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How to know Jesus

How to know Jesus

“Through it all I’ve tried to keep my faith. Especially when things go wrong. Like when my dad died, or when my mom died. My mom was the hardest. I was an only child, so she was like three people in one to me: my mom, my sister, my best friend. She was a Honduran immigrant, and she had such a calm spirit. She only had to put her hand on my shoulder and she could bring me down from wherever I was. She’s the one who taught me the importance of faith. She had a thing for Psalm 23; it’s the one that starts with: ‘The Lord is my shepherd.’ It’s kinda cliché. But it was her favorite. So when she was in her hospital bed, and she asked me to ‘read her something good,’ I read Psalm 23. She was swollen from the cancer and the chemo, but she recited it along with me. I could tell she was almost at the point of surrender. And for the first time I realized she wasn’t going to make it. I had prayed so hard for her to live. I’d prayed and prayed and prayed. But it didn’t work, and I went to a really dark place when she passed away. I felt like an orphan. I almost didn’t want to live. And it would have been so easy to turn to unhealthy habits. An extra glass of wine. Just one more pour, to get me through the next hour. But I held on. I held onto my faith. And it wasn’t easy, because I felt abandoned. And ignored. But maybe it was time. Maybe I’d relied on my mom too much. Maybe I needed to grow. I do still turn to her when I’m having a tough time. Just a couple days ago I was sitting on the edge of my bed, asking Mom for help. And when I went back outside I saw a nun walking down the sidewalk. Growing up my mom had always told me, that you can always ask a nun for a blessing. But I’d never done it. I don’t approach people like that, I’m too shy. But yesterday I did it. I was so nervous, I’m sure it was word vomit. But the nun replied: ‘Do you have time for coffee?’ We found a table and talked for an hour. She was Colombian, so we spoke in Spanish. She let me talk. She let me cry.  She broke everything down. She said ‘you are protected,’ and ‘you are loved.’Then at the end she gave me a rosary bracelet, and her phone number. ‘Call anytime,’ she said. ‘I’m here if you need me.’”

My faith feels like a shred these days, but I’m holding. Even if a little. Don’t tell me to pray harder or read more Bible or look more to Jesus. Don’t tell me “If you really believed then you wouldn’t be so depressed.” No. It’s my tiny shred of faith that’s keeping me alive.

When I ask if God is good I see a cross, an empty tomb. What He writ large in the stars is writ small for our wounds. From the sky to my sin He is re-making us again. When nothing else is good, He is the only one who is. — J.S. 

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Flowers in New York City