I met Jesus with a wide-eyed curious gaze when I was only ten years old.
I was sitting cross-legged on a soft carpet in the middle of my pepto-bismol pink room,
in the house with the red door underneath the shade of the maple tree in my Georgia town.
He didn't speak the way I expected him too.
He didn't use words like 'thou' and 'shalt'.
He didn't add -eth to the end of long winded words my ten year old brain would never comprehend.
He met me even though I was young, stubborn, and sometimes disobedient.
I planted myself in the center of the room and said, "I don't care how long it takes, I will not move until I know who you are."
And He showed me.
It began at the top of my head.
I felt the warmth of His love drape over my tiny body like a blanket.
It was the calming hug of a father, the tender whisper of a mother.
It was the end to the loneliness that had become my friend and the beginning of something genuine.
I was glowing, I knew I was.
I felt home, like laying in your bed after a long trip.
And then I heard Him speak.
He didn't shout.
He gently spoke the words, "Softly or loudly, I have always loved you."
I clng to those words even now.
In the middle of a worship service when the whole room experiences His presence or in a car ride to the supermarket, God still encapsulates me with His love.
And no matter where I am, or how far I've wandered,
I am a ten year old being reminded of the love of her father,
like meeting Him for the first time.
