Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

“I’m sorry. We’ve exhausted all our options. There’s nothing more we can do.” The physician’s words echoed in the still, emptiness of the room. Her heart sunk in hopeless disappointment. She didn’t let it show on her face. Desperate tears burned the backs of her eyes. She didn’t let them roll down her cheeks. Panic twisted her stomach, inducing the urge to run. She didn’t allow herself that luxury. This situation wasn’t new. She’d heard those words before. Lots of times. At least 12 times, the same number of years she’d been seeing doctor after doctor, seeking a diagnosis, a cure for her continually worsening condition. 

Hope, the tiny glimmer she’d had upon entrance to this appointment, died a miserable, instantaneous death. There was nothing left to hope for. There were no doctors left to see.  She’d seen them. There were no treatments left to try. She’d tried them. There was no money left. Her last coin now sat in the hand of a doctor who had told her only what every other doctor before him had said. There was no help, no hope. 

Drawing a stabilizing breath, she stepped out the door and turned toward home. It would be a long walk. She was exhausted. She was weak. She felt broken. She knew her heart was. The illness had taken its toll. Physically failing, emotionally spent, her mind began to badger her with questions she couldn’t answer. What would happen now? How would she live? Would she live at all?  

As she passed through town, an enormous commotion drew her attention. A large crowd had already gathered in the center of town and seemed to be multiplying by the second. Shopkeepers were standing in their doorways watching the hubbub. She sighed. She needed to get through, but the crowd was intimidating for a woman who had no strength, no stature, no stamina. Looking for a place to rest until the uproar died down, she ducked into a nearby doorway. As she stood there watching the teeming crowd, the conversation of some nearby shopkeepers caught her attention. Jesus of Nazareth was in town. 

Her mind raced. Her heart pounded. Jesus was in town? She’d heard all about Him. Everyone had. He was amazing. Teaching in the Temple. Casting out demons. Raising the dead. Healing the sick. The answer she didn’t have moments before was now standing just on the other side of the crowd. She had to get to Him. He was her last hope, her only hope. He was the answer she had spent twelve fruitless years and countless dollars trying to find. Touching Jesus was her only option. 

But how? How could a frail woman get through that crowd of able-bodied men?  How could she breach the circle of His disciples around Him?  What if she got crushed in the press? What if she got injured in the struggle? What if she got trampled by the masses? It didn’t matter. She would touch Him or die trying. Her life depended on it. 

Gathering the remnants of her waning strength, she carefully joined the edges of the crowd and began her journey. She sidestepped a few people, wiggled between a few others. Every spot that opened in front of her, she filled. Pausing a moment to catch her breath, she noticed she was only about halfway through the crowd. The densest sea of bodies was in front of her. Lifting her chin in sheer determination, she continued her trek.  She was panting, her heart was pounding as if she’d run a marathon. Only desperation kept her going. And she was desperate. Desperate to touch Jesus. 

Dodging flailing arms and stomping feet, she continues her journey. A painful elbow to the ribs doesn’t stop her. A shove sideways doesn’t deter her. She’s reached the last few feet. She can see His back. She can also hear Jairus begging Jesus to come heal his daughter. She hears Him agree. It feels like a physical blow. Her faith flickers, nearly dies. If He starts to move now, she’ll never reach Him. The row of men between her and Jesus is so tight, so unforgiving, she nearly cries out in despair. The tears that didn’t fall before now blur her vision. She pauses in indecision. Should she continue the struggle, or turn back? 

In that one paralyzed moment, as she agonizes over how to reach Him, the press of the crowd overtakes her. It was just what she needed. Rocketed between the men in front of her, she finds herself in an undignified sprawl in the dirt. Embarrassed, she looks up to see if anyone has noticed, but she doesn’t see faces, she sees a hem. The hem of Jesus’ garment as He begins to walk away. In a decision borne of desperate faith, her hand flashes out and just glances off the hem of His robe. She didn’t pull, didn’t grab hold. Just a quick touch. And she was healed. She felt it. Knew it. No matter the struggle, the frustration, the pain, touching Jesus was worth every second. 

