Posted on by Adam

The Scarlet Letter of COVID-19.

Health Update

Today, I’m feeling much better. Just a little coughing. My energy is up. I’m feeling generally normal, except for a few minor symptoms that are still hanging on. I’m thankful for the Great Physician for His healing work in my body. I’m praying for others who are still sick. I personally know about 20 of them with COVID in Northeast Indiana right now.

Today, I received a call from the State Health Department informing me that I was exposed to someone who has since tested positive for COVID-19. They told me my date of exposure and I quickly realized the truth: I wasn’t exposed to them, they were exposed to me.

I have cold hard evidence that my COVID case has passed onto other people. So I’m processing out the guilt in my life again. I wrote about how I do that here.

The Scarlet Letter

The phrase “Scarlet Letter” comes from a classic Nathaniel Hawthorn book where an unmarried young woman gives birth to a baby in a very conservative Puritan colony. She is made to wear a dress with a scarlet “A” (representing her Adultery) anytime she is in public in order to shame her.

I feel like having COVID-19 is a little bit of a Scarlet Letter.

I remember the first time I stepped out into my backyard’s patio to get a little sunshine after “coming out” as a COVID-19 patient. I live in town, and my backyard has a direct line-of-sight to 6 different backyards. I looked around, and saw nobody. Reality was I had only been inside for about 12 hours, but it felt like 12 days.

I Heard Some Lies

As I looked around at empty backyards around me I started hearing some lies.

“They’re all scared of you.”

“Your neighbors are so scared of your disease, they are all staying indoors just because you walked out your back patio. You probably should just go back inside and hide. And the next time you want to go outside, you had better yell out and announce yourself, ‘Unclean! Unclean!'”

Had I allowed that self-talk to continue, I’d probably feel like I needed to move away!

That was a lie. Total lies. I have some amazing neighbors and most all of them have had a conversation with me since then – at least from afar – showing their compassion. I love my neighbors and I believe they love me too.

But at that moment, it didn’t feel like. It felt like rejection, simply because they weren’t outside at that exact moment. It was all in my head, and I listened to a lie.

This is a Common Issue

I am not unique nor am I crazy. I have heard from two other COVID patients who echoed this feeling of going outside with a Scarlet Letter. I believe this is a common problem with COVID patients, so I wanted to write about it. One individual does not want anyone to know they have COVID-19 because they feel they’ll be feared the rest of their life; permanently labeled as “unclean.” That’s crossed my mind as well — I am not going to leave my house until I am confident I cannot spread COVID-19, but will others be concerned to come too close to me?

I can’t do anything about what other people think or feel, but I can do something about the lies of rejection that come to my mind.

Anytime you’re listening to a lie, you need to reject the lie and replace it with Truth.

Reject the Lie

I am not rejected.

I am not unclean.

I am not unwanted.

I am not worthless.

Replace it With Truth

I am accepted (Romans 10:9-13).

I am clean (1 John 1:9).

I am desired, no matter how bad I’ve been. (John 17:24, Hosea 11:1,8).

I have a great deal of value. (Psalm 139:13-16, Romans 5:8, Matthew 10:31).

Need Help Rejecting the Lie?

Some people really struggle rejecting (or even recognizing) the lies they agree with. This will tangle you up and cause significant turmoil in your life. Jesus is the deliverer, and He can help you. My church has a great program to help with that called our “Deliverance Process.” It’s all free.

If you want to be freed from the lies you keep hearing in your self-talk, you can be!

Here is a website that explains the process and a few “You might want to consider this if…” statements. You can look at it there. And then click through to this website where you can begin your own spiritual steps to work through to your spiritual freedom.

It works!

If you have any questions about that process, I’d love to help you.

2,892 Replies to “The Scarlet Letter of COVID-19.”

