Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

In loving memory of Reverend Ray, husband, father, grandfather, pastor, friend, Jesus follower, hope whisperer.

It has been 13 years since my sweet Grandfather passed away. It took me years to accept the fact he was gone. He was wonderful. I have beautiful memories of him. His goofy jokes. How much he loved to chat. The way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled are forever etched in my memory. The echoes of his scratchy singing voice belting out a hymn will forever resound in my ears. He loved to sing. He loved his grandchildren. He loved his God. 

We used to spend time at his house in the summers when we made the trek East. It was an old home with oddly shaped rooms. The living room was cluttered, too much furniture in a too-small room, more long and narrow than is generally useful for conversation. A couch and multiple chairs were split up by various end tables and lamps. The tables were littered with all manner of religious reading material. Magazines, pamphlets, books, Bibles. At the far end of the room was an old upright piano. It wasn’t always completely in tune. There was music to choose from, mostly hymnals with an occasional piece of sheet music thrown in. The piano bench was often my seat. It wasn’t a hardship. 

Always happy to play from books I didn’t have at home, I’d sit and flip through pages until I found something I hadn’t heard for a while or was a favorite hymn. Grandpa would sit in his easy chair, perusing his reading material. Sometimes he’d just listen. Sometimes he’d hum along. He’d ask what I was playing if he didn’t recognize it. Eventually, his request would come, “Can you play “Whispering Hope”? 

I could, in fact, play “Whispering Hope”. I did not enjoy it. The music did not lend itself well to added trills and runs. I found it boring. I played it every time. I would never deny him the pleasure of those simple notes. Often, he’d come either to stand behind or sit on the bench beside me as I played. If he managed to stay silent for a few measures, it was infrequent. By at least the first chorus, his scratchy voice would join the tinny notes from the not tuned piano as he sang the words of what was apparently one of his favorite songs, “Whispering hope…”.

It has never been my favorite, yet, from time to time, I find myself singing the words of that same song. Maybe I liked it better than I thought. Maybe I need to remember to listen to words of hope whispered to my soul. Maybe I’m more like Grandpa than I realized. I must be. I picked up another of his habits. One I love. One that takes me back to a million places and leads me to the One Source I need most. A habit that regularly has me whispering, “Jesus, help us.” 

Grandpa used to whisper those words all the time. Pouring milk on his breakfast cereal. Dropping into a chair to read the newspaper. Sitting still in contemplation. Always, “Jesus, help us.” Admittedly, it seemed odd. Fixing breakfast cereal required no special aid. He needed no assistance sitting down. It took me years to realize, Grandpa was whispering hope. Hope in the God who had never let him down. Hope in the only safe place to cast his faith. Hope when situations seemed out of control. Hope for everything that troubled his heart or threatened his peace. Hope in God, whispered in the words, “Jesus, help us.” (Psalm 42)

Today I find myself desperately needing that same hope. As the storms of life beat on my soul, I often find myself lost for words and whispering, “Jesus, help us.” My energy is sapped, my ingenuity is tapped, my ability is eclipsed, yet still, I know my Source of hope is overflowing. My faith is not misguided. My trust is not misplaced. My hope comes from God, the Creator of Heaven and earth. His power is limitless. His unfailing love is forever. In my abject weakness, I scrape together my meager strength and whisper the only words I can think to speak, “Jesus, help us.” I have found it is enough. 

Like the Canaanite woman who came to Jesus, continually crying out to him, hoping he would save her daughter, I continually cry out in hope for my children. (Matthew 15:21-28) Hope that my children will walk in truth. (III John 1:4) Hope they always choose Jesus even when it is unpopular. Hope that they remember all the things I’ve tried to instill in them, the lessons I’ve taught, the verses they have memorized, the ones I’ve prayed over them. (Deuteronomy 6:5-9) Hope that they grow up to be strong God followers who never depart from His ways. (Proverbs 22:6)

Reading the words of Daniel as he cries out in hope for salvation and restoration for wandering Israel, I see the parallel of our world today. We, too, have rebelled and turned from God. We have not listened to solid preaching. We have not adhered to sound doctrine. In the midst of the chaos brought about by our own wayward hearts, I hopefully cry, “Jesus, help us,” (Daniel 9:4-19) It is all I can do. I cannot choose spiritual life over death for others. (Romans 6:23) I cannot mitigate the pull of the world on the soul that chooses to be distracted. (I John 2:15) But I can cry out in hope for the lost around me. It is all I can do. It is enough.  

When I watch the listless worship on Sunday and it feels as if all the hope has been sucked out of the church, I whisper my hope again. Hope that our God-following is more than skin deep. (Matthew 23:25-28) Hope that the church will straighten its spine and stand up for true godliness. Hope that it doesn’t fall prey to adding or subtracting from God’s Word. (Jude 1:3) Hope that our pastors will preach truth and truth alone. (II Timothy 4:2) Hope that the church of God will be the church of God! (Colossians 1:18)

In the middle of enormous trials that test my faith to its very limits, when my spirit is so broken the words to pray won’t come, burgeoning hope within me still whispers, “Jesus, help us.” Hope that brings strength into my situation. (Romans 5:5) Hope that comes from the God of the universe, the God who holds all things together. (Psalm 121:1; Colossians 1:16-17) Hope in the God who has proven He is always near, always on time, always watching over me. (Hebrews 13:5; Ecclesiastes 3:11; Psalm 34:15) Hope in my God. The God who rides a cloud to come to my aid, Who is my dwelling place, Who holds me in His everlasting arms. (Deuteronomy 33:26-27) That’s my God. That’s my Hope. My heart cries, “Jesus, help us.” It is always more than enough. 

I don’t know your situation right now. I don’t know where you are in life. Maybe you feel hopeless right now. When you dare to look out the window of your soul the storm clouds are so dark, so threatening, so insurmountable you can’t imagine how you’ll ever make it through. I may not know what has brought you to this place, but I do know this, God is close to those who are brokenhearted. He listens to the minimal words you are able to squeeze past the lump in your throat from the threatening tears. He hears the whispered hope of your heart. And God delivers. (Psalm 34:15, 17-19) 

Still skeptical? Ask Hannah. Desperate and broken over her inability to conceive, she bundles her hope into driving tears and whispered anguish. She stands, convulsing in sobs, quietly praying in the temple, begging God to bring her hope to life. Eli, the priest, thought she was drunk. She wasn’t. She was pouring out her hope to God. Hope that didn’t go unanswered. God remembered Hannah. He sent her a son. A son born from a sprig of hope springing out of a desolate, ravaged, broken heart that dared to gather the last vestiges of hope and whisper for help. It was enough. (I Samuel 1) 

So many of us are right there with Hannah. Broken, ravaged hearts nearly devoid of hope. Things have been going wrong so often. The outlook is terrifying. It feels like we haven’t had a win in forever. We are tired. We are frazzled. We feel defeated. We need Grandpa, his song, and his whispered words of hope. Hope that carried him through a crippling stroke, through Grandma losing her battle with cancer, through trials I didn’t begin to understand until much later in life. Hope in God who never fails. Whispers of hope through the brightest days and the darkest nights. Always. “Jesus, help us.” 

No matter where you find yourself, no matter what life has handed you, no matter how hard the evil one is beating on your soul, from the bottom of your beleaguered heart, whisper out your hope. Hope in the God who is always by your side. Hope in the faithful promises of the God who has never failed His people. Hope that transcends the fury of every storm. “Jesus, help us.” May you find He is more than enough. (Zephaniah 3:17; Joshua 21:45)