“Teach these new disciples to obey all the commands I have given you. And be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” – Matthew 28:20
I’ve had many times when I thought I had reached the last of the “new” news in these past six years or so. The time I realized I was actually ill. The time that I knew this was rare and chronic. The point where I accepted that disability was for, well… ever. The loss of more and more and more… and more.
At every stage, it was like Jesus was just sitting with me. He had His elbows on His knees, just relaxed-like. I sat beside Him, head in hands. I looked up, straightened my shoulders, briskly wiped the tears away, and said, “Well, ok then. We’re here. You’re with me. I can do this.”
And then I just would sorta start to unpack. You know what I mean? Get comfy. Decorate. Settle in. Cause I mean, this is the new normal, right?
Yeah, it sucks. Yeah, I was mostly brought here kicking and screaming, but there’s nothing that will change it, so I may as well settle in. With Jesus, of course.
That’s when it usually hits me that Jesus is not participating in this home-making. I amble over to sit next to Him again. He’s still in exactly the same position he was in. He hasn’t even changed facial expression. He’s patient like that. Thankfully.
I sit down next to Him, and just enjoy the silence, the peace that only His presence can bring. But I’m determined to hop back up and get that suitcase emptied soon. I take a chance and look over at Him. I smile to reassure Him that I’m okay. Surely that’s why He’s still sitting here, right?
Jesus, He doesn’t move a muscle, just looks over at me, kinda sideways. The look on His face is pure sympathy. Understanding. It chills me because I’ve seen that look before. I know exactly what it means.
See, we’re not really at the place where Home is yet. We’re just going a bit farther each time. A bit deeper. Together, always together. And He just sits quietly while I come to terms, such as it is. Get a better grip. Adjust.
Then He says, oh so softly, “You ready?” I place my hand in His outstretched one. It’s warm and strong and tender. And nail-scarred.
That’s when I remember why this journey is okay. It’s okay because He’s walked it already. He never moves me on before I’m ready for the next part. His instincts are flawless. And His love…. oh that’s just mindblowingly big and deep and wide and perfect.
Lead on, Jesus. I’m right behind you.
Father God, never stop leading. And may I never stop putting my hand in Yours and following. I love you. In Jesus’ Name, Amen…
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