Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

I deeply believe in miracles wrought by the hand of our omnipotent God. I believe in them because I have seen them. I also believe in the lessons those miracles teach us. I believe in them because I have learned from them. Five and a half years ago I learned an exquisite lesson from a miracle I was almost embarrassed to ask for.

In an attempt to deter our youngest child’s request for a baby, we added a puppy to our family. She was an adorable little ball of black and tan weighing in at 5 whole pounds. What she lacked in size she made up for in sass and spunk. We named her Delilah. 

We picked her up on a cold February day, wrapped her in a blanket, and set out for home. She cried the entire way. She wasn’t used to it. She didn’t know us. She wanted her brothers and the puppy pile they slept in. She wanted the cage and the heat lamp. She wanted the familiar. She didn’t realize we were going to take better care of her than some stinky cage with a bunch of brothers. She didn’t know she had a huge pen with brand new, hand-sewn blankets, lined with toys waiting for her. She didn’t know, couldn’t know. She hadn’t seen it, so she didn’t trust. 

We didn’t know either, the kind of care she would end up needing. The first few weeks were fun and adventurous. Vet visits. Chewed shoes. Spilled laundry baskets. Potty training. Leash training. Puppy cuddles. She wiggled her way deep into all our hearts. 

Just as we were settling in and she was learning things, Delilah went to the vet for her second set of vaccines. Within a short period of time, we saw something was terribly wrong. Her back legs became stiff and would barely move. I had to carry her outside, bring her food to where she lay. She didn’t play with the toys anymore. She was clearly deteriorating. 

 We rushed her back to the vet. They ran a multitude of tests, collaborated with the local veterinary college, and treated her for everything they thought could possibly be causing her decline. Eventually, they determined she was having a negative reaction to the vaccines. The knowledge was good, but nothing was healing our pup. We were heartbroken and worried and scared. Every day we waited and hoped and watched for improvement. 

One evening, while reminding God how adversely my youngest would be affected by the loss of her pet, I felt compelled to place my hands on Delilah and pray over her. Now, I’ve always believed in putting our hands on people and praying over them for whatever their need or situation might be. But a dog? I’ve never known anyone to do that. I wasn’t even sure it was proper. I did know this. God cares about the sparrows and the wildflowers, names the stars in the sky, and tells the ocean where to stop on the beach. So, surely He also cares about a little black-eyed puppy whose life seemed to be hanging in the balance. (Matthew 6:25-34; Psalm 147:4; Job 38:10-11; Jeremiah 5:22; Acts 6:5-6)

Gathering up the remnants of my depleted faith, I walked over to where Delilah was stretched out on her side. Kneeling beside her on the floor, I put my hands on her hind legs and I prayed. I don’t remember the words. I have no idea what they were. I do remember the fear, the worry, the angst. I remember the tears. I also remember that when we got up the next morning, Delilah’s back legs were better. There were still some kinks in her step and some stiffness in her body, but she was so much better than the night before. 

Encouraged by the answer and impatient for a full recovery, I got down on my knees, laid my hands on her, and prayed a second time. I still don’t know what I said. It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t instantaneous, but we began to see marked improvement. Day by day she recovered more and more. Today you have to watch closely to know anything was ever wrong with her or that she has to spend hours at the vet having antihistamine injections every time she gets vaccines. Most people don’t notice her back legs move differently than a normal dog. It doesn’t slow her down. More than five years later, our miracle dog is still mischievously wreaking havoc and indiscriminately doling out cuddles because God miraculously rescued her, not because we couldn’t have gotten another puppy, or even to save us the heartache, but because I needed the lesson that miracle taught. The lesson of rest and trust in God. (James 1:2-4; Romans 5:3-5)

Every time I meet with circumstances whose answers look impossible, improbable, or inconceivable, God takes me back to the moment I prayed in meager faith over a little black and tan puppy and watched Him rescue her. I remind myself of other things too. Things God has done. Miraculous things. Big things. Little things. Situations He’s made possible. Mountains He’s made passable. Unlikelihoods He’s made probable. I remember those things and I get it. I understand. I comprehend. In the depths of my heart, I know. God is omnipotent and He’s got us. The knowledge makes my soul rest. 

