"Jesus Gets It"

Melanie spoke with confident assurance. Her face glowed with peace and her eyes were filled with love. I stared at her in a state of confusion. I heard what she said. English, was, after all, my primary language. But I didn't get it. I didn't understand how she understood Jesus. I didn't understand how she understood me. But I knew she did.

 

"Riiiight. Jesus gets me. I don't believe it but I believe that you believe it."

 

"That's okay. It's still true." Typical Melanie - always stating things as they are.

I met Melanie in 1997 and the first time I heard her voice, I thought it was one of the most melodious sounds I'd ever heard. To describe her as anything but my lifeline would be an injustice. My life was in chaos and I was in pain. My soul ached. My heart wept. My spirit was numb. I couldn't breathe. Fear, confusion, shame, and condemnation were my constant companions. I took them everywhere. It's a miracle I even functioned.

 

I drove home that night in spiritual desperation as I replayed Melanie's words, "Jesus gets it." I'd been a follower of Christ for nearly five years so I knew that Jesus died for me. I'd experienced His love many times since 1993 when I gave Him my heart. That's why I believed Melanie. Her words sounded like something Jesus would say - "I get it."

 

But He wouldn't say that to me - would He? I decided to ask Him. Right there in my car. My theology was weak. I'd memorized some Scriptures, and knew some references to topics, but quoting book, chapter, and verse wasn't my forte. I wondered if the logic of postulates I learned in my high school geometry class would help. You know, postulates. The "if-then" statements, like, If there exists a line, then it contains at least two distinct points.

 

Well, maybe that postulate in particular didn't apply, so I decided to make one up. If God's Spirit lives in me, and Jesus called the Holy Spirit "the Comforter," then I can have this conversation.

 

Clearly, the structure of my impromptu postulate needed work. I spoke out loud the things I knew about Jesus in order to somehow "set the stage" for our conversation. I needed to be on my best behavior. I couldn't have a talk with the Saviour of the world without creating some ambiance, right? Unsure but filled with hope, I took a deep breath and began my conversation with the Most High God.

 

"Ohhhh Lord - Thou art Thine finest designer! Glorious is Thine glow and flow of mercy upon the peasants of this earth..."

 

Wait - did I just bring forth Lazarus? Lofty speaking was not something I knew how to do, but I knew how to be real from my heart. I chose the latter route instead.

"Heavenly Father, thank You for Your Creation. You hung the stars in the sky and You knew exactly where you wanted to put them. So, You did. Thank You for creating the world with wisdom and understanding. You know every word on my lips before I even speak them. Thank You that You still love me in spite of those words, that, let's face it, I end up eating most of the time. Thank You for giving Your Son's life for mine. If You find it in Your Will to listen to me, I wanted to talk to you about some things. Thanks in advance. In Jesus' Name, Amen."

 

It was on and I felt awkward. 

Pause. Pause. Insert faint, easy listening music in the background. Pause. Pause.

 

"Ssooooo, Jesus...I know you were with me and Melanie tonight, and she said something that I don't get. I want to get it. I'm desperate to get it. But I don't."

 "Okay."

 

"Well, she said that You 'get it' - that You get me."

"I do."

 

"Yah, that's what she said too, but I'm not getting that. I am desperate for you to understand me."

 

I'd felt like I'd messed up so much in my life that I was afraid of listening to any voice but His. I needed to be sure. I continued.

"How do I know that was You? How do I know it wasn't just me saying things in my own head because I want to hear them?"

"Do you know my voice?"

 

That question comforted and scared me every time He asked me.

 

"Yes," I said. "But I'm scared."

 

"I know. But I'm not."
 

Those words caused my mind to stop racing. Those words calmed my fears and turned up the tears. His words - His grace - touched my desperation. 
 

I'd love to say that from that day forward, I trusted Jesus without condition. I'd love to say that I've been more in touch with Him ever since He spoke His words of Grace to me in my car. But I can't. It's not reality.

 

It's taken me a long time to absorb and ingest, even partially, God's grace. I still feel scared. I still feel unsure. I still wonder, "God, do You have a plan for my life?" "Have I messed up too much for You to bless me?"
 

I've learned that nothing I do surprises God. My control tactics don't faze Him. My justifications, although numerous, don't convince Him. It's not like He turned His face from me one day to tend to someone else, and left me standing out in the cold, exposed and vulnerable in my fears. I will never hear Him say, "Oh - sorry, Velvet. I heard you but I forgot about you!"
 

Nothing gets passed Him. Nothing. Not the generations of evil that came before me, nor the abuse as a little girl as a result. Not the shame and condemnation I carried for decades, nor all of my faulty decisions made in a state of desperation.  And nothing I experience, feel, say, do or think is too far beyond His mighty grip of grace.  It's time for a new generation. The Generation of Grace.