Not Right Now

As I was driving down the road, I turned on the radio and heard a live broadcast from Nashville featuring Jason Gray. He began singing a song I had never heard before called Not Right Now. The raw emotion in his voice and the poignant lyrics instantly resonated with me.

I’ve heard Jason’s music many times but had never listened to this particular song, even though it was written nine years ago. He shared the backstory about writing this song while walking through deep grief. The story and song have remained on my heart, and the timing of discovering them now, when I needed them the most, feels like divine intervention. I’d like to share it with you today. 

During this time, when he was walking through grief, so many well-meaning friends would stop by to encourage him. They would frequently share pat answers, words, and scriptures with him – such as, there must have been a reason this happened. Ugh! We know how unhelpful this is! None of these things people said penetrated his grieving heart. 

One day, a friend showed up at his door. Jason said, “This guy is a manly man – big and burly.” His friend just sat with him and began to listen. He didn’t try to provide answers or reasons – he simply listened. Then Jason tried to act cool and said, “It’s okay, man, everything is okay. I’m fine!” How many times have we done the very same thing? Our hearts are breaking, but we tell everyone, “It’s okay. I’m fine. It’s all good!”

Jason’s friend saw through this and told him, “Stand up. He looked him in the eye and said, now I’m going to hug you, and I won’t let go for two minutes. I know this might seem uncomfortable, but I will hug you. I will time it, and I won’t let go for two minutes.” 

Jason started to laugh as his big, burly friend wrapped his arms around him. This was uncomfortable, and he said, “Really, man, I’m okay.” His friend didn’t let him go. As the seconds ticked by, all of a sudden, he stopped laughing. Then he began to weep. In that moment, his friend’s simple act of holding him broke through his defenses and allowed him to release his pain. They stood there, and he held on to his dear friend. He let the walls come tumbling down.

Friends, maybe this is you. Perhaps you’ve built walls around your heart and are afraid to let anyone in. Or your well-meaning friends are there to support you, but instead of just standing with you, they are trying to talk you through your grief. There may be such a time for talking, but it’s not right now. 

In times of grief, the most powerful gift a friend can offer is their presence—quiet, kind, and filled with love. They can hold you, hug you, and simply be there for you, without the need for explanations, answers, or eloquent words. This is all you may need, and it can make a world of difference. 

Music has been a guiding light on my own healing journey through grief. I invite you to take a moment to listen to these words, as they have the power to minister to your heart. You might even consider sharing them with a loved one, allowing them a glimpse into your feelings. 

Don’t tell me when I’m grieving. That this happened for a reason. Maybe one day we’ll talk about the dreams that had to die for new ones to come alive. But not right now while I wait for the smoke to clear. You don’t even have to speak. Just sit with me in the ashes here and together we can pray for peace. To the one acquainted with our grief I know someday, I know somehow I’ll be okay. But not right now. Not right now. No not right now.