I promised you a story about spit and trampolines, and as a woman of honor, I keep my promises.
Two of the angriest moments I’ve ever seen from my father involved spit. The first-and funniest in my opinion-was a year or two ago, when my brother coughed a mouth full of water straight into JD’s face. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to think it was funny, or if I needed to run and call a coroner, but I swear I saw lightning flash in my dad’s eyes. I still laugh about it.
The second time was significantly less humorous. I was in elementary school, and my dad caught Ethan and I spitting at each other on the trampoline. After a scarily stern lecture about how the soldiers spit on our Savior on his way to die for us and how we would never disrespect his sacrifice or each other in that house, I learned that spit held weighted hatred I never wanted to give or receive.
Last Wednesday I was in desperate need for alone time with God. My cup felt empty and some revival was needed for these weary bones. I was in luck, it was raining, and the roof was empty- two of my favorite things. I grabbed my rain jacket and headphones and stood(danced, let’s be real) for an hour, crying and smiling and trying to be Jesus’s biggest hype man. I’ve looked back over the playlist I was jamming to, and I still don’t know what song quite hit me, but I got another wave of appreciation for how good God is to us.
I though of John 20, when Thomas demands to see Jesus’s wounds.
Are you joking me?
Were I Jesus, that boy would have received a quick smack with my holy hand and an angry spat right to the face. I probably would have screamed something along the lines of “LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO ME. Look what I had to suffer for you, YOUR sins held me there, every tear I cried was because YOU messed up. YOU deserve these holes, and you dare ask me to PROVE my goodness?!’
I think back to all the times I’ve been hurt, and if any one of those people ever saw, let alone dared to ask me to see how much they had hurt me, it would destroy me. It’s a natural defense to not let people see how they harm you.
And I think to myself, ‘stupid, stupid Thomas’.
But how many times do I ask God to prove His sovereignty to me? How often do my choices feel like a spat in the face of God? How many times have I said ‘not today, Jesus’ ?
***’stupid, stupid all of us’
What a good love that is. To refrain from the spit is inhumanly gracious in itself, but to extend that hand with love, to let Thomas touch the wounds and feel how deeply the Father cares for him is unfathomable to me.
Thought I’d share that. God loves you a heck of a lot, and it’s really cool that we don’t deserve it and He still extends it, so we don’t have to fear ever losing that lose to our mistakes.
Update:
Tomorrow is my last day in Cambodia! That’s WILD.
My whole squad is heading to Bangkok for a Leadership Development Weekend on Sunday, then taking a few connecting flights to Honduras! God’s done weird/frustrating/needed/gracious/merciful/big things in Cambodia and I am grateful of my time here.
