Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

The last few years had been ridiculously difficult and amazingly rewarding in equal parts. Elijah had doggedly followed God, doing His will, even when it wasn’t pleasant or popular. Prophesying a drought probably tanked his popularity. Food from the mouths of ravens doesn’t sound like it would hit high on the pleasant scale. But Elijah had been blessed to participate in an amazing list of miracles. Not the least of which was that contest on Mount Carmel. That was exhilarating. The power of God sweeping down in raging flames, consuming a waterlogged sacrifice, wood, stones, and dust was something Elijah wouldn’t have missed for the world. 

But, after the fact, when he was standing up there on Mount Carmel, praying for rain, well, he’d had fewer moments that tested his faith so severely. It must have felt like an eternity passed as Elijah stood there waiting for the Lord to answer his prayer. Every time he sent his servant to check for rain, he received the same answer, “Nothing.” Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five. Six. Finally, on the seventh time, the servant came back with news that wouldn’t seem at all promising to us. A cloud the size of a man’s hand. That’s not a very big cloud. One wouldn’t likely believe it could hold enough rain to end a years’ long drought. It was great news to Elijah. In faith, he tells Ahab to get home before the rain stops him. Sure enough. The clouds roll in, dark and threatening. The wind picks up. A few drops fall, then the heavens break loose and a torrential downpour ensues. Elijah, in yet another miraculous expression of God’s power, becomes a sprinter and races all the way to Jezreel, beating the rain his prayers have inspired. (I Kings 17-18)

Oddly, he doesn’t get a hero’s welcome. He isn’t greeted by people choosing to follow God and reject the status quo. He isn’t invited to dine at the palace. He doesn’t receive a safe place to stay. No. He is issued a royal death threat and, in very real fear for his life, he flees. More than a month later, exhausted physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, Elijah finds himself in a cave on Mount Sinai. He’s had it. He’s done. Loneliness. Death threats. It’s all too much. The dark clouds of depression are gathering. Elijah wants to die.  

But God had another plan. A plan to give Elijah what he needed more than the good sulk in which he was indulging. A plan to show Elijah that even when you are exhausted in every way, when you feel no one is listening to your preaching, when it seems you are the only one truly following God, when you want to quit, give up, your strength to keep going is gone, the Lord wants to spend time with you, talk to you, restore you. I can almost see Elijah’s defeated self, head hanging in dejection as he hunkered down in that cave. He’s hiding for his life. Bereft of friends, help, hope, the darkness seems to be closing in around him. God, looking down on His servant, sees his loneliness, his despair, his need for refreshing, and God has a plan. “Come out of your cave, your depression, your well of self-pity, and stand on the mount before God. The Lord is going to pass by.” 

So Elijah, in a grand gesture of faithful dedication to the God he knew always kept His word, gathered himself together and went, stood at the mouth of his cave, and waited. He didn’t speak. He didn’t look around. He quietly waited for the Lord to pass by, just as He said He would do. And the Lord did pass by, not in the wind that shattered the rocks, not in the earthquake that made the mountain sway, not in the fire that began without natural cause. Although He performed those things, neither the answers nor the voice Elijah was looking for was in those events. But once they were over, once God had Elijah’s full attention, then came the most important part, the still small voice. The voice of courage. The voice of hope. The voice of strength. The voice that told him how to accomplish God’s plan. (I Kings 19)

I wonder what would have happened if Elijah hadn’t gone out on that mountain. What if he hadn’t trusted God to do what He said He would do? How would the story of Elijah read if he hadn’t gone out to experience the presence of God? What if he’d been talking too much or wandering around the mountainside and missed that still small voice? And what about us? What will happen to us if we don’t sit still, stop talking, stop doing, and listen to God when He speaks? What will we miss if we aren’t still, aren’t listening?

We are so not good at stillness. In fact, we are very bad at the still times. We live in a world that makes us feel like we have to constantly be moving, working, doing. If we aren’t physically moving, we have a screen in front of us that is occupying our minds, making us feel busy. We don’t take time to lay aside the phone, the tablet, turn off the television, shut out the busyness of the world, sit silently and wait for the still small voice of God. 