But it didn’t go unnoticed. Jesus, knowing she had touched Him and been healed, turns around to the crowd and demands the person own up to their actions. The disciples, in disbelief, wonder how in the world He could possibly know one specific person touched Him. Many people had touched Him as they jostled along among the crowd. Jesus insists. Knowing in her soul that she cannot hide, she timidly admits her faithful act. Jesus’ response brings tears to my eyes every time.  He calls her “Daughter.” Commends her faith. Pronounces her “healed”. (Matthew 9:19-22; Mark 5:24-34, Luke 8:43-48) Touching Jesus was absolutely worth everything her desperate soul and broken body endured.

As I sit quietly wiping tears and absorbing this story, I find myself in the uncomfortable position of needing to answer this question, “How desperate am I to touch Jesus?” With all the situations beyond my control, problems that don’t seem to have answers, prayers I’ve been praying for years for people who don’t seem to care, how desperate am I to truly touch Jesus for those things? When I’m trudging through a spiritual desert, how desperately do I reach out to touch Jesus? Do I stay in prayer like Jacob, refusing to leave His presence without the blessing of His Divine approval? (Genesis 32:22-32)  Do I ask and keep on asking, seek and keep on seeking, knock and keep on knocking? (Matthew 7:7) Or do I let the busyness of the day, the pleasures of the world, the worries of life draw me away before I truly touch Him? (Mark 4:19) Do I wholeheartedly believe that touching Jesus is worth sacrifice, struggle, and tears?

Do you? Do you believe the answer to your situation can be found in touching Jesus? Do you believe it is the only answer to your deepest need, your darkest dilemma? Or do you spend hours on the phone, on social media, at coffee klatches spilling your issues, problems, cares, concerns to all and sundry? Do you reach out to people first, Jesus second? People who can’t help, can’t change hearts or mend situations. People who are as impotent as you are to make the miraculous happen. How desperate are you to touch Jesus?

I don’t know what’s plaguing your mind or heart today. Maybe it’s your own sin. Maybe it’s a child, a sibling, a parent straying from God. Maybe it’s a burden for a country far from the faith it once held dear. Maybe it’s a missionary, a preacher, a friend in the throes of dark spiritual trial. Maybe it’s you, your own personal crisis of faith. Maybe you’ve been struggling with the same issue, bearing the same burden for years. Maybe it feels too much, too heavy, too useless. Maybe you feel you’ve done everything you can. Maybe you want to quit. I know those feelings. I’m there too. I also know this–the answer to every struggle, every situation, every issue, temptation, frustration, and fear lies in touching Jesus.  

So get on your knees, get in your prayer closet, cry out to Jesus. Don’t stop until you touch Him. (I Thessalonians 5:17) Touch Jesus and allow Him to change your life. Touch Jesus for that soul who is straying. Touch Jesus for a country far off course. Touch Jesus in faith, expecting Him to work. And He will answer. He will work. (Jeremiah 33:3; Psalm 91:15) And you will find, touching Jesus is absolutely, unquestionably the single most important thing you will ever do.

They missed it!  They totally missed their miracle! The people of Nazareth had cajoled, whined, demanded that Jesus perform a miracle. It was His duty, right? He’d just read from the Prophet Isaiah saying God would send a Savior to release captives, heal the sick, and overthrow oppression. Jesus sat there, read that prophecy, and calmly stated it had been fulfilled. The obvious indication being He was that Savior. But they wanted proof. They wanted their share of the miraculous. A healing or two. They deserved it, right? 

Jesus was a homegrown boy, a good one. He was raised in their town. His family still lived there. They did business with Joseph. If this kid had turned out to be their Savior, shouldn’t they get the most benefit? He’d already done miracles in other places. Yet here He was, sitting among them, claiming to be the promised Savior, but refusing to do a miracle to prove it. And He insulted them in the process, claiming they wouldn’t accept Him in His hometown. Seriously? 

