he calmed the sailor. Who is to say he won’t do the same for you?

Philippians 4:6 reminds us, “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” Don’t measure the size of the mountain; talk to the One who can move it. Instead of carrying the world on your shoulders, talk to the One who holds the universe on his. Hope is a look away. Maybe you’ve let fear rule your life in the past, but today, give your fears to God. It’s never too late to begin again.

©Max Lucado

But that’s not coming, is it? Another surge, that’s what is coming. They say January is going to be the worst month yet. They are telling folks like me to stay home. I bet you wish someone would tell you to stay home. They don’t. They won’t. Hospitals are overrun. Staffs are overworked. Budgets are overspent. And my thanks, our thanks to you is overdue.

So here it is—from my heart to yours, from our hearts to yours, thank you.

I heard one of you express sadness. In an interview, you regretted that you hadn’t done more. You choked back tears, swallowed a lump, and lamented that so many people had  died from COVID on your watch. Oh, dear friend. I wanted to climb inside the tv screen and hug the regret right out of you. Please hear me. You have nothing for which to be sorry. You’ve done good. Really good. In fact, you are the heroes. Society has gone whacky. Politicians have been tacky. And you? You’ve gone twelve rounds with a heavyweight virus the likes of which we’ve never seen. Yet you keep throwing punches. Knocked down? Yes, but back up on your feet? Always. You keep climbing into the ring.

How many bodies have you loaded onto gurneys? How many times have you held phones near the ear of the sick? How many times have you held the hand of the dying because you couldn’t bear the thought of someone dying alone? How many times have you collapsed into your bed in desperate need of sleep, but utterly unable to sleep because of the images in your mind?

How many tests have you administered? Masks have you worn? ER vehicles have you driven? Wheelchairs have you pushed? Trays of food have you filled? Hospital floors have you mopped? Life or death decisions have you made?

You have no way of knowing, do you? It’s all a blur. You don’t know. But God does. One of my favorite Bible verses is tucked away in a beautiful book called Hebrews. In it the writer encourages his readers by saying: “God is fair; he will not forget the work you did and the love you showed for him by helping his people. And he will remember that you are still helping them.” (Hebrews 6:10 NCV)

God will not forget the work you did. You will. You don’t have the luxury or desire to keep  a list of your good deeds. But God does. And God will. He will not forget the work you did. Why? Because by helping them, you are loving Him.  And your heavenly Father is taking note.

We are, too. We are so proud of you. We need you. This is your hour. This is your Esther moment. Remember her story? She was the Queen of Persia in a time that her people, the Jews, were under attack. Her uncle begged her to talk to the king.

“Who knows,” he asked “if perhaps you were made queen for just such a time as this?” (Esther 4:14 NLT)

Who knows, dear friend, but that you have been placed right where you are for such a time as this?

As the numbers spike, yet again. As the patients outnumber the beds, yet again. As the demands outstrip the resources, yet again…please know that there is a pastor in Texas who is pulling for you, praying for you, thankful for you. I have a feeling that I speak for millions of others when I say, “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

© Max Lucado