It’s the lesson Jesus taught in Luke 10. Martha, busy hustling and bustling to prepare a feast, complains to Jesus that Mary isn’t pulling her weight. There she is, just sitting at Jesus’ feet in rapt attention listening to Him teach. Doesn’t she realize she should be helping? Doesn’t she know there are things to be done? But Jesus tells her, “Martha, don’t be so worried with all the details. You only need to be worried about one thing. Mary knows what that is and will not be made to sacrifice it for something of lesser value.” (Luke 10:38-41)

So what are you busy with that is more important than hearing from God? What is more important than time spent reading His Word, talking to Him, and listening when He speaks back? Is your job worth more to you than Jesus? Is social media, your favorite sitcom, a new novel keeping you from listening to God? Is it a hobby, housework, homework? What is keeping you from sitting still and listening to Jesus when He speaks? And what are you missing because you don’t?

Maybe it’s none of those things. Maybe, like Elijah, you’ve been burning the candle at both ends in work for God. Maybe you’ve been bombarding Heaven’s door for lost souls, a lost nation, a lost world. Maybe you feel like your work is useless, your efforts in vain. Maybe the ugly little voice of the evil one is telling you no one else believes in God and the Bible and you should just give up. Maybe you are exhausted emotionally, physically, spiritually. You too need to step back, sit still, be quiet, and let God do the talking. 

You see, regardless of your reason for not being still, the fact remains, constant busyness makes us miss things we absolutely cannot afford to miss. The sound of God’s voice. The touch of His hand. The silent, guiding, pointing of His finger toward the proper path. We miss the offered comfort. We miss the proffered peace. We miss the opportunity to rest in safety. We miss the lessons He wants to teach. We short sell ourselves, our souls, our faith. Quite frankly, we miss the miraculous He wants us to see because we are too busy focusing on the cares of this life, the busyness of our calling, the things we deem more important than a still, small voice.

I don’t know what is standing in your way today. Maybe quietness makes you uncomfortable. Maybe stillness makes you anxious. Maybe you are afraid you won’t like what God has to say when He speaks. Whatever it is, I encourage you to lay it aside. Calm your soul. Quiet your heart. Find your cave. Sit down and wait for the Lord to come by. And He will come by. He won’t leave you stranded there. He has heard the cry of your heart. He has seen the horrible pit, the miry clay in which you feel entrenched. He is ready to pull you out, to lift you up, to plant your feet on the Rock and put a new song in your mouth. (Psalm 40:1-3) So get busy being still. Calm down. Sit down. Quiet down. Pay attention. You don’t want to miss a second of this. You don’t want to miss one word. The Lord is about to pass by. (Psalm 46:10; Psalm 62:5; Job 6:25; Jeremiah 29:13)

The first few months of this year have seen a lot of things cancelled. School, church, sports, camps, weddings, reunions–basically everything. It feels like life has been cancelled. It has gone on forever. Early on, some enterprising individuals launched an ad campaign saying things like, “Playing outside isn’t cancelled,” or “Kindness isn’t cancelled.” You probably saw the ads too. Perhaps they gave you hope. Maybe they gave you ideas of what to do with your restless children. Maybe they made you feel just a little less alone, a bit less depressed, a touch less worried.  

Unfortunately, those commercials aren’t playing much anymore. Months after it all began, very little has changed. A few things have begun reopening. Some have opened only to be shut down again. Because we can’t count on anything being normal, it still feels like a large portion of life is cancelled. It’s wearing on us more and more. People have polarized into groups. We are more divided than ever before. Frustration and anxiety have taken over. I understand. I’m frustrated too. The constant uptick of rules and regulations, persistent attempts to encourage fear and angst, continual blaming of one sector or another are making me anxious. Anxious that normal will never return. Anxious about the future. Anxious about raising children in this society. Anxious that life truly has been cancelled. 

