Always Here // God's Love Does Not Waverنموونە

What Jesus Wants to Say

You forget I know the roar of this world. You forget I was in the midst of it, just like you. You forget I know the pace, the push and the pull. You forget I know what it means to be human, not just because I created all things, but because my feet walked this land, too. You forget that I had to pull away from the noise, that the pains of this world were real to me, too.

You forget I saw you in the middle of the worst. That I knew you were lost, that I knew you were confused. You forget that I know this world can overwhelm. That it can feel like there is only one answer—and that this one you land on had better be the one that’s right. You forget that there is hope in the darkest of places. That light rushes in at the moment you least expect. You forget that I came and I was not recognized for who I was. I did not wear the crown. I did not wear the robe. I did not worship the rules and the laws. I did not fear where I would sleep, what I would eat, what I would wear, what my next move would be.

You forget I kept my eyes on my Father—that it was my Father’s eyes that gave me sight, that it was my Father’s ears who gave me hearing, that it was my Father’s love for me, for all of creation, his heartbeat of love, that made my heart ache for this world too. You forget I am the beginning.

You forget I was in this world but not of this world. You forget my heart broke for the hurting. And that my heart breaks still. You forget that my own hands touched the blind, the desperate, the broken, the heavy-laden. That I know you now feel the hurting of this world and that it is too much to bear. You forget I know it is too much to bear . . .and that you are not meant to bear it. You forget I know the pain of this world feels too much to manage . . .and that you are not meant to manage it.

You forget I know what it is like for death to chase you down. That death is dauntless, intimating, evil, and alluring. You forget I know its temptations—that the desire for more wealth, for more acclaim, for more security, for more power, can be death’s disguise. That the temptation to prove your worth is a ploy to distract you from the inheritance that can never be taken away.

Do not let self-contempt rob you of what you’ve been given. Do not let fear take residence in your heart. I love you. I know you. I am with you. I am for you. You are the one I came for. You are the one for whom death was destroyed. You are the one who has what it takes, everything it takes, to walk these streets, rush these walls, stand sure against attacks. You are the one who is strong in me. Do not forget that. Do not forget I have you. I have your back. I am not going to let you down. I am not going to leave. I am not going to ask you to prove a thing to me. I have already given you everything. And I’d do it again and again and again.

Exercise:

When we’re caught in the rush and charge of everyday life, when we’re putting out fires and checking things off lists, we pray. We’re followers of Jesus, and that’s what His followers do. Sometimes we forget to pray, of course. But not that often and not for very long. Sooner or later, we get there. Sooner or later, we speak or whisper or shout to heaven—and especially when things get really tough.

We follow Jesus, and we believe in the power of prayer.

But what we too often forget is exactly who it is to whom we are praying. We can forget what we know about the true nature and the true essence of Jesus. We can forget His humanity—how much He understands us and our circumstances. And we forget how powerful He is—and the level of His outrageous love. We forget how He was willing to leave heaven and experience every pain, every temptation, every form of suffering—for us. Because He loves us. Because He loves you.

So, let’s do a little memory work here. Let’s not do what we usually do and just move on to the next thing. Let’s let the words we just heard sink into our hearts a bit more. Let’s stay here a bit longer and meditate on what the Spirit of Jesus just said to us and invited us to do—so that we don’t forget it so easily.

So, get yourself comfortable, relaxed. Take a few deep breaths. And let’s pray back to Jesus what He just said to us. Let’s worship Him with His own words.

But first, let’s consecrate to God these moments now. And let’s consecrate to Him our minds and our hearts.

So, Father, Jesus, Holy Spirit, I give you myself and my attention now. I consecrate them. I bring them under your authority. I want to receive your love, your truth, your encouragement, your wisdom, your guidance. But mostly, I want to receive more of You. I want all You have. And as I pray here, help my heart to hear the words I say, as I say them. Help my heart to accept and believe these truths.

And now, friends, let’s pray together.

Jesus, You know the roar of this world. You were in the midst of it, just like I am now. You know the pace, the push and the pull. You know what it means to be human, not just because You created all things, but because your feet walked this land, too. You had to pull away from the noise, for the pains of this world were real to You, too.

You see me in the middle of my worst. You know when I am lost, You know when I am confused. You know this world can overwhelm. You remind me that there is hope in the darkest of places. That light rushes when I least expect. You came and were not recognized for who You were. You chose to not wear the crown. You chose to not wear the robe. You did not worship the rules and the laws. You did not fear where You would sleep, what You would eat, what You would wear, what your next move would be.

You kept your eyes on your Father—it was your Father’s eyes that gave you sight, it was your Father’s ears that gave you hearing, it was your Father’s love for You, for all of creation, his heartbeat of love, that made your heart ache for this world too.

You have always been the beginning.

You were in this world but not of this world. Your heart broke for the hurting. And your heart breaks still. Your own hands touched the blind, the desperate, the broken, the heavy-laden. You know the pain of this world is too much for me to bear . . . and that I am not meant to bear it. You are. You do.

You know what it is like for death to chase You down. You know its temptations—that the desire for more wealth, for more acclaim, for more security, for more power, can be death’s disguise. That Satan’s temptation to prove your worth was a ploy to distract You from the inheritance that can never be taken away. For You are God. You are my Savior. You are my King.

I will not let self-contempt rob me of what you’ve given me. I will not let fear take residence in my heart. You love me. You know me. You are with me. You are for me. I am the one You came for. I am the one for whom death was destroyed. I am the one who has what it takes, everything it takes, to walk these streets, rush these walls, stand sure against attacks. I am the one who is strong in You. Help me not forget that. Help me not forget, You have me. You have my back. You are not going to let me down. You are not going to leave. You are not going to ask me to prove a thing to you. You have already given me everything. And you’d do it again and again and again.

Amen.