It didn’t sit right. Angrily, they jump up and rush at Him. He’d give them their miracle or jump off a cliff. They press forward. Jesus backs up. They push closer. The edge of the cliff looms behind Him. Blinded by anger at the alleged insult and their own desire to see proof of His claims, they keep pushing. Their minds are fixed on getting their miracle. They have Jesus cornered now. He’ll have to give in. But wait. Where did He go? Did He fall over the edge? No. He’s not there. He’s not anywhere! In the haze of their anger, the single-mindedness to have their demands met, they missed the very miracle they were so desirous to see. Jesus miraculously passed through the crowd and walked away. No one saw Him go. No one felt Him brush their arm as He passed. They didn’t even realize He was gone until it was done. They missed their miracle because they were looking only for the miracle they wanted, the big flashy one. In their narrow-mindedness, they missed the mundane miracle they got. (Luke 4:14-30)  

In righteous indignation, I want to exclaim over the ridiculousness of these people. What were they thinking? Did their selfish hearts imagine Jesus would just walk through town and fix everything with a magical wave of His hand?  Were they expecting the heavens to open, wealth to rain down, illness to evaporate, and everything to be flowers and sunshine forever after?  I scoff at the silliness. But my scoff turns to a discomfort-covering cough as I am forced to acknowledge I’ve been in the exact same space.

Earlier this year, my daughter was enduring some issues at school. Like you, I have a no-tolerance policy for any type of bullying, false accusations, or mistreatment of my child. We were trying to fix the problem. We talked with the counselor and principal. They tried. Things weren’t looking good. When Spring break rolled around we were seated firmly in the front seat of the struggle bus. I was exhausted trying to think of a way to make it through the last nine weeks of school. It was going to be a long ride. We needed a miracle. I had a dozen ideas for how that miracle could look. I’d prayed a hundred prayers. Nothing seemed to happen. 

When we got back from Spring Break, our state locked down in COVID-19 quarantine. I hated it. It was horrible. I could barely pray a prayer that wasn’t angry. My kids were in limbo waiting to see if school would start again. We were all in limbo waiting to see if life would start again. Somehow, through the fog of my angst and irritation, I realized my daughter had effectively been removed from the issue at school. A positive in a world of negatives, for certain. And when the news finally came that school was canceled for the remainder of the year, the scales fell off my eyes and I saw the miracle that was staring me in the face all along. That annoying, frustrating, nearly unbearable quarantine was my miracle. 

I certainly didn’t expect a respiratory virus and global quarantine to be the miraculous answer to my desperate prayers. I didn’t expect my child’s rescue to come on the wings of a canceled school year. My miracle looked nothing like I expected it to.  It wasn’t as lovely or peaceful as I imagined. In fact, I probably would have missed the miracle, called it coincidence, if I hadn’t read the above account in the book of Luke just a few months before. It spoke to me then and continues to speak to me now. It tells me that I miss seeing the miraculous I long to see, not because it doesn’t happen, but because my idea of the miraculous is too narrow, too human. 

Yours might be too. We get bogged down with the crazy notion that miracles are all big, ostentatious moments drawing crowds and attention. We think miracles are only the life-changing moments of death sentence diseases healed, insurmountable bills paid, or lives in a horrific car crash saved. We expect miracles to be so large, so loud, so influential that we miss the small, everyday miracles. The ones that happen with no fanfare, no press, no audience. We dub them coincidences. We call them serendipitous. We fail to look at them and say, “That’s miraculous!” We miss miracles because our idea of the miraculous is so limited.  

So was Naaman’s. He nearly missed his miracle too. We wonder how. Stricken with an incurable disease, why would he come to the prophet Elisha asking for a miracle, but not want to do something so simple as dipping in a river? So what if it’s muddy? Who cares if it’s demeaning? What does it matter if the prophet himself gave the prescription or sent it via a servant?  Doesn’t Naaman value his life more than a little mud and a touch of humiliation in front of a few servants? 