I feel like the disciples must have felt as they rocked and swayed on the lake in the middle of the night. The calm waters of hours before have turned into a nightmare. The wind, once a lovely breeze, has turned into a raging force of nature. It whips the sails of their craft, making steering impossible. It’s dark. Their current course is undetectable. Waves are crashing against the boat. Some water has splashed over the sides. The outlook is grim. Death by shipwreck and drowning seems nearly certain. 

When it seems things can’t get any worse, they look up and see what appears to be an apparition walking across the choppy waters toward them. In disbelief, they scrub their hands over their faces. It’s the wee hours of the morning by now. They are exhausted from fighting the storm. Maybe they are imagining things. They open their eyes, but it’s still coming at them. Wind. Waves. Wraith. Terror upon terror upon terror. Their fear has nearly cancelled their faith when Jesus speaks. “Don’t be afraid. Be courageous. I’m here.” (Matthew 14:22-27)

This is all eerily familiar, isn’t it? One thing after another has come along and attacked our faith. We are rocked about by reports, rules, and regimens. Every day there is a new statistic. Every day is more of the same. Fear, unquenchable fear, is the predominant encouragement of the day. Hunkered down, desperately searching for a way to survive the onslaught, we try to find a new thought, a new encouragement, a new hope. It is in that moment, when our faith is nearly cancelled by our fear, if we just listen, we too will hear the voice of Jesus saying, “Don’t be afraid. Be courageous. I’m here.” 

And it is true. When Jesus steps on the scene, we can trust that everything will be fine. Our fear can dissolve into trust. Our courage can rise. We can have faith. Jesus is here. In the middle of your furnace of fear, He is right beside you, just like He was with Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. (Daniel 3:16-28) In your den of despair, He is there, just as He was with Daniel among the lions. (Daniel 6:1-23) The presence of God isn’t cancelled. 

More than 20 years ago, when I was a teenager at one of the many camps, church services, or revival meetings we attended, I heard a preacher say, “God is as close as your elbow.” I don’t remember who preached the sermon. I don’t remember his text. I will always remember that statement. It’s more important to me today than it ever has been. God isn’t social distancing. God isn’t quarantined to Heaven. He is right beside you. Always. You are never alone. (Psalm 16:8; Joshua 1:5) 

God’s face isn’t covered by a mask, either. You can still hear Him when He speaks. And He is speaking. Saying something you need to hear. “Don’t worry, not about today or tomorrow, next week or next year.” (Philippians 4:6-7; Matthew 6:34) The offer to take our cares and anxieties upon Himself is still open. (I Peter 5:7) He whispers to us, “Don’t be afraid. Have faith in God.” (Matthew 10:31; Mark 5:36) He offers us courage and strength from His limitless supply. (Psalm 31:24) He promises His peace in a world full of unrest, anxiety, discord, and fear. (John 14:27)

Those promises aren’t cancelled. They are still valid today. In 2015, I began keeping a notebook of Scripture passages that specifically stood out to me as I read. Sometimes I recorded a specific date by a passage. Sometimes I listed a specific name or need the passage addressed. Periodically, I pull it out and flip through the pages, taking encouragement from the words that have helped me in the past. They help me every time I read them. A few days ago, frustrated and anxious, I was impressed to get it out and flip through its pages again. On one of the final pages was a passage dated August 2019, “Calm down. Stop worrying. Do not fear or be fainthearted.” (Isaiah 7:4) I could have dated it a few days ago. Today. Everyday. I need to read it now. Maybe you need it too. 

