I had the privilege of sharing a message to the middle schoolers I work with at my church this past Sunday. I was having a hard time preparing for it because I so badly wanted to say the right thing — what GOD wanted me to say — but I felt like I was repeatedly coming back from prayer empty-handed. I had been trying all week to hear from God and he just seemed to be so silent.
The night before I was supposed to give my message, I climbed into my fiancè’s bed and just started to cry.
“What am I doing wrong?” I asked. “I feel like I’m in a dry season, but I don’t want to be in this season. I thought everything was going fine, but even reading the Bible or spending time in worship isn’t doing what it used to do anymore.”
That’s when I got hit over the head (by Grant, but also probably by God) with some stuff I needed to hear. Thus, my sermon was born at eight o’clock that night.
I want to share with you what I was able to vulnerably and authentically share with those middle schoolers yesterday morning. I’m praying that it speaks to you just as it spoke to me and to those few middle schoolers who needed a good dose of encouragement while in the desert. We all sometimes find ourselves in the desert, don’t we?
. . . . .
Something I’ve always wondered is when I really began having a relationship with Jesus. I didn’t go to church very much growing up, but I knew who he was and there was a brief period of time between fifth grade and seventh grade where I thought I was completely in love with the idea of following God and being a Christian. But when eighth grade rolled around, I just kinda dumped him. I told my grandparents, who were taking me to church at the time, to stop picking me up on Sunday mornings, and I put my Bible in a box and I stopped trying to pray. I didn’t pray for two years. And during that time, I really lost my way. I made friends who weren’t the best influences and I treated my family poorly. I just didn’t care about God or the Bible or his plan for my life. I was selfish and self centered.
But I guess I reached a point where I felt too empty to want that sort of life anymore. So on a random night in tenth grade, I just told myself to be a Christian again. And I was. The next day I pulled out my Bible for the first time in two years and began reading. I started talking to God like we had never stopped. I even started going to church again. And I haven’t looked back since.
Seriously following Jesus these past six years has been the best decision of my entire life. Because I find joy in this relationship. I find freedom and healing and wonder and peace. But you know what? I also sometimes find sadness. And doubt. And questions. And that’s what I want to talk about today.
I knew since last week that I wanted to talk to you guys this morning about having a personal relationship with Jesus because I feel like it’s really easy for adults, especially pastors at church, to give us the do’s and dont’s of being a Christian. They define sin for us and godly living for us all the time. And I don’t know if it’s just me, but sometimes I feel like I need a relationship with Jesus to be defined too. Like what does that even mean?
What is a relationship with Jesus supposed to look like? Is it a relationship that has ups and downs, that goes through dry seasons and mood swings? Or is it supposed to be sturdy and steady and always the same?
Lately as I’ve been thinking about this and trying to answer that question, I’ve been thinking about my relationship with my mom. My mom is my best friend. My mom has meant so much to me that she’s going to be walking down the aisle with me as my Matron of Honor when I get married this October. I can’t think of anyone else who’s done so much for me and has been so understanding of me and supportive of me. I feel like I can tell her just about anything. I love where my relationship with my mom is.
But her and I weren’t always close. In fact, when I was in middle school, I hardly wanted anything to do with her. I was such a moody preteen. Anything she said just made me so mad. Just a “hey, how was school” when I walked through the door was enough for me to roll my eyes. And she didn’t know what to do with my mood swings, so she’d just call me Miss Attitude and I’d go up to my room and not come down until dinner. Her and I just did not get along. And I know most of it, if not all of it, was my fault. Anytime she wanted to get close to me, I’d come up with reasons to keep her at an arms length. I pushed her away and our relationship suffered. In fact it wasn’t recovered until years later when I finally understood that my mom wasn’t out to destroy my life. She was actually trying to help me build my life. I mean, fathom that. My twelve year old self didn’t see that coming. Some of you in this room still don’t understand that about your parents. And for right now, that’s okay. I hope you do someday.
My relationship with Jesus reminds me of my relationship with my mom because it’s had ups and downs.
Some of you guys might know what I mean by that. We have these long periods of wanting to pray all day everyday. We want to read the Bible all the time. We want to go to every Bible study known to mankind so we can soak in all the wisdom and Jesus that we can. And then there are periods of time where we are like, “Hello? Are you there?” Reading the Bible feels like a chore. We don’t notice anything different about us when we do read. We can’t find the right words to pray. We don’t see him in our lives like we used to. We may even start to question if he’s moving in our lives at all.
