What Jesus Means to Me

I am just sitting here thinking of Jesus. Here are my thoughts:     Jesus is the sun — hot, burning, warming, and healing.

    Jesus is the four seasons — searing hot, sometimes shower drenched, full-blown summer; mellow, brilliant autumn; cold and bracing winter and new birth and promise, as at Bethlehem, springtime.

    Jesus is quiet as a whisper, or demanding as a stern father; exacting and a perfectionist, yet tolerant; unbending, yet forgiving; compassionate, yet relentless.

    His presence touches me like a whisper that is almost unheard, it hangs in the air like a snowflake slowly descending.

    Jesus is a PRESENCE — dearly sensed, close, very real, yet unseen. His presence is a breath — a heartbeat — a pulse throb — an ever so quiet rustle, like a thought in motion.

He is a sharp sound, distinctly audible, like a click.

He is a rose in a garden; a fragrance, a thorn.

He is an earthworm in the soil, alive and ever enriching.

He is a firecracker exploding on somebody’s Fourth of July.

He is moonlight on the ocean.

He is a shiny white cloud against the deep blue of the sky.

He is a sunset bursting with color.

He is a melody, a song of love.

He is grace, hanging like silver drops of rain in the air.

His voice is thunder or the beat of a drum in my heart.

He is the tap of a fingernail on a windowpane from the outside,    wanting to come in.

His presence is an icicle on an eaves, dangling there, shimmering in the sun, melting — melting out of love.

His words are tinkling sounds like Chinese crystals stirred by a breeze — gay, laughing softly full of joy.

His voice is a wildly playing violin, crying and sobbing in an agony of pain, yearning — yearning to be accepted.

He is here

He is there.

Don’t you feel Him?

Don’t you feel the gentle stir of the air as he passes by?

Don’t you sense when the air grows still — so very, very still?

He is gone now. Yes, he is gone. But I am not sad, because he will return any time — any time. He told me he would; I don’t quite know how; I just know he will return.

My Jesus is my promise.

My shining hope.

My Blood-red faith.

My overwhelming love.

When He comes again, and he will come, I will know at once he is here.

He will come like the petals of a rose dropping soundlessly.

But I will know he is here. I will know.

Our Lord Jesus Christ.