What amazes me is that the disciples were even slower learners than I. They were exasperatingly obtuse. They had front-row seats! How could they have missed it? How could they be fussing over the fact they had remembered only one loaf of bread when they had Jesus right there with them? How could their dinner have more importance than the lesson Jesus was trying to teach? Hadn’t they been watching? Hadn’t they seen? Were their memories so short they couldn’t call to mind the 5 loaves that fed 5,000 and created enough leftovers for a multitude of to-go boxes? Had they suffered amnesia concerning the 4,000 fed by seven loaves and the massive amounts of leftovers then? What was wrong with them? Why didn’t they get it? Why didn’t they see it? Why didn’t they understand who was dwelling with them, walking among them, working through them? (Matthew 14:13-21; John 6:1-14)

Jesus asked those very questions. He seems frustrated. He has every right to be. He’s trying to warn them about the trash the Pharisees are selling and they are busy worrying about food. Were they really that ignorant? They had seen Jesus perform miracle after miracle. He’d healed people, fed people, turned water to wine. It was ridiculous of them to believe He would let His disciples starve because they had forgotten to bring along extra bread. It was preposterous of them to think Jesus’ warning about the Pharisaical teachings of the world had anything to do with actual food. But they did. In frustration, after rattling off a litany of miracles they had witnessed, Jesus ends His diatribe by asking, “Do you still not get it? Don’t you know Who you are riding with? Is it still unclear whom you are following? Do you still doubt My abilities? Doubt My care? Are you still uncertain Who I am? After all you have seen and heard, don’t you get it yet?” (Mark 8:11-21; John 2:1-11; Matthew 8:14-17)

He could be talking to us. We too, put more emphasis on the physical than the eternal. We, too, forget the lessons of past answered prayers and observed miracles. We find ourselves in an unfortunate, unpleasant, untenable situation and immediately forget what we know about God. We forget who He is. We forget what He’s done. We focus on our earthly needs and lose sight of the spiritual lessons He is trying to teach us. Faith. Trust. Hope. Confidence. Comprehension that, no matter what, He is God, He is with us, and we are under His divine care.

The evil one doesn’t want you to remember those lessons. He wants you to be drawn aside by worry and fear about your past choices, current circumstances, future possibilities. He doesn’t want you to remember all the times God has proven Himself to be more than enough. He doesn’t want you to focus on your spiritual health and trust God with the rest. He wants to keep you sidetracked with your current conundrum so all that fear, anxiety, stress, and worry will distract you from following God. 

Don’t do it. Don’t let him win. Don’t let him distract you with the things of the world, the cares of life, the anxieties that plague your mind. Look back. Remember what you have seen and heard. Remember all the miracles God has done in your life, your church, your circle of friends. Then throw your faith in Him. Refuse to be distracted. Trust God to do His part, stay the course, and follow hard after Jesus.  (Psalm 63:8; Hosea 6:3a; Psalm 25:15; Psalm 141:8)

There’s a 5-and-a-half-year-old black and tan, 65-pound, floppy-eared, overexuberant, over-talkative, sparkly-eyed dog running around my house today. Her manners are slightly deplorable. Some days she’s ridiculously annoying. I love her like crazy. She is a living, breathing, bed-hogging reminder that there is no one like my God. She is also a reminder that no matter what upset I am facing, God’s got it. I can trust Him to handle it. I don’t need to hover over Him with ideas and input. I don’t need to worry. I simply need to remember what I know about Him, what I have learned about Him in the past, keep spiritual focus, and let God be God. And I’m trying because I get it now. 