While I was preparing to give this sermon, I was reminded of a really strange thing that happened to me two years ago while I was staying with my friend Lacey in her hometown. Lacey lives in this really southern town called Thomasville, which is like four hours South of here. And while in Thomasville, her and I would walk around the downtown district there and just hang out and look in the shops. One day, we found this patio kind of hidden behind a gate that someone left open, and there were some cute tables and chairs set up there. It was closed off and shaded by plenty of trees. It was really beautiful. And since she had her Bible and I had mine, we decided that was where we would have our time with God. For about a half hour, we read and journaled and prayed in silence.
That day I was reading the story in the book of John about Lazarus, the man who died and was risen to life by Jesus. In this passage, Jesus is summoned to go see his dear friend Lazarus who is ill, but instead of going to see him right away, Jesus waits. Now this is the man who is known for healing and saving lives. This is the man who’s been walking around town spreading the news about Gods love and goodness. And yet he waits to go to Lazarus. And when he finally makes it to where Lazarus and his sisters are staying, he finds that Lazarus is already dead.
Now this is the most difficult part of the story for me: When Jesus finally makes it to Lazarus’ house DAYS later, Lazarus’ sister named Mary falls down at Jesus’ feet and says to him, ‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.’ And as she’s weeping on the ground, Jesus begins to weep as well.
I knew that the story ends with Lazarus being raised back to life, but I was stuck on that one part for a long time, the image of Mary just being completely filled with sorrow before Jesus, the man she thought was going to be there and heal her brother.
As I read this story and sat with Lacey, I began to pray and I told God that I don’t understand him. I knew that Jesus was glorified through Lazarus’ death, but I couldn’t bear the thought of Mary’s suffering. I just didn’t understand it.
But what happened next was something I needed to see.
After I finished praying, I looked over to see what Lacey was doing. She was watching the birds playing in the trees above us and her Bible was opened to Luke 12, to a passage that talked about sparrows. The one that says something about how not one sparrow is forgotten by God and we don’t have to worry because we are worth more than many sparrows.
Well, as I was looking at this passage in her Bible, I started thinking about birds too. So here were Lacey and I, both sitting and thinking about birds in this beautiful isolated patio while trees are swaying and birds are playing above us.
And then those same birds, the ones she was watching, suddenly flew into a glass window just a few feet from us and dropped to the ground. Three of them. We were speechless, stunned. And those birds just laid there, motionless.
Now Lacey is the bold one and she jumped up to examine the birds while I was still sitting there and tears were flowing down my cheeks. I couldn’t believe what I had just seen. Lacey confirmed after a second that at least one bird was dead. And I remember asking God in that moment, What does this mean?
The two other birds, she then realized, were unmoving but breathing, like they were paralyzed. At first she told me she was going to have to kill them, which I could not emotionally handle at all. But then Lacey did what I didn’t have the courage to do. She picked up the birds and stroked them and started praying over them. So I started praying, too. And I remember my prayer was something like:
God, it says in your Word that if you care for the birds, then you must care for us too, right? …But what does this say about your love and care for us if you DON’T care for these birds?
I was afraid to know the answer. But shortly after silently asking this, both of those birds were healed and flew back up into the trees as if nothing had ever happened. We were stunned. We didn’t know what to say.
And you might be thinking that wasn’t an answer to our prayers because maybe the birds were just in shock and were never paralyzed to begin with. Regardless, I do believe that God was there that day because I know that he was trying to tell me something through those injured birds. God wanted me to know that day that he does not need to prove anything to me. He doesn’t. And whether or not those birds continued to suffer and slowly die, his love and his goodness for you and I would still be true. It’s always been true and it always will be true.
What I think God wanted me to learn from that day and what I think he’s wanting me to communicate with you today is that Jesus is in a relationship with you and he wants that relationship. He fights fiercely for that relationship. And if it feels like he’s silent and not doing anything and not present in your life sometimes, that’s okay.
His faithfulness to you far outweighs your questions and doubt.
And those questions and doubts are a normal part of any relationship. When you are feeling distant from God, it’s okay to ask those questions. Where are you, God? Are you really there? Do you really care? Because when you ask those questions, he gets the chance to answer. And it’s not a quick “Yep, I do. You betcha” kind of answer.
It’s an answer that you will see played out over the course of your life — if you choose to see it.
Just like how as a preteen, your mom or dad’s love for you might not make sense, but as an adult they could very well be your best friends and everything is suddenly crystal clear.
