There’s a sliver of a wound on the inside of my index finger.
Rather than take the clear path only a few steps away I stepped towards the corner.
Took the risky way, the rebellious path.
The asparagus fern from last summer had been put away, covered in pine straw, protected.
From a distance, I saw vibrant green peeking through.
I am impatient for the new season.
So, I squeezed up next to the porch and gingerly pushed about the branches of not yet blooming roses.
Then left the fern, after all, it may be too early, we’ve not yet had the “Easter snap”.
I looked down and saw the stream of deep dark red and felt the sting of the injury from the thorn that caused me to be cornered.
I paused to dab my finger against my shirt, only temporarily stopping the flow.
I continued on my mission, needing to get my pansies into the dirt.
Rain was forecasted, I needed them ready and waiting for the pour down from heaven.
The blood continued to flow from the place the thorn broke the skin, now all mottled with black soil.
It was the dirt after all that stopped the bleeding. Dirt crammed beneath my nails and clogging up the gash of my finger’s wound.
I thought of Jesus.
Thought of how so often I am hesitant to speak His name in public. Thought of expressions like
Less Lisa, More Jesus
Thought of the power of the sound of His name and how I keep it to myself as if the magnitude of His name might upset our rooms.
Sometimes I only hint at the reality of Jesus.
Deciding others will find out on their own.
As if accidentally maybe perhaps or hope so
Someone will just know that we know Him and maybe ask if it is so and hey, tell me why I should know the one you know…
(Sermon to self here. Please just know.)
I thought of the thorns they placed on His head in a sarcastic cynical crown.
I thought of how eventually his blood became mixed in with his sweat, the grime of his sacrifice, the mixture of it all.
Love and death.
For us all.
I thought last night about this love I am not required to earn.
Thought about Jesus fulfilling God’s purpose, Jesus obeying the Father, a sinless obedient Son.
I am thinking now of the miracle of me, the miracles I have seen, the ones I’ve yet to see.
The ones that I will never know.
That are yours! Not mine to see.
Way too many to comprehend.
Jesus let Thomas put his hand in the place where the spear cut open His side. Told him he was blessed because he believed.
Added how significant it is not to see and yet, believe.
The measures Jesus took and takes to get us to believe are simply too much to me!
Too much to fathom why sometimes I don’t believe.
And yet, like Thomas.
He is still there for me.
Still telling me,
Peace be with you. John 20:26 Believe.
The Book of John ends with a beautiful thought, the truth of the ever astounding and amazing love of Jesus.
“Now there are also many other things that Jesus did. Were every one of them to be written, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written.”
John 21:25 ESV
I understand. Yesterday, I thought of all my journals, all my haphazard prayers, intentional supplications, and all the countless recoveries and redemptive interventions Jesus has brought to my life.
I believe in Jesus, not because I’m educated in this way.
I believe because of all He has shown me because of my believing.
Like Thomas and the others, I believe because he gave me chance after chance to see.
The little slice of the wound from the thorn is still open today. Soon, it will be closed over, no sting or tinged color of pale red. Soon, the insignificant wound will be healed.
I’m thankful for the sharp thorn, the red flow that lingered.
To be reminded of believing.
To be less attentive to my wounds and more open to you.
Linking up with Mary Geisen and others at Tell His Story: