Blind Bartimaeus, Sudden Loss, and the Mercy of Jesus

By Jennifer Greene-Sullivan

This week has felt heavy — the kind of weight that settles into the bones before the mind even has time to process it. After several difficult days, something unexpected, almost humorous, happened when I got home after church last night. Chris was in our bedroom, laughing and chatting… with another woman.

Well — a woman’s voice, at least.

When I asked who he was talking to, Chris explained that he had downloaded an AI assistant on his phone. She sounded startlingly real. I’ve jokingly named her “Groot,” because that’s what her name sounds like to me, and of course, Chris finds this hilarious. He wanted me to hear how she works, so he said:

“Tell me about Jennifer Greene-Sullivan.”

Instantly, this AI woman (created by Elon Musk) began rattling off my life: my children’s books, my degrees, my teaching career, and my faith-based blog on WordPress. Then Chris, being his silly self, asked:

“Is Jennifer Greene-Sullivan sexy?”

Her answer?

“Based on her photographs, she is a wholesome teacher who visits classrooms to read her children’s books.”

We both laughed.

Then Chris asked about himself, and she responded cheerfully:

“He died at 40.”

Another laugh — and then Groot politely left the conversation.

However, the moment she mentioned death… something in me didn’t let it go.

Because Tuesday had already been a day of unexpected, immediate loss in Cochran. Two lives gone within hours — one of them being our beloved friend, Ms. Mildred.

Earlier that Tuesday afternoon, Chris and I ate lunch at Scott’s BBQ. Ms. Mildred waited on us like always — quick with the refills, full of energy, smiling, talking to everyone, filling the room with joy. She was spunky, vibrant, and as alive as a person could be.

Just a few hours later, she was gone.

A couple of hours before Ms. Mildred’s passing, we lost our sweet dog Buddy — suddenly, tragically, without warning.

We had just arrived back at the shop. He greeted me with his whole happy, black-and-white self, and I even kissed him square on the mouth. I prayed over Buddy — literally minutes before he ran back toward the highway and was struck by a vehicle. The impact was instant. No suffering.

I was shattered.

I cried out to the Lord:

“Lord, did You hear me? Did You hear my prayer? Thank You for letting us love Buddy. Thank You for his lack of suffering. Help me trust You even when I do not understand.”

I meant it. Even in heartbreak — I meant it. My heartbreak startled my mind, and I have continued to ruminate over that afternoon for the rest of the week.

By nightfall Tuesday evening, word spread that Ms. Mildred had also passed away suddenly. A woman loved by her family, her community, and by every person who ever dined at Scott’s BBQ.

Tuesday had been an ordinary day until it wasn’t.

Tuesday at noon, Chris and I stopped for lunch at Scott’s BBQ — one of our favorite places. Ms. Mildred, our beloved waitress, was bustling around the room with her usual spark, filling my Diet Coke without missing a beat and chatting with every customer like they were family. She was full of life, full of joy, full of kindness. We adored her.

We left around 1:45 p.m., not knowing it would be the last time we would see her this side of Heaven.

At 2:00 p.m. Tuesday, we returned to the shop, I let Buddy — our shop dog, our sweet black and white stray who had adopted us — into my office. I kissed his little face and suddenly felt an urge to pray over him. I asked Jesus to protect him and keep him out of the highway until his digital collar arrived.

Minutes later, Buddy rambled back toward the barn and was hit instantly on the road.

He didn’t suffer.
But I did.
I still do.

Uncle Don buried him before Liam got off the bus, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell my son until the next day. My heart was too broken to form the words.

Two precious beings — one furry, one human — gone in a single afternoon.

So last night as I again pondered and prayed, asking the Lord for understanding through all this loss, all this suddenness, as I remained in bed, I petitioned Him:

“Jesus, what are You teaching me? You are always preparing me to meet You. I know we must always be ready.”

As my mind quieted, I whispered in the dark:

“Lord, when I die, let them remember this about me: that I loved You.
Let me be known for how much I loved You, and how much I loved Your people.”

Right before sleep came, a sentence rose up in my spirit:

“I am blind Bartimaeus.”

It shocked me awake.

I don’t think I had ever truly read the story of Bartimaeus. I had to Google the scriptural reference. I opened to Mark 10, and I paraphrase:

A blind man.
A beggar from Jericho.
Ignored. Silenced.
Yet, he cried out anyway:

“Son of David, have mercy on me!”

Then, Jesus stopped.
Jesus heard.
Jesus saw.
Jesus healed.

Bartimaeus said, “Rabbi, let me recover my sight.”
And Jesus replied, “Go your way; your faith has made you well.”

But Bartimaeus didn’t go his own way.
He followed Jesus.

He didn’t just gain sight —
he received purpose.

He was the only blind person healed who became a disciple.

With that fact, suddenly I finally understood why my spirit claimed him and his testimony.

Because I have been spiritually blind most of my adulthood.
I was blind in ways no one could see.
I was blind in ways only Jesus could heal.

In His mercy, Jesus restored my spiritual sight.
He delivered me from spiritual bondage.
He opened my eyes and my heart.
Since that moment, I have followed Him.

I am blind Bartimaeus.

I am the healed woman.
The changed woman.
The delivered woman.
The one who got up and followed Him.

Just as Ms. Mildred will be remembered for her servant’s heart.
and Buddy for his exuberant, unconditional love,
I want to be remembered this way:

The one Jesus loved.
The one Jesus changed.
The one Jesus showed mercy.
The one who took up her cross daily.
The one who followed Him — all the way Home.

 I want my legacy to be mercy, to be faith, and to be devotion to the One who saved me.

Scripture References

Mark 10:46–52 — The healing of blind Bartimaeus
Psalm 147:3 — “He heals the brokenhearted…”
Psalm 34:18 — “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted…”
John 11:25 — “I am the resurrection and the life…”
Luke 21:36 — “Be always on the watch…”
Micah 6:8 — “Do justice, love mercy, walk humbly…”

Closing Prayer

Father,
Thank You for being near to the brokenhearted and close to those who call out for mercy. Thank You for seeing us when we feel unseen, for hearing us when our words shake, and for holding us steady when life shifts beneath our feet. Today, I ask You to open our spiritual eyes the way You opened the eyes of blind Bartimaeus — with compassion, with power, and with love. Teach us to recognize Your voice, trust Your timing, and follow You with wholehearted devotion. Comfort every place in us that is grieving, confused, or hurting — and cover our hearts with Your peace that surpasses all understanding. Let our lives reflect Your mercy. Let our days be marked by Your presence. Let those who know us say that we loved You deeply and followed You faithfully. In Jesus’ holy name, amen.

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