Let Jesus be your friend. Let yourself be in this relationship with him. Because even though you might not see the full fruit of it right now, just like Mary didn’t understand the miracle she was about to witness in her dead brother’s life, you will see it over time. If you’re like me and sometimes wonder where your relationship with Jesus is at, just know that it’s not so much WHERE the relationship is at, but rather WHAT you are learning where you are at. Are you grasping the things he’s trying to show you? Are you learning to lean on him even when you can’t see him? Are you starting to figure out what his grace and mercy for you really means?
We are told in Scripture that we will find God when we seek him with all our hearts. And if you’re struggling to feel God’s presence in your life and you’re in a silent, dry season, that verse is still true. Because what that verse doesn’t say is that we will INSTANTLY find God when we seek him RIGHT NOW with all our hearts. God doesn’t operate in our timing. We won’t find him the very instant we want him. And that’s a good thing. Because he lets himself be seen and felt when he knows we need it most. Only he knows the growth that we need. Only he can tell the perfect time for us.
Think about this: Only Jesus knew that Mary’s brother wouldn’t remain dead forever. And the fact that he wept with her in her suffering instead of give her the quick reassurance right then and there might seem kind of mean, but it’s not. Because after that point, when Mary thought of her relationship with Jesus, he wasn’t just the man who healed her brother and did what she wanted him to do when she wanted him to do it. No, Jesus was now her friend, the one who wept with her and was there with her in her sorrow. That’s one of the moments she would have remembered most later on in her life. She would’ve carried that with her for a very long time. I bet the fact he was there with her in that moment, sharing in her sorrow, meant more to her later on in her life than a pat on the back and a quick reassurance would have meant.
Jesus went from being a miracle man to her best friend because he gave her what she really needed, not what she wanted.
Jesus gives us what we need, too. He gives us what we need and not just what we want. Just like our parents. They know what’s best and we don’t understand that. But with time, we might begin to see and then our relationship can grow for the better.
What might happen to our faith if we stopped putting God in a box? What if we started seeing Jesus as someone so much bigger than a book or a sermon or a church or a worship song? What if we stopped accusing him of being absent and just started trusting that whether or not he proves it when we want him to prove it, he is actually all around us and loving us more than we could ever imagine being loved?
If we want to be in this relationship with Jesus, we need to understand that this relationship will not be as uniform and predictable as we want it to be. That’s why our testimonies are all so different. That’s why some of you guys went to camp and were forever changed and some of you guys went to camp and came back pretty much the same. And if you were one of those people who expected this big life change and then came back not really understanding why you went in the first place, I want you to know that Jesus did not leave your side at all. Not once.
But just because he was by your side doesn’t mean he was going to whisper all the answers you wanted in your ear.
We want answers, don’t we? We want to know everything. I want to know why those birds hit that window. I want to know why it was Mary’s brother who had to be the one to taste death. I want to know why I went through that two-year period of not praying or caring.
But will knowing why really change all that much? Will having all of the answers we desire satisfy us? Will it make our relationship with Jesus richer and deeper and fuller? I don’t think so. There’s nothing in the Bible that says that when we seek the answers, we will find the answers if we seek them with all our hearts. There’s some things we don’t need to know.
But we need to remain committed to this relationship, whatever it looks like for us right now. Some of you guys are in dry, confusing seasons where you’re not sure of what following Jesus means yet and you don’t even know if you want to. Some of you have been a Christian for years but you’re not sure of how it’s changed your life all that drastically. Some of you have been experiencing the most amazing times of your life, growing in your faith like never before. Whichever one of those groups of people you fall into, I want you to know that your relationship with God will go through ups and downs, just like any relationship. But it’s the best relationship worth committing to.
My boyfriend is quite an optimist. I, on the other hand, lean more towards being a cynic.
And when an optimist and a cynic get together and fall in love, conflict happens.
Let me give you a way of understanding what our differing thought processes are: He sees a glass half-full and I’m doubting if the glass is really going to hold my water.
Grant is the most supportive boyfriend I could ask for, but because of my cynicism and skepticism, I question everything. I question why he’s being supportive, I question whether he really wants to be supportive, I question whether his support is enough, I question if I even know how to receive support. Even though he’s sincere and hardworking, I find something to doubt and criticize. In other words, I don’t fully believe in anything.
Now, when I express my doubts of Grant’s intentions and sincerity, he’s surprised and responds to my cynicism by believing things will be fixed no matter what. He’s confident that he can prove himself again, and he’s so sure that he can do it that he often forgets to work towards it. When my cynicism reveals itself a couple days or weeks later, he’s caught off guard and thrown for a loop all over again. Because of his optimism, he expects things to quickly become fine and dandy like they once were. In other words, he believes in everything.