I don’t know what’s worrying you today. I have no idea what you fret over in the wee hours of the morning. Income. Health. Housing. Employment. I do know these things. God will, in His own way, His perfect time, always take care of His people. I know you can trust Him. I know He doesn’t want you to spend even one more minute worrying over things you can’t control, can’t change, can’t do. What He wants is for you to roll your cares, concerns, conundrums over on Him, trust Him to handle them, and determinedly resolve not to be drawn aside by the theories of the world but to follow Him no matter what. I get it now. Do you? (I Peter 5:7; Philippians 4:6-7, 19; Psalm 55:22; Luke 12:7; Ecclesiastes 3:1; Proverbs 3:5-6)

It was hardly the greeting party they expected. The mangy, unkempt man racing from the graveyard and across the beach toward them was more than a little disconcerting! His hair was matted. His body visibly unwashed. Bruises circled his wrists and ankles, ranging from purple to brownish yellow, a clear indicator of recent attempts to restrain him with chains. Chains he’d broken to get free. His skin was marred with scars and scabs from incessant cutting. Some wounds still oozed. His desperate aloneness indicated how horrifically he’d terrified the town with his antics. Ridiculous strength. Constant outcries. Self-mutilation. They had cast him out. He wasn’t welcome there anymore. His only home was among the tombs, his only hope of solace with the dead.

Until the docking of this particular boat. He’d surely seen hundreds of boats come and go, scores of people disembark. Although there is nothing to indicate he ran to meet each arrival in search of help and hope, perhaps he did. Perhaps it was his normal behavior. Maybe his venture was spearheaded by curiosity. Perhaps, on this particular day, he was drawn to the docks by the siren song of grace, hope, and rescue available through Jesus Christ. Perhaps he sensed something different about this boat. Maybe he sensed this boat brought hope for his tortured soul, tormented by the unclean spirit. Maybe he realized It carried the answer to the puzzle of his disturbed lifestyle. Whatever reason took him there, it was the best decision of his life. The best day of his life. The best moment he would ever experience. This boat was different. It carried Jesus. 

And Jesus was the answer. The answer to the raging, cutting, horrendous indwelling of the unclean spirit that had ruled and ruined his life. As Jesus stepped onshore, He immediately rebuked the unclean spirit. No hesitation. No waiting to see if someone would plead on the man’s behalf. Just compassionate, immediate relief for the wretched man plagued by the legion of unclean spirits tormenting his soul and ravishing his body. Jesus’ ship had docked. Hope had come. Salvation had been delivered. A rescue had been enacted. The man’s future was finally colored an encouraging hue. 

Or was it? The townspeople’s reactions were varied. They were amazed, yes, but they were also afraid. Their skeptical minds couldn’t believe what they couldn’t conceive. Was it real? Could it be true? Had Jesus really evicted the evil spirit and installed the peace of God? The evidence appeared to be seated in front of them, properly clean, clothed, and with clarity of thought. But it still seemed too good to be true. How long would it last? What if he relapsed? What if it was all just a show, a sham? Could they truly trust this change? 

And what about their pigs? Why had Jesus sent the unclean spirit into their pigs? Their livelihood had just blindly rushed over the edge of a cliff! What else was He going to do? What else would He change? And what would He require of them if He stayed? The fear was overwhelming. Greater than any smidgen of belief in the omnipotence of God they had just seen demonstrated. It ruled their hearts, making them ask Jesus to leave before He did anything else. 

Being here now, knowing all we know, hindsight being so much clearer than foresight, I still find myself questioning the intelligence of their petition. Why would they ask Him to leave? What part of cleansing and rejuvenation was so objectionable they didn’t want it in their town? What were they afraid of? Were they simply too afraid of His unmatched power? Did their fear stem from not knowing someone like Him existed? Or was it something more human? Is it possible they were simply afraid of the changes they would need to make in their own lives if Jesus stayed long in their village? Were they, like our current society, so much in love with their own ways they couldn’t bear the thought of the changes allowing Jesus to stay would surely bring? I don’t suppose it matters. What has been done is done. They asked Him to leave. And He did.

The second scene on the dock must have been nearly as disconcerting as the first. The newly released man so badly wanted to go with Jesus. He tried desperately. Begged. Wheeled. Cajoled. Unfortunately, the answer was negative. But Jesus didn’t leave him without something to do, He left him with a mission. As the man stood in the spot of his redemption watching the departing ship grow tinier and tinier, Jesus’ parting command broke through the disappointment to echo in his ears, “Go home. Tell everyone about the mercy and power of the Lord. Show them how completely I have changed your life. Be a witness for Me in a place that asked Me to leave.”

