3 Week With Jesus...

I spent three weeks with Jesus. Face to face. Hand to hand. Heart to heart. But I didn’t know it was Him. The first time He spoke, it was in through my husband. He pulled me into the bedroom and said, “My family is going to be staying with us.”

It had all started two weeks before, when my little family came down with a horrendous flu. Grandma, who lived next door, caught the same thing and ended up in the hospital. That week was hard, and more than once, my dear husband thought that she was dying in his arms. She hung in there long enough for all of her kids and grandkids to fly in from all over the country.

She came home, and all the visiting family moved next door into our house. What did I do? I panicked. Jesus opened my door and invited them in and I sounded the alarm.

The Son of God looked down on my little home and said, “That one. That is where I will send my hurting.” 

And all I could do was count my own shortcomings. How will I do this? How will I feed them all? Where will they all sleep?

I came to some of you and vented my anxieties. Jesus came to my door the next day. It was through a friend. She brought dinner and goodies and snacks to feed all of the visiting family.

I washed and cleaned and cooked and scrubbed and pleaded with God to help me be a light. I looked for those opportunities, but no one asked me for prayer or advice. They just asked for a place to sleep, some food to eat, a living room to rest in. As one week turned into two, I spoke less, I grew more weary. These people were in need, and I didn’t know how to help them. So I cooked some more, and prayed that God would use me. I made more beds, and asked God to use me.

More meals came. There didn’t seem to be enough clean towels, but there was enough to eat. This family wasn’t one to spend much time together, and yet here they were living, sleeping, eating, and grieving in close quarters. And every night, we all gathered and ate a meal together.

One day, I found myself in the kitchen scrubbing away at the mess that I couldn’t seem to get on top of. I was weary and my heart hurt. It was a rainy day and so all the kids were confined in doors and arguing over the Wii. We knew grandma wasn’t going to make it through the day. The tension was thick. I just can’t do it anymore, I told my Savior.

And He spoke again. I have dirty feet, He reminded me. 

Instantly, I saw Him taking a handful of dirt and spit and placing the mud on the blind man’s eyes. I heard Him greet the lepers that society had cast away. I was aware of the freedom the crazed man felt as the evil spirit was cast into a herd of pigs, and I heard the sin fall into the ocean waves, never to return again. I felt the thunder as the sky turned black and my Savior was crucified. His body bloodied and murdered by my sin.

He whispered gently in my ear that day, All I’ve asked of you is to have dirty feet. 

My thoughts were not pure. In fact, I had spent very little time thinking on what was good and true and right and holy. I had gone into survival mode, grief mode, just-get-through-it mode . . . and yet somehow my feet had still gotten dirty. Somehow, He had placed me right where He wanted me, despite my fears. He had used me just how He wanted to, even though my heart was unaware.

Jesus showed His unfailing love and kindness when He gave us all one last day with Grandma. She was awake and laughing and smiling and surrounded by her entire family, her legacy upon this earth. Jesus stayed, tarrying among us all that next day, through the tension and the rain and fear and the weariness. And when March 31st dawned upon us, He took grandma’s hand and led her home.

The craziness continued despite everyone’s grief. More family came. There were services, receptions to be had. Jesus came to my door again. It was my dad’s wife. Having only recently lost my mom, this is still a hard situation for me. But this woman cooked and cleaned my home preparing for the reception following the service. While we gathered in church, she served, doing what I could no longer do.

After three weeks of waiting for God to use me (and not really seeing that He was), God let me speak. Or rather, sing. I stood before the family and friends of this precious woman, and I sang about the Father’s deep love for us. Jesus was there while some wept. He was there as they gazed upon her picture on the projector screen.

In the middle of the song, the city experienced a power major outage. The lights and sound went out up and down the street and in the church where we all sat. So there I was in a darkened sanctuary singing while God spoke loudly:

“How deep the Father’s love for us. How vast and beyond measure. That He should give His only Son, to make a wretch His treasure. I will not boast in anything. No gifts, no power, no wisdom. But I will boast in Jesus Christ, His death and resurrection. Why should I gain from His reward? I cannot give an answer. But this I know with all my heart, His wounds have paid my ransom.” 

I have been humbled by His grace. I have been seeped in His presence. I have been surrounded by His mission all month long. It wasn’t pretty. It was messy. Tense.

Sometimes, the Kingdom of God brings about unrest as the earth encounters something holy. 

I wish with all my heart that I had done better for my Lord, that I hadn’t had a breakdown in the Food 4 Less parking lot, or that I hadn’t vented so much on my hurting husband and friends. But mostly, I am relieved and grateful beyond words that He was there with us, walking among us, embracing us in our lows, and comforting grandma in her pain.

I spent three weeks with Jesus and I wish I could say that I am changed. But the truth is that I still feel like a mess. Honestly, I just feel treasured in spite of myself. I feel blessed though I am too weak, and I feel unworthy and special as I hear him whisper even now,

“My grace is sufficient. . .” 

Katie... was raised in northern California to a Jesus-loving family. God was ever present in her family from the way her parents loved her to the miracles she saw daily. She witnessed her crippled father walk and dance again, and her mother's barren womb healed after thriteen years. At home she helped raise her little sisters, and in the church she was encouraged as a worship leader. She married her college sweetheart, and together they continue in youth ministry. Last year they left her hometown and moved with their two daughters to Southern Oregon to start a young adult ministry at Table Rock Fellowship. They are finally living their dreams of he being a youth pastor and and her, a worship leader; however, the best part of her life is being a wife to her man and a mommy to her daughters. It has taken them seven long years to get to this point , and she had to say goodbye to her beloved mother this year as she lost her short battle with cancer, she can honestly say with all certainty that the melody of her life is that of God's unfathomable love and never-changing faithfulness.

Check out Katie's personal blog at: www.ristowswife.wordpress.com