But it does matter, because Naaman, just like us, is looking for a pleasant, flashy, obvious miracle. One he thought up on his own, something to brag about. Doesn’t this prophet know who he is? Does Elisha not grasp the dignity of Naaman’s station?  Yet he doesn’t even come out of the house. He sends his servant out to say, “Go take a dip in the muddy, disgusting waters of the Jordan.”  It feels like a diss, a dismissal. It’s not. It’s a test. A test to see if Naaman believes in the miraculous power of Elisha’s God, even if his healing doesn’t happen with a wave of the prophet’s hand. Could Naaman believe that a miracle could happen in the still quietness of a dirty river instead of the way he thinks it should?  (II Kings 5:1-14)

Can you?  In the virulent onslaught of news, gossip, and opinions of the world, have you lost your ability to see the miraculous? Do you fail to recognize miracles because they don’t look the way you imagined?  Do you fail to believe God, rail at Him for not coming through, because you can see only the lost miracle you wanted, not the one you got? Have you forgotten that God is omniscient? Your past, present, and future are spread before Him. (Psalm 139; Job 28:24) Maybe your idea of a miraculous rescue would be disastrous in the long run. He knows and sends a miracle to benefit your future, whether you see it now or not. (Jeremiah 29:11) 

You see, our miracles might not look like we imagined. They might not be splashed across the internet in bold-type headlines. They are miracles just the same. So stop it. Stop limiting God. Stop coming to Him demanding a specific miracle in exchange for devotion, good behavior, devoutness. Stop being too much like Naaman, throwing a fit when your miracle isn’t flashy enough or doesn’t draw a crowd. Stop being like the people of Nazareth. Stop thinking God owes you some crazy, wild, “magical unicorn” miracle. He doesn’t owe you anything, but He still chooses to shower on you miracle after miracle. (Psalm 68:19) If you open your eyes, you’ll see them. They might not be breaking news. They might not be medical journal material. They might not even be miraculous to your neighbor. But when we put our trust in the power of God and allow Him to perform His miracles, all things are possible, both large and small. (Luke 1:37) So roll your problems, worries, and cares over on God, mind your business, and leave the miracle-working to the Master. (I Peter 5:7)

A collaborative effort of Rev. Rodney Stearns and Naomi Meyers

If God had a cell phone
And used it just like you, 
How much time would you spend waiting
In the "call waiting" queue?

When you call to ask for mercy, 
Would He just shoot back a text?
Too busy searching websites
To take time to connect. 
 
Would He be too lost in videos
Or news and world events,
To notice or acknowledge 
When a sinner repents?
 
As your children call on Jesus
In their bedtime prayer at night, 
Would He be too busy scrolling
To look down in delight?
 
When they ask him for a puppy
Or a kitten or a friend,
Would His compassion then be failing
As He sought the newest trend?
 
Why do you have a cell phone
When God speaks straight to you?
Were you looking for distractions
From your internal view?

Did you ask God for a cell phone,
To help you win the lost?
If you led someone to Jesus,
That would sure be worth the cost!

Did you send a text to someone
To brighten up their day?
A scripture verse reminding,
God answers when we pray!

Aren’t you glad God’s not addicted
To a cell phone just like you?
Perhaps if you would lay yours down
You’d find that you care too.

Care more for people lost in sin,
For others deep in doubt.
Care for the people next to you,
Have time to help them out.
 
So put the cell phone down, my friend,
And you will surely see
The God who rules all Heaven and earth
Has time for you and me.

Then take that time, without your phone,
To ride bikes with your kids. 
To check-in with your neighbors
And long lost relatives. 

Spend some more time praying 
On God’s direct call line.
I promise if you call on Him, 
He’ll answer every time. 

See, you don’t need a cell phone
To do the things that count.
You just need time with Jesus
And a heart to help folks out!
 
Although we hope you have enjoyed the rhyme and meter of our little poem, 
we also hope you will evaluate your phone time with Judgment Day honesty.
Society is dying, and we are playing games on our cell phones. Our families
are needy, and we are scrolling news sites. God is calling, and we are
effectively sending it to voicemail as we put shopping, social media,
e-mail, news, videos, and sports ahead of Him. We desperately need to lay
down the phone. Turn it off for an hour. Put the eternal before the
temporal. Choose to follow God. Allow nothing before Him. (Joshua 24:15,
Exodus 20:3) Look deep inside. See what your cell phone usage is saying.
For where your treasure is, there also is your heart. (Matthew 6:21)
What does your phone say about that?

