Journal 2004
Words cannot describe the love I feel for Jesus, the third member of the Trinity. He’s beside me, ever present, watching me, protecting me, surrounding me, providing companionship, leading me, following me to see where my own footsteps take me. A friend—but not casual. A perfect friend—one who loves me just the way I am, but who loves me too much to leave me just the way I am. My Friend is so enamored with me (I haven’t figured out why yet) that He saved my life. Perhaps it’s because He made me. (In a small way I understand because of the way I fiercely love my own children because they’re flesh of my flesh, and in a sense I “created” them, and they were born perfect in my eyes.)
I was falling over a cliff, and Jesus grabbed me and pulled me to safety. But in the process, He had to go over the edge Himself—willingly He did this. And when He hit the bottom, His life blood was splattered. And I remained safely at the top of the cliff, trembling for my near miss with death. And grieving for the loss of my Friend and wishing I could die instead because it was my own foolishness that put Christ in that position to have to rescue me. But in the end, I see it’s better Him than me who went over the edge, because that would have been the end of me—kerplatz, splat! And then Jesus would have been left at the top, friendless.
Okay, never mind that there are millions of others around Him—but hey—they did the same thing I did—they foolishly got too close to the edge as well, but somehow He became the safety net for all mankind, forever, all at once, and permanently too, so when they fall off, they land safely in the net, and Jesus’ shepherd’s crook gently fishes them out. And trust me, there’s not one person who ever lived who didn’t get too close to the edge and lose his step and tumble over—except of course for the babies who were too young to crawl to the edge. (They were safe in their playpens.) Oh, by the way, some who went over the edge didn’t really believe the safety net was there, and they fell right on through. Ouch.
But back to the kerplatz on the canyon floor. If that had been ME down there? Like I said, it would have been all over but the shoutin’. But not Jesus. He had the power to do what no one else could—gather up the broken pieces, mend HIMSELF, grab His spirit and put it back into His body—except that somehow, He morphed that broken, bruised flesh into something permanent and new with new powers. Now He could fly and leap over tall buildings in a single bound. And coming back up to the top of the ledge, He told me I’d never fall over the edge again.
“How come?” I asked.
“Watch,” He said. And then He flattened the terrain with a single word. No more cliff! So we began to walk arm in arm, sometimes hand in hand; and occasionally, like a gentleman, He carried me over the rough spots and the puddles. And sometimes I let go of His hand to explore something nearby that looked more interesting than what was on the path He was leading us down. But invariably, it was fools’ gold I discovered. Sigh. Better to stay on the path with my Friend, my Savior.
He’s got a big machete and can swipe away all the snakes we encounter along the way. He’s got good eyes. He always sees them first. Sometimes He points them out to me so I can sidestep and avoid them. Sometimes He warns me, but my mind is elsewhere, and I get bitten. Yikes! But He carries an antidote with Him. One drop of His precious blood from the vial neutralizes the poison.
Sometimes I see a huge mountain or obstacle in the way, blocking our path, and I get frustrated or scared or uncertain. But my Companion just laughs. “I’ve been here before,” He says. “Come, I’ll show you the path around the mountain.” Or sometimes He surprises me and says we need to climb over or through the mountain. And He shows me the hidden entrance.
And He never leaves my side. As long as I hold onto Him, His energy flows into me to keep climbing, keep trudging, feet steady. He keeps reminding me of the beautiful valley of Sonshine on the other side. Sometimes on these treks, especially through the mountain, the way gets pitch black, and I lose my orientation. But He says all I have to do is ask, and He starts to glow with His own internal light. And He lets me see the myriad points of light—angels guarding the footpath, some up ahead, and some behind. And I step forward in confidence.
My Friend is very patient with me. He doesn’t ridicule me for my doubt or my ignorance or my stupidity. I wish I could be just as good a friend to Him. “But then, you’re not God, are you?” He smiles. “So quit looking at you, and keep your eyes on Me. I know what’s best for both of us. I’ve been to the other side, and I know the journey is worth it. Come on; let’s keep walking. One step at a time.”
There are no words to describe this Friend of mine. I love Him, and He loves me. And that is enough.
In the Pursuit of Peace 
Good Morning Karen, this sounds like a book you had maybe written or started with and I enjoyed it and brought so many things to my mind. Thank you for sharing your way back journal with us.
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