This post is not meant to condone nor condemn either perspectives of life. I can see pros and cons for each, and those pros and cons have presented themselves in our relationship.
You might be thinking to yourself that optimism is the obvious winner when it comes to whether optimism or cynicism should be most celebrated and sought after. But let me offer a different way of looking at it. Yes, optimism tends to make you more happy and more friendly and more hopeful, yada yada. But optimism, if unchecked, can lead to carelessness. An optimist can believe so firmly that something will happen that they end up not doing anything to get there.
And cynicism is no winner, either. Being a cynic makes you a little more foolproof than others. You are skeptical of people’s motives and already expect some disappointment, which can protect you from being taken advantage of or hurt. But cynicism, if unchecked, can lead to faithlessness. A cynic can believe so firmly that nothing will happen that they decide to not even try doing anything to get there.
I have seen both sides and I can’t say which is more right.
But here’s something Grant and I have realized: we might not be able to change each other, but we have to figure out a way to accommodate each other. And if we really want our relationship to thrive, we have to figure out a way to bring out the best of these things in each other.
When our optimism and cynicism work together, we become unstoppable.
He’s the hopeful one, the one looking toward the future and believing wholeheartedly we’ll get to where we want to be. I’m the critical one, looking for the pitfalls that we need to avoid and pressing us to evaluate and fix our motives.
If he’s being overly optimistic, then he won’t understand my cynicism. And if I’m being overly cynical, I won’t understand his optimism. And when you don’t understand someone and you just assume they’re the one who needs to change… well, both people get a little ticked off.
With that being said, we each have to find a way to hold ourselves accountable so we don’t get carried away in our mindset and shut ourselves off from options.
We need to know how to allow room for the other’s perspective and beliefs.
So God comes in.
When I surrender my mind to God, He can shape it to be more understanding and loving of Grant’s hope and optimism. He might not rid me of my doubts (because a healthy amount of doubt in life can serve a purpose), but He can give me just enough faith to keep believing and keep hoping.
And when Grant surrenders his mind to God, He can shape his to be more understanding and loving of my doubts and cynicism. He might not rid Grant of his confidence (because a healthy amount of confidence in life can serve a purpose), but He can give him just enough humility to keep working hard and keep striving.
And when I’m believing and hoping a little more, and Grant’s working and striving a little more, we’re one step closer to seeing eye-to-eye and conquering any conflict or misunderstanding that wants to rear its head.
It’s not a perfect formula and I’m sure I’ll never find one, but at least I know that when an optimist and a cynic fall in love, nothing has to be hopeless.
This is my stud right before his big interview with the fire department. And let me tell you, preparing for such an interview is no small task. It’s a task requiring a healthy amount of both optimism and cynicism, and I’d like to think that we came pretty close to mastering the fusion of our perspectives during that process. It was just one of many opportunities to work together and pray together, and nothing’s over yet.
People have been telling me that I’m brave for writing about the things I do and putting myself out there the way I do, but can I just fess up to the honest-to-God truth that I have a hard time receiving that?
I don’t feel brave.
I feel desperate.
I don’t sit down with my laptop and Bible and ask myself, “Jessie, what courageous and bold things do you wish to declare over yourself and people today?” I don’t crack my knuckles as I set to writing and feel like I’m doing something victorious or brave.
You want to know how it really goes? While crying and praying and reading and thinking, God occasionally hits me with something that I can’t get out of my head, a truth I so desperately have longed to hear. And it’s so prominent, I feel the need to immediately pull out my laptop and write a post. I think to myself that if I can write these things down fast enough and put it out there for the world to see, then maybe I can believe these things for just a little while longer. I’m desperate to grab onto these truths before they escape me and I’m faced with another frustrating, tear-stained day.
You see, there are lies all around me and they are skilled in the art of imposing forgetfulness where truth is concerned.
I’m grateful that my attempt to grab onto truth and peace means something to you, but it doesn’t feel all that brave to me. Despite the messages I receive, the gratitude and compliments that come my way from strangers and friends, I feel like just one girl who pecks away at her keyboard because she simply doesn’t know what else to do.
The idea of me being brave feels farfetched in my mind, like a label I could never earn even as it’s shoved in my face by people who don’t really know me.
Writing doesn’t feel like an act of bravery. It feels like an act of desperation.