One of the most amazing stories of Jesus’ earthly ministry has to be the feeding of the five thousand. Not the actual feeding part. I’m not surprised that Jesus was able to make 5 loaves and 2 fishes feed 5000 men. If you’ve read through His earthly ministry, you aren’t surprised either. Water has been turned to wine. People have been healed. Demons cast out. After all that, making a huge meal on a beggar’s budget is no big surprise. No. The surprising part is the reason Jesus stopped to teach them in the first place. The words stop me in my tracks every time. “He looked at the crowd and was filled with compassion toward them.” (Matthew 14:13-21; Mark 6:30-41; Luke 9:10-17; John 6:1-13)

Jesus knew every single heart in that crowd. He knew who was just riding the wave of excitement. He knew the skeptics, the information gatherers, the ones reporting back to the religious leaders. He saw the hearts of the truly interested, those who needed healed, those who needed loved. He knew he’d have to feed them. He didn’t disparage them for forgetting their lunch or tell them to come back when they weren’t hungry. Jesus looked at them, saw the deepest need in the darkest heart, and was filled with unfailing love, unprecedented compassion. 

Then I lay down my Bible, catch a glimpse of the news, and am immediately inundated with the ugliness of humanity. My heart is broken over senseless homicides. My soul is shattered by stories of children violated in selfish depravity. My mind is bewildered by random robberies, assaults, and vandalism. I don’t understand it. As I read the stories, I am tempted to start taking sides. My human sensibilities cry out for revenge, restitution, retribution. Yet in the same instant, I am reminded that God looks on all of us with compassion. Although I may not be able to wrap my finite mind around human behaviors, there is one thing I know with absolute certainty–as He did so many years ago, Jesus looks down on the people of this world and is overcome with infinite love and unfailing compassion. 

See, God is love. (I John 4:16) It’s easy to believe God loves the nice neighbors next door, the regular church attendee, our family and friends. Of course God loves all those good people. But what about the other people? The ones we judge worthy (or not) based on how they look, smell, or talk. What about those luring young girls into prostitution? What about the money launderers, the schemers, the power abusers? What about rapists and murderers?  What about abortion doctors and the Kevorkians of the world? 

Up on our high horse, adjusting the folds of our self-righteous robes, we shake our heads in disbelief that even their mother could love them. We judge these souls based on the casual perusal of a news article written by someone who likely had only half the facts. Judge, jury, executioner, that’s us. We respond to odious, offensive crimes with a fervent, “I hope they get what they deserve!”  Yet even as the words form in my brain, I am simultaneously reminded that God, in compassion, sent Jesus, full of compassion, to die for me, for you, for everyone–the pimp, the pastor, the perp, the pediatrician–because God is full of love and compassion toward humanity that is decidedly void of both. 

This love is not the silly, misused word we so glibly throw around when talking of food, sports, or shoes. No. This love is deep, infinite care about our lives, our hearts, our souls.  It is a love that transcends everything else, longing to see us safely through the pitfalls of the world and bring us to Heaven. No matter what juncture at which we choose to accept it, it will always be there. It doesn’t get tired of waiting, doesn’t take a break, doesn’t give up, doesn’t change. It is true I Corinthians 10:13 love. This love never ends. It is this love that breeds compassion. Care for every single thing in every life. It sobs with those who sob. It belly laughs with those who belly laugh. It never fails, no matter the season of your life. Or my life. This love and compassion is for everyone. The victim and the perpetrator alike. This is the love God has for all humanity. 

It is also the love He commands us to reciprocate. Not toward Him. Toward others. Toward all others–regardless of race, creed, social standing, lifestyle preference, rap sheet, or religious affiliation. None of that matters to Jesus. Remember Zaccheaus? No one liked him. By his own admission, he’d gained at least part of his considerable wealth by overcharging people for taxes, yet Jesus chose his house for dinner. (Luke 19:1-10) And it wasn’t just Zaccheus. In fact, when Jesus went to have dinner at Matthew’s house, he hung out with a whole group of ill-reputed people. Many of them were His followers. (Mark 2:15) What made them follow Jesus? Did they feel His love, compassion, lack of judgment and desire to be in His presence? Do you exude the same love? Or do you pick and choose, write people off as too dirty, too unworthy, too strange? 

