For Love of You and Me

A friend posted a photograph of his little girl; it was taken at the moment she realized Jesus had died for her. The spontaneous image showed her pain at Jesus’ suffering, and as I lingered on the image, memories filtered through my mind of when six-year-old me experienced a similar moment. On a warm Sunday afternoon, as my family napped, I slipped off my bed and headed for the living room. I was bored yet wide awake, so taking a nap was the last thing on my mind. I was fully aware of the need to be quiet when I noticed the large Bible sitting on a small bookcase. Curious, I picked it up and carried it to the sofa.

The Bible belonged to my mother and was beautifully illustrated with images of old paintings. As I carefully turned the pages, stories I had heard in Sabbath School unfolded before me. Noah was building the ark as people stood around and mocked his faith. Then came the animals filing two by two inside the huge boat. I turned the page, and a brilliant rainbow shimmered across the sky. I saw baby Moses hidden in a woven basket while Miriam stood among the river reeds close by. I loved that story! David, the shepherd boy, gazed up at the giant in front of him, his sling in hand. That story did not end well for Goliath. I turned the pages until I saw Baby Jesus in a manger. Wise men knelt in colorful robes and offered Him gifts.

Then Boy Jesus, surrounded by teachers and scribes, sat in the temple, gently shining light into darkened minds, even as His parents frantically searched for Him. I turned the pages quickly and saw water turned to wine, raging waves silenced and still.

Then there He sat, with children gathered about Him.

One on His lap rested her head against His chest, and I longed to be that little girl. When I saw Him in Pilate’s court, stripped and whipped, I stopped.

I knew how this story ended. When He fell under the weight of the cross, a stranger bent low to lift His load. As Calvary filled the page, my eyes swam with tears, for I knew then He had died for the love of me. My tears spilled as my heart stilled.

No one had ever loved me like Jesus! No one would ever love me like Jesus! That moment set the trajectory of my life. He has my heart.

He died for the love of you, too, and soon He will return to take us home.

Karen Pearson