I am desperate to push these things out of me and place them onto paper or out into the world because the things God speaks over me are often forgotten when the enemy’s lies come back.
If you were really so brave, you wouldn’t hide behind a computer. You’d say things to people’s faces. You wouldn’t be so shy and force yourself to be alone. If you were really so brave, you wouldn’t be curled up in that chair, unable to move. You’d be out there, doing things. You’d be productive. You wouldn’t need to beg for strength just to face another day.
This morning, I was curled up in my bedroom chair, unable to move. I knew I should get up and do something. I should open my Bible and sip my coffee and believe the things God says. But instead, I was staring at the wall, questioning my existence, wishing for a different and improved version of the Jessie I live with every day.
And then I got a text that said things like how God is going to heal me and He’s going to answer my prayers and bring me out of this sadness. And all I wanted to do was retort with, “but I want to be healed now.” And I meant it. I was desperate.
Get on your knees and pray, I was then commanded. Whether the command came from heaven or from my mind, I was so desperate that I somehow found the strength to leave my cushion of sorrow and do just that in the middle of my bedroom floor.
Praying like this is a rare occurrence for me. Placing my knees on carpet and bowing my head to the ground felt foreign and awkward. Yet humble prayers soon tumbled out of my mouth. I don’t know what to do. God, I need you. I don’t even know what to say. I’m desperate.
Somewhere along the way, my desperation drove me to madness. I was mad enough to spit out the words, Do something! I don’t want to be this way. I want to feel lovely and beautiful and graceful. I don’t want to feel weak like this anymore.
I want to be brave.
As I was on my knees and these words escaped my lips, a story of a desperate woman came to mind.
When one of the Pharisees invited Jesus to have dinner with him, he went to the Pharisee’s house and reclined at the table. A woman in that town who lived a sinful life learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee’s house, so she came there with an alabaster jar of perfume. As she stood behind him at his feet, weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them. (Luke 7:36-38)
She was desperate. She was so desperate she was willing to enter in this man’s home, despite the judgmental things he would say about her. She was so desperate, she was willing to approach Jesus, give him her nicest perfume, and let him receive her sorrowful tears. She was so desperate, she found herself on the ground, grasping for even just his feet.
She was so desperate, she became brave.
And I realize now that maybe this is me, too. I see desperation while I am told I am brave, but perhaps the two can both be true.
Maybe I am brave after all. Not because I say bold words and write my heart out for the world to see, but because I’m desperate enough to sit down and do this. For myself. For you. For God.
I’m so desperate for the truth to be declared. I’m desperate for healing in my life. I’m desperate for God to be glorified through me. And this desperation has driven me to say things, do things, and believe things I wouldn’t otherwise. If I were this image of a normal nineteen-year-old with average hopes and stable emotions that I envision, would I have anything to say when I sit down to write?
I’m desperate and I do like to think that I’m brave. On a good day, at least. Who’s to say where I’ll be tomorrow? In the morning, you might find me again in my chair, unable to move.
But when I do move (and I always do), may my mind believe bold things, my hand write great things, and my heart know that I am brave.
This is my prayer. Not just for me, but for you, as well.
We all need to be told that we are brave. We don’t just need the world to say it; we need God to declare it.
And yes, we sometimes need desperation to drive us to believe it and be it.
Last week, I witnessed death for the first time. And it was just so devastating yet eye-opening all at once.
It all started when my friend Lacey and I found a beautiful place to have our quiet time with the Lord. We stumbled across this closed-off patio shaded by trees with such inviting tables and chairs. Joyfully, we entered into this piece of heaven and sat down to spend some time individually in the Word and prayer.
I began to read in the book of John about Lazarus, the man who died and was risen to life by Jesus. My heart began to feel heavy as I felt some of the emotion contained within this passage. Jesus is summoned to go see his dear friend Lazarus, who is very ill, and instead of going to see him right away, he waits. This is the man who heals the blind and lame. This is the man who speaks of love and God’s goodness. And yet when he finally makes it to where Lazarus and his sisters are staying, he finds that Lazarus has already died.
The most difficult part of this story for me to read and understand is when it says that Mary, Lazarus’ sister, falls down at Jesus’ feet and says to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” (John 11:32). As she weeps on the ground, Jesus begins to weep as well.
The story does end with Lazarus being raised back to life, but I was stuck on that one part, that one image of Mary being raw and completely filled with sorrow before Jesus, the man who she thought was going to heal her brother and save her from this pain.