And he does. He goes back to town, mingles with the people. He tells and retells his God-story every chance he gets to anyone who shows even remote interest. He lives his life. Clean. Clothed. Clear-headed. For those who would rather not hear his story, he lives it out in front of them, living proof that the power of God delivers from all evil. But he didn’t stop just in his hometown. No. He kept going. When he had saturated one town with the knowledge of God’s amazing, rescuing power, he moved on to the next, making his round throughout the entire Decapolis. He didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He had a mission to fulfill, a story to tell. A story of amazing mercy and grace that saved a wretch like him. (Mark 5:1-20)

It is impossible to miss the correlation between this man’s story and ours. We, too, were once deeply steeped in sin, slaves to the evil one, beyond rescue, beyond hope, lost causes, wretched souls. If you think you were ever better than that, think again. Jesus didn’t come to die for a bunch of good-enough people, a bunch of righteous people. He came to die for sinners. For you. For me. For everyone. He came to dig you out of that pit of sin, to rescue your life, to ransom your soul. That is why Jesus came. We were in the same hopeless situation as the scary guy on the beach of the Gerasenes. (Luke 5:32; Romans 5:8; Romans 3:23; I John 1:8-10; Titus 2:11; John 1:12; John 10:10)

Then Jesus stepped in. He came and offered His life, His blood, His salvation to a bunch of people so deeply steeped in their sin a rescue seemed impossible. But He did it. They abused, misused, rejected, and abandoned Him. He still paid salvation’s price. Even though He knew some would never accept His gift of love and grace and mercy, He offered it anyway. When their fears of not being in control, of having to change, of not getting their own way made them ask Him to leave them alone, He respectfully did. But He left those of us who accepted His life-changing salvation with the same mission He gave the man in the Gerasenes. Go. Show. Tell. (Matthew 28:19-20; Acts 1:8; Matthew 7:16-20) 

It is our foremost calling. Not a vocation. Not a job. Not a hobby. A mission. A Heavenly calling with an eternal outcome. Our obedience is imperative. In a society working overtime to evict God and His ways from their midst, we are called to go and tell them about the change grace has made in our lives. Where they have pushed Him out, shoved Him aside, told Him to leave, we are to calmly walk in and bring Him with us. Show Jesus in how we dress, act, talk, live. Carry Him along in our business dealings, our sportsmanship, our social conduct. Take Him with us on every outing, every date, every event. Live loudly for Jesus in a world that has kicked Him out. (Romans 1:16; I John 2:6; Galatians 5:22; Matthew 5:48)

Maybe you will have the opportunity to use words to tell your story. I hope you do. I hope you get to tell your story of grace and mercy and redemption verbally to everyone you meet. However, if you are in a situation that does not allow or encourage you to speak openly about your amazing rescue, I hope you live it out just as loudly as words. I hope you show Jesus’ love to those around you. I hope you make choices that tell of convictions deeply rooted in the Word of God. And I hope that, when people ask about the difference in you, you will be ready at a moment’s notice to tell them your God-story. I hope you go out and live for Jesus, act like Jesus, follow Jesus. I hope you show them Jesus so when they ask questions, and they eventually will, you have the opportunity to share with them the story about a Man whose grace compelled Him to die so they could live. (I Peter 1:15-17; Colossians 4:4-6; I Corinthians 11:1; Romans 12:21)

You need to tell your story. Urgently. Desperately. Continually. You need to tell others what God has done for you. They need to hear it from you. Your words, your testimony are important. Preachers can preach, teachers can teach, writers can write, but the power of a firsthand testimonial will always eclipse the effects of a secondhand story. So go tell it. Tell your God-story. Live it out. Speak it out. Tell how God has brought you out, carried you through, parted your waters, enacted your rescue. Someone, somewhere needs to see the effects of your life-changing meeting with Jesus. Someone, somewhere needs to hear all about it. And there is no one better to tell them than you! (Mark 16:15; Matthew 5:14-17; I Corinthians 9:16; I Peter 3:15)

Dear Faithful Readers and People of Christ. Due to a family emergency, there will not be any new posts until July 21st. We hope that you continue to find peace and direction through Christ and that he shines on your family. Faithfully Yours, Naomi