What if Jesus had done that to Peter? He denied even knowing Jesus. Not just once, but three times! Because we run our lives on the “three strikes and you’re out” rule, I have trouble thinking we’d be taking him back into the fold. Not Jesus. He takes Peter back. Then sends him out to help build His church. Love, compassion, mercy, grace. (John 18:15-18, 25-27; John 21) Everything Jesus commands us to do is exemplified by His life. He commands us to love, forgive, be merciful, show grace. (Mark 12:31; Ephesians 4:32; Luke 6:36; Matthew 7:12)

This is the mark of a true Christ follower. This is the way God loves. Completely. Compassionately. Unreservedly. Blindly. He calls us to do the same. If you look at any part of humanity–individually or as a group–and feel anything less, you have missed the brief. If you see the homeless, the addicts, the prostitutes as a blight on society, you need to read the Gospels again and see what Jesus thinks. If your heart does not wholly subscribe to the command to love your neighbor, you are simply not following Jesus.  

Love is patient. Love is kind. Love doesn’t abuse or misuse. Love doesn’t keep a tally of wrongs, hold grudges, or seek revenge. Love doesn’t quit when everyone else does. Love retains hope and offers second chances. Love is of God. (I Corinthians 13; I John 4:8) Make no mistake, this is not a rubber stamp that everyone gets to Heaven no matter what they do because God loves them. Love doesn’t equal approval. It is more important than that. Neither does it negate punishment. It’s more important than that too. Love says, “No matter who you are, what you’ve done, where you came from or currently reside, your accent, your hair color, your faults, I see you as a beloved human being created in God’s image. I want the best for you. I want you to know Christ and to meet Him because you met me.” 

Does your life say that? Do your interactions with people, both the elite and the downtrodden, speak love and grace into their lives? Are you a true follower of Jesus?  Do the things that break God’s heart, break your heart too? Are you a living, working, replica of Jesus in a world of brokenness, anger, and hate? If you look on any part of humanity with disdain, regret, animosity, or ill will, ask God to change your heart.  Ask Him to bring you to an indiscriminate place of love, compassion, mercy and grace toward all people. You can do no less, because this is His command. This is the way God loves. (Psalm 145:9; I John 4:7-8, 16)

I have a love/hate relationship with social media. I love the ability to share photos and life events with friends and family all over the world. I enjoy easily keeping in touch with people I see only occasionally. I do not, however, enjoy the barrage of arguments from armchair pundits on everything ranging from religion to crime. I dislike people attempting to persuade me to change my political position based on their opinion. Most importantly, I hate the division, the competition, the emphasis on possessions and education as a measure of personal worth. Your house, car, or latest degree are no indication of who you truly are.  

A few years ago a man came to visit my husband and me in hopes of gaining our business.  Apparently he felt the need to impress us with credentials, both his and his wife’s. He listed his own experience, tacking on a lengthy, very successful list of his wife’s accomplishments. Then, he turned to me and, in a voice dripping with condescension, said, “And you?” It probably wasn’t intended to sound the way it did. It sounded rude. I felt judged pathetic, useless, worthless. Who was I in light of that extensive list of successes?

I have no list of accomplishments to recommend me. I have a degree I’ve never used. I’ve never worked in my field of training. Instead, I made the choice to be a stay-at-home mom. I’ve spent 15 years doing it. And though I do not regret my choice for one instant, society often makes me feel inferior, less than, not enough because my name isn’t on an office door or followed by any letters. Sometimes a little voice in my head asks why anyone would care what I have to say. Who do I think I am to string words together and ask people to read them? 

Maybe you know that little voice. Maybe it bothers you too. Maybe it tells you other things. Stupid things. Like you are not smart enough, strong enough, good enough. Maybe it says your past is too varied, your future too uncertain. Maybe it says you are worthless. Maybe it calls you ugly, fat, imperfect in a society that demands perfection. Maybe you’ve bought the lies. Maybe you look in the mirror and see only what the little voice has told you. Maybe you feel inferior, rejected, refused. 