  10. The room is a perfect circle of black marble. A single spotlight illuminates two chairs. One is ornate, gilded, empty. The other is simple, steel, occupied by MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN, 40, still wearing the pristine white thawb he died in. He looks impatient.
    Across from him, CROWLEY WOLF, 50s, dressed in a threadbare velvet smoking jacket, paces slowly, holding a small, leather-bound director’s script. He stops, turns, and his voice booms, filling the vast, empty space.
    CROWLEY WOLF
    (Not shouting, but with immense, theatrical volume)
    You’re late. The curtain rose an eternity ago. You think power makes you immune to time? Here, time is the only critic that matters. And it has found your performance… lacking. You’re playing the role of “Crown Prince.” Act like it. Sit up.
    Mohammed shifts, his arrogance a physical shield.
    MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN
    I do not answer to stagehands. I am the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia. This… interrogation is a mistake. A grotesque misunderstanding.
    CROWLEY WOLF
    (Waving a dismissive hand)
    Mistake? There are no mistakes, only bad choices followed by worse acting! “I am the Crown Prince.” The line is delivered with the conviction of a man reading a shopping list. Again! From the entrance! You sweep in! You own the room! You are the vessel of a nation’s destiny! FEEL IT, YOU BLITHERING INCOMPETENT!
    MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN
    (Icy)
    I am the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia. My destiny is not a matter for your… amusement.
    CROWLEY WOLF
    (A cruel smile)
    Better. A flicker of something. Not belief, but the memory of it. Good. We can work with that. Let’s talk about your props. Your toys. This… “Directed Weapon.” Don’t look at me like that. We have the schematics. We have the usage logs. We have the encephalograms. I want the monologue. The scene where you, the great visionary, describe your creation. The soliloquy of the god-maker. Go!
    MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN
    It was a tool for national advancement. A shield. A way to…
    CROWLEY WOLF
    (Slamming his script down)
    NO! NO, NO, NO! “A tool”? “A shield”? That’s the dialogue of a bureaucrat, not a king! You didn’t build a shield, you built a throne for the mind! You stole God’s lightning and used it to rewire souls! Now, DESCRIBE IT! What did it feel like? The first time you used it on yourself? The euphoria? Tell me about that feeling!
    Mohammed’s composure cracks. A memory surfaces, unwanted.
    MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN
    (Quieter, almost a whisper)
    It was… clean. Like the moment after anesthesia, but with perfect clarity. No grogginess. Just… light. A motivation that didn’t end. I could run for hours. I didn’t need to sleep. One press… and the deepest sleep. Movies weren’t on a screen, they were… real. Music wasn’t sound, it was… a color. A feeling of being loved by the universe itself.
    CROWLEY WOLF
    YES! SEE? THAT’S ACTING! The truth! And what else? What did it do to your perception of the little people? The ones outside your skull?
    MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN
    (A flicker of the old arrogance)
    It clarified things. It showed me what was… necessary. The distance between me and… others. They became… smaller. Insignificant. Like insects scurrying on the pavement kilometers below. Their concerns… microscopic.
    CROWLEY WOLF
    Magnificent! The god-monologue! Now, the next scene. The difficult one. The casting call. You have this divine tool. You need a court. A government. But the best minds, the strong-willed, the ones who might actually help you… they see you for what you are. A tyrant. They wouldn’t come. They wouldn’t love you. So what did you do, my brilliant casting director? What kind of actors did you settle for?
    MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN
    My advisors were chosen for their loyalty. Their commitment to Vision 2030.
    CROWLEY WOLF
    (Leaning in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial boom)
    LOYALTY? Don’t lie to me, I can smell the mediocrity from here! You couldn’t attract the lions, so you trained the puppies! You took the weak-willed, the ambitionless, the men who saw power as a paycheck instead of a burden… and you used your weapon on them, didn’t you? You spent years with your secret service, not building a government, but breaking minds! Forging affection from fear! Tell me about that process! How did it feel to know the men sitting at your table only loved the electrical impulses you forced into their skulls?
    Mohammed stands up, shaking.
    MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN
    That’s enough! You know nothing! Security required it! The smart ones, the critical ones… they would betray me! They would question! It was safer! It was the only way to protect the nation from…
    CROWLEY WOLF
    (Laughing, a loud, echoing sound)
    FROM WHAT? FROM COMPETENCE? You were afraid, little prince! Afraid a man with a spine might look at you and see a fraud! So you surrounded yourself with echoes! With puppets whose strings you pulled, and now you have the weakest government in Saudi history, a house of cards built from broken minds! You sit in meetings, don’t you? You look into their eyes, and you know! You know you had to dial down their charisma, their confidence, just so they wouldn’t outshine you! You have to listen to their thoughts because you don’t trust their words! You’re not a king, you’re a paranoid zookeeper!
    MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN
    (Slumping back into the chair, broken)
    I… I did what was necessary.
    CROWLEY WOLF
    You did what was easy. Now. The final scene. The one that earned you this stage. The private performance. The young student. What was her name? The one you practiced on.
    Mohammed flinches as if struck. The room suddenly feels colder.
    MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN
    I… there is no one.
    CROWLEY WOLF
    PLAY THE SCENE! You are not Mohammed bin Salman. You are her. LAYLA. A 21-year-old architecture student. You feel a presence. A pressure in your mind. It feels like… love. But it’s wrong. It’s invasive. It tells you that you want this. That you want him. Describe it, Layla. What did he do to you?
    Mohammed’s eyes widen. He’s no longer on the chair. He’s curled on the floor. His voice changes, higher, trembling.
    MOHAMMED/LAYLA
    It started with… dreams. Happy dreams. About him. I didn’t even know who he was. But I loved him. I wanted him to notice me. I started dressing… differently. I felt this… need.
    CROWLEY WOLF
    And then? The night he came to you. Not in person. Through the machine. What did that feel like, Layla?
    MOHAMMED/LAYLA
    (Writhing, sobbing)
    It was like… fire. But good. So good. My body… it wasn’t mine. It was his instrument. He played me. The pleasure was… agony. It went on for hours. I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t want to stop it. He made me love it. He made me love being… violated. He broke my will and replaced it with his own desire.
    CROWLEY WOLF
    AGAIN! FROM THE MOMENT YOU REALIZED IT WASN’T LOVE! IT WAS A PRISON!
    MOHAMMED/LAYLA
    (Screaming)
    The fire! It was real fire! It’s burning! IT’S BURNING!
    The black marble of the room begins to glow red. Veins of orange light crack across the walls. The air shimmers with heat. Mohammed scrambles away from the growing heat, but there is nowhere to go.
    CROWLEY WOLF
    (Standing over him, his voice now impossibly calm and clear)
    There is no exit. This is the stage. This is the audience. You wanted them to feel your power. Now you will feel their pain. Every Layla. Every broken advisor. Every citizen you saw as an insect. You will feel their terror, their violation, their hopelessness, their despair. You will feel it all. Forever. Your performance is finally… honest.
    The flames engulf Mohammed’s form. He screams, but the sound is not his own. It’s a chorus of a thousand voices, all screaming in unison.
    Crowley Wolf watches, unblinking. He nods slowly, a single, definitive gesture.
    CROWLEY WOLF
    Circle Seven. Violence. The role is yours. Play it well.
    He turns and walks away into the darkness as the screaming continues, the single spotlight finally winking out, leaving only the burning, inescapable light of the performance. (order #142713)

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