BB Grey–musings

Ever feel like Noah? Some voice from on high says, “Get to work,” and there you are, hammering planks together without a clue why, while everyone else is sipping coffee and flipping through their phones. You do it anyway, nod to the sky, and next thing you know, you’re floating—flood all around, nobody in sight, just you and a boatload of restless animals pacing the deck. Yeah, I’ve been there, more times than I’d like to admit.

God’s instructions don’t exactly come with a manual. It’s more like static on a radio—did He say “go” or “whoa” or maybe “hold off, pal”? I’m never quite sure. But I plod along, faith wobbling like a three-legged chair, not because I’m holy—nah, I’m just too far in to turn back. I figure if I misheard, He’ll fix it. He always does. So I keep at it, doubting half the time, kicking myself the other half, then realizing I’m stuck on this ride whether I like it or not. It’s lonely out there, save for the animals—wild things chattering away, making a racket in my head while I bob along, waiting for something to break.

Then it happens—the “but God” moment. Right when you’re ready to chuck it all, He steps in. Splits the sea, dries the ground, tosses Jesus into the mix, or hey, just unclogs the 405 so I can roll into my daughter’s dance recital with thirty seconds to spare. And there He is, making it right, leaving me sheepish for ever doubting. I try to puff up, say I held the faith, but we both know He carried me the whole way. My part? Barely a footnote. His grace? The whole darn book. Knocks you down a peg, maybe brings a tear, and I mutter a “Thank you, Jesus” before shuffling off. I tell myself I’ll remember this time, but I don’t—not fully. Just enough to need Him again, to circle back through the whole mess.

So yeah, I’ve felt like Noah. The animals are the twist—restless, noisy, a problem inside the problem. Makes it all the sweeter when the clouds part and the answer shows up. Thank you, Jesus—keep the boat steady.