I once was a starving man looking for life. I would grasp at whatever little bits I could find and clutch them tightly in my grimy orphan hands.
I didn’t know there was more, I didn’t know there was an abundant life that had my name on it.
I thought so highly of myself with my fancy education and comfortable socioeconomic background. I thought I had life all figured out: work hard, earn money, play hard. Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat.
I didn’t know I was searching for life while headed for death, I didn’t know that the answer all along rested with Jesus.
Jesus.
I breathe that name in and out daily at least a hundred times. It’s the most precious name I know. I savor the way His name rolls off my tongue. I love that it can be used in the midst of trial as a daughter’s plea, or as the ending of a lover’s happy sigh. His name holds power and it is Love. His name is the beginning and the end—there’s nothing else I need.
Jesus.
He really is everything to me. He is Life itself.
I treasure the intimate times I have with Him, when I get to stow away with whatever worship artist iPod shuffle has chosen and I belt my heart out about how I love Him. I never sing the ‘right’ words to worship songs, I figure He likes it better when I use my own verbiage and timing. Entering into His Presence is becoming to like sitting down with a friend. I look forward to when I’m 80 and Jesus and I will have that look of old, familiar friends that can only come with time.
There’s a sweetness about Him, I can almost taste it in the air every time I call on His name.
Jesus.
He is here.