Or maybe you need your own passage. Something that speaks specifically to your need, your day, your moment. It’s there. Pick up your Bible. Dust it off, if necessary. Open it’s pages. Find peace, hope, and faith in the non cancellable promises of God. Make a list. Write them down. Hold on to those passages. Go back and read them in the months and years to come. Mark the ones that hold special significance. Claim them. Like Abraham, trust the God who made those promises is also able to perform them. (Romans 4:20-22)

No matter what, remember this, God’s Word isn’t cancelled. The words He spoke then are still very much valid today. Words of peace, comfort, strength, and hope. Unfailing, unchanging, non cancellable promises from the God who is touched by the feeling of our infirmities, who understands our fears, our concerns, our cares. (Hebrews 4:15) The God who collects our tears in a bottle, meticulously recording each one, is still lovingly speaking those words to us today. (Psalm 56:8) Words that cannot be changed or cancelled by the ridiculous words of the world. (Matthew 24:35) You can find everything you need in Jesus when you take His hand and rest in His words, “Don’t be afraid. Be strong. I am here.” When everything else is cancelled, God’s presence, His peace, His promises are not. 

At a time when worry is trying to run our lives, fear is attempting to control our decisions, and anxiety is doing its best to crush our spirits, we need to change our focus. We have engaged in rigorous self preservation, but ignored our soul preservation. We need to block out the cacophony of rubbish found in reading news, watching statistics, tracking projections, and listing cancellations. Find quiet and peace by listening to and believing the sweet voice of the God who is right beside us, whispering in our ear His promises that nothing on earth can cancel. (Psalm 34:18; Matthew 11:29; Matthew 28:20; Psalm 121) “Don’t be afraid. Be courageous. I am here.”

Several years ago I had the unfortunate experience of being present when two grown men got into an ugly, verbal argument. As they got closer to one another and tempers flared higher, it had all the signs of deteriorating into a physical altercation. Because children were present, or because I was much younger and had less common sense, I stepped between them. I have no idea why. I wasn’t big enough to deter them from throwing down if that’s what they wanted to do. Neither necessarily reminded me of someone who would be deterred by the thought of possibly hitting a woman. I said something. I don’t remember what it was. They probably didn’t hear me. I’m sure they didn’t care. Whatever I said certainly didn’t have the same flavor as some other words floating around. Somehow, likely the rescuing hand of God, the situation diffused. No one hit anyone. No one got arrested. Everyone went home instead of spending the night in the county “hotel”. Thankfully, I haven’t been in a similar situation since. I hope I’d react differently now. I’m older, hopefully wiser, probably less brave…or less crazy. In truth, I’d forgotten the whole incident until I was reading the account of Moses and Aaron trying to lead the Israelites after they left Egypt.

What a task that must have been! Continual complaints. Persistent grumbling. Frequent disobedience. Low optimism. Not everyone was happy. Not everyone wanted to keep travelling. Turning back grew more and more appealing as food depleted and water was scarce. Some were disappointed to find the Promised Land wasn’t just around the bend. Some were afraid they would die in the wilderness even before their rebellion doomed them to that fate. For people rescued from horrific working conditions and slavery in a foreign country by amazing acts that could only be attributed to God, they were incredibly demanding and wilfull. Recalcitrant children, as it were, completely dependent on God’s mercy, yet wholly uncooperative and unaccepting of His authority until they were in a bind.  

And they were often in a bind. Situations created by the darkness of their unholy hearts. Complaints about the provisions. They didn’t like manna. Or quail. They wanted Egypt’s food–leeks, garlic, cucumbers, melons. (Numbers 11:5) Years in the desert do not seem to reduce their recollections of the culinary pleasures of Egypt. Time after time they anger God with their complaints and lack of faith in His provisions and wisdom. ( Exodus 15:24-25; Exodus 16:1-36; Exodus 17:1-7; Numbers 20:2-5) 

It wasn’t just provisions. Like sneaky children, while Moses is up on the mountain getting instructions from God, the Israelites get busy convincing Aaron to create a golden calf to worship. Why would they do that? They had explicit instructions concerning creation of idols. (Exodus 20:4; 32:1-29) Yet there they were, testing the very limits of God’s patience by direct disobedience. Even after seeing the demise of Korah and his followers for their rebellion, the Israelites began murmuring against Moses–the very next day! (Numbers 16) Each time it angers God that their trust in Him is so small, their affection toward Him so fickle. Each time He wants to punish, even destroy them. Each time Moses and Aaron jump in the gap between the people and God to beg for mercy. And each time He relents from His decision to wipe them from the face of the earth.