The Samaritan woman at the well must have felt that way too. I wonder if every morning she dusted off a shard of mirror and, gazing into it, wondered where the young, innocent, untarnished girl had gone. Maybe life handed her an untenable set of circumstances. Maybe she created them herself. Regardless how it happened, five husbands later and living with a man who was not one of them, she had to be the talk of the town–and not in a good way. With a resigned sigh and resolute acceptance of her disreputable existence, she picks up her bucket and heads to the well.

I wonder what went through her mind as she walked.  Did she duck in doorways to avoid other, more upstanding women?  Did she hang her head in shame as she walked past groups of men talking along the way? Did they point at her, turn their backs to her, or roll their eyes at her mere existence?  Did mothers hide their children behind them so they wouldn’t be touched or tainted by the town pariah? Was her walk to the well every day a walk of pain more than a walk of shame? 

And Jesus. What was He doing hanging out at a well in Samaria? Not only was He a Jewish man, He had taught in the synagogue. What was He thinking stopping to talk to a woman with obviously loose morals, and a Samaritan one at that?! It just wasn’t done! Thankfully, for the Samaritan woman and me too, Jesus has a habit of hanging out with people society discards. He looked into the shadows of her troubled heart and crossed every boundary to prove to her that she was worth something. Her heritage was just a blip on the radar. Her social status, or lack thereof, was inconsequential. Her past, as colorful as it was, didn’t matter. Her present situation didn’t distance her from grace. She was loved and accepted by God no matter what anyone thought. (John 4:1-26)

And wow, did they think things! The disciples, arriving late to the party, are aghast at the myriad social rules Jesus had broken. Although they don’t seem to have voiced their opinions to Jesus, their inner conversations were eloquent. Why was He talking to that woman? What was He doing hanging out in Samaria at all? Did He have no care for His reputation? No care for theirs? (John 4:27)  Nope. Jesus doesn’t have to protect His reputation at all. It’s already impeccable. He already knows what the Apostle Paul will later tell us in I Corinthians 4:3-4, “I can’t care what people think of me. I can’t care what I think of me. The only thing that matters is what God thinks of me.” Because who we truly are is what God sees.  

Friend, you are more than the sum total of your mistakes and missteps. They do not define you. You are more than the clothes you wear, the color of your skin, or the scar on your face. You are not the neighborhood you live in, the car you drive, or credentials after your name. Jesus doesn’t see any of that. He sees only you, the inside, the part that matters. It might not be beautiful. There might be flaws. There might be some work to do. Jesus is not intimidated. He is not repulsed. He does not recoil. Because God. Is. Love. 

That love is for everyone. No matter where you find yourself.  No matter your circumstances, life choices, or the condition of your heart. There are no caveats to God’s love.  You can’t be too good, too bad, or too mediocre. No matter how others view you or what you see in the mirror, God loves you. He wants to be your friend, your family. You were made in His image. (Genesis 1:27) He chooses to seek a relationship with you even though He has more than enough. You are too important, too loved for Him to let you go without a fight.  On your darkest, loneliest day, when the little voice in your head is relentless and you feel you’ll never be enough, remember this. God loves you. Not because He has to, but because He wants to. It is His nature. God is love. (I John 4:8) 

So take a moment, brutally silence the little voice that troubles you, and go look in the mirror. Stand silently and listen to Jesus as He whispers these words to you, ”You are more beautiful than words can describe. There is nothing unlovely about you. You are the treasure of my heart. You are mine.” (Song of Solomon 4:1,7,9; 7:10) That is who you are. You are the special person God created you to be. You are precious to Him. (Isaiah 43:1,4)  He delights in you. (Psalm 149:4) He has chosen you to be His own. (Colossians 3:12) Know it. Believe it. 

And the next time that little voice has the audacity to lift its ugly head, hike up your chin and tell it who you really are. You are a child of the King. Your Father created everything and has complete authority over it. He loves you with an everlasting love. You are His. This is the answer to the question. This is what God sees. This is who you know you are. Regardless of anything else you may or may not be, do or have, you are God’s treasured child. No other opinion means more than that. (I John 3:1; Psalm 50:10-12; Colossians 1:16-20; I Corinthians 15:27; Jeremiah 31:3; I Corinthians 3:23)