I sat in that beautiful, lonely patio and prayed. I confessed to God that I didn’t understand Him. I knew that Jesus was glorified through Lazarus’ death, but I couldn’t bear the thought of Mary’s suffering. It’s a similar suffering to the one I see all around me. People die every second of every day. People mourn from loss all around me. And Jesus does not heal everyone. Why, God, why?
I didn’t understand then and I still don’t fully understand now. But what happened next was something I needed to see. God found a way to calm my soul.
I looked across the table and saw that Lacey was watching the birds playing in the trees above us. She seemed so captivated by them, and I glanced at her Bible to see what she had been reading. It was a passage from Luke 12, but I couldn’t make out what exactly it was. I later discovered it was this passage about sparrows.
I tell you, my friends, do not be afraid of those who kill the body and after that can do no more. But I will show you whom you should fear: Fear him who, after your body has been killed, has authority to throw you into hell. Yes, I tell you, fear him. Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. (Luke 12:4-7)
As I began observing the birds myself, I was reminded of a different passage about birds (which I also later discovered was in Luke 12).
Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds! Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life? (Luke 12:24-25)
So here Lacey and I were, both thinking about birds. I didn’t know what she was reading, and she didn’t know what I had been thinking and had just spoken to God. It was at this very moment that we were unknowingly having our hearts prepared for what was to come.
The same birds that were innocently frolicking through the trees suddenly flew into a window above our heads and dropped to the ground next to us. There were three of them, and they laid motionless while we were rendered speechless.
Lacey jumped up to examine the birds and confirmed that at least one was dead. Tears flowed from my eyes. What does this mean, God?
The two other birds were unmoving but breathing. It seemed as though they were paralyzed and hopeless. But Lacey did what I didn’t have the courage to do. She picked up the birds and stroked them. She prayed over them. And all I could think to do was pray, too.
God, in your Word it says that if you care for the birds, then you must care for us, right? But if you DON’T care for these birds, then what does that say about your love for us?
It was in that moment God reminded me that He didn’t have to prove anything to me. Whether or not the birds continued to suffer and slowly die, His love for me and for His children would remain true. It always has been true and always will be.
But still I hoped that these birds would live. I begged God to heal.
The truth is that I knew in my head that God’s love was real, but in my heart there was doubt because so much in this world screamed otherwise.
How could I trust unwaveringly in God’s love and goodness when people are dying from gunshots, cancer, and starvation? How could I believe that God would take care of me when innocent people have been victims of suffering since the beginning of time?
These questions have haunted me because there isn’t one perfect answer. All that I have been told is to just believe.
And here was a moment where I had to believe more than ever. I was staring at death. True, they were birds, but they were living creatures I thought God cared about nonetheless. If they all died, then I would be faced with the choice to either continue believing God’s Word to be true or let that moment change my mind about His love.
He said that we are more valuable than birds. He said that we are worth more. He said that just as he cares for them, he cares for us.
So if they all died before my eyes, what would that say?
Even though I heard the voice of God telling me so surely that He loves His children, I wanted proof.
Understand this: God didn’t HAVE to heal those birds. They all stupidly crashed into a window and there seemed no divine reason for them to be rescued and raised back to life.
But I think that because He knew I was struggling and questioning, because He knew I was like Mary who found herself begging at Jesus’ feet, He chose to heal them as a testimony of His love.
It was a small and simple testimony, but one I needed and cherished nonetheless.
Just as quickly as they had come crashing down, the two unmoving birds responded to Lacey’s tender touch and flew back up into the trees to continue their lives.
They were well again. They were alive and healed.
And a part of my heart was healed, as well.
I still can’t fully fathom His love or completely understand why the world is the way it is, but I do know this: God is good. Even if he hadn’t healed those birds for me, He would still be good. That’s a hard concept to grasp. I think that humans are very limited in their understanding of life and pain and death. I know I find myself confused and baffled by such things all the time.
But I’m learning, slowly but surely.
God knows my weaknesses and my doubts, and He doesn’t condemn me for them. Instead, He invites me to believe in Him. And when I’m struggling to believe, He gives me bits and pieces of evidence and wonderment. Like He did with those birds on that day. It was a truly beautiful thing.
God is in the business of producing beautiful things– both around His children and in His children. That’s something I’m believing in more and more each day. That’s something we’re all beckoned to believe in. I think now is the time to pray for our eyes to be opened more than ever to the divine power and beauty around us. There is love and life to be found.
Taste and see that the Lord is good.