Their complaints, attempted uprisings, rebellions and disobedience wear and grate on Moses. (Numbers 20:2-11) Who can blame him for being frustrated? Even through all the anger, irritation, frustration and tiresome quarreling, Moses, of his own volition, still steps between the judgment of God and the people who are driving him to distraction. What made him do that? Why didn’t he just let God destroy them and start over? How can we explain Moses leaping between God’s wrath and the Israelite people over and over again? What made Moses and Aaron throw themselves on the ground before God to beg for the salvation of the angry, complaining lot. Why would they beg God to rescue, to save a group of people who sin indiscriminately, exhibit no care for God’s laws, and clearly believe they should get into the Promised Land based simply on their genealogy? (Numbers 14:13-44; 16:41-50) 

Moses and Aaron weren’t young men. They weren’t ignorant of the dangers of God’s wrath. Their common sense wasn’t lacking. So why do it? Why step between two warring factions when one clearly has the advantage? Only love does that. Love for God. Love for the people. Love for those outside themselves made them willing to stand in the gap between the selfish people and the God who could wipe them all out with the blink of His eyes. I find it amazing. 

We find ourselves in the same unfortunate situation.The world is full of murmuring, complaining souls selfishly casting aside obedience to God’s laws to instead serve their own rebellious nature. The Bible has been edited and twisted to mean what people want to hear instead of what God actually said. They’ve rubber stamped sin. They’ve tried to tell us everyone gets into Heaven. But you are responsible for your own actions. Those who choose sin, will know spiritual death. (Ezekiel 18:20) They aren’t my words. They are God’s. 

Do you care? As you look around at the broken world, spiritually desolate society, and the pied pipers of hell leading souls astray, does your heart weep? Do you hear the words of God as He speaks through Ezekiel of His search for someone to rebuild the wall of righteousness around the people, as He searches for someone to fill the gaps so He doesn’t have to destroy them?  Do you hear the sadness in His voice as He says no one was found, no one stepped up, there were no wall builders, no gap fillers? There was no one who cared enough to throw themselves between the anger of God and the people who so desperately needed salvation. (Ezekiel 22:30-31)

Maybe you look around, see the need, the evil, the sin, and wonder how you can possibly make a difference? You can’t force people to change. You can’t make people choose Jesus. Neither could Moses and Aaron. So they did the only thing they knew to do, they threw themselves down before the Lord and cried out to Him in prayer for the people. It was all they could do. It’s all we can do too. 

We can talk, preach and teach until we run out of breath. We can write books, articles and blogs until we run out of words. We can pass out Bibles and sing hymns on the street corner all day long. Those are all good things, but, in spite of their worth, they do not enable us to make people turn to God. We are physically, verbally impotent to cause this rebellious, self-centered, sin craving generation to turn back to righteousness. Only God Himself, answering the fervent, consistent prayers of gap fillers and wall builders can do that. 

The question is, “How much do you want it?” How much do you want to see this nation turn back to God? You see the gap, the broken wall. You know God won’t hold back sin’s punishment forever. You know the end of sin is death. (James 1:15) You know people are dying physically without Jesus every day. You know souls are dying every second. Do you care enough about our society, our country, our world to step between the certain wrath of God and the spiritually dying souls around you and plead with Him to save them? Would you implore God on behalf of the lost in our world? Those who have wronged you. Those who want nothing to do with God. Those who don’t want your prayers until they are in a bind. Do you care about them anyway?

God does. And He is searching. Searching for the Moses and Aaron’s of our day. Searching for the ones who will rebuild the wall of righteousness. Searching for someone to throw themselves in the gap and cry out to God on behalf of the people. Searching for you. Searching for me. Asking us to come out of hiding, out of self-preservation status, and throw ourselves down in intercessory prayer for a nation far from God. Knowing Jesus is our only answer, our only hope, will you be the one? Will you step up, answer the call, and be a wall builder and gap filler for the Kingdom?

“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)