If Jesus Came back for the Day

I got up early that day, took a shower for far too long ‘til I smelled like Fabreeze and Gatorade.  My hair I fashioned backwards as if to erase the time between the last time He came here. I put on a suit at first but as I looked in the mirror I saw a Jesus in a tunic and coat and asked why I would try and improve upon this. Fashion is the myth of an era and Jesus, of every one, never seemed obsessed with looking the best. I didn’t shave but merely cleaned up the stray hairs which sought to grow in patches instead of a beard. Putting on a white V-neck and jeans ‘cause I couldn’t figure out why not, I sat down on the bed. Usually I would lay down again since it was nearly 2 hours before he was coming, but I knew enough of myself to know I would fall asleep. Like Peter and James at Gethsemane, I would miss my Jesus’ pain and agony for my own pleasure. I have done that enough and if God was to condescend to flesh again and spend a day with me, I would not miss it. In part because I have the faith of Thomas and in part because I want to learn, but mainly because I refuse to hear the words, “I never knew you” when I stand at His judgment seat.

Jesus came to the door. He didn’t need to knock but I let Him, immediately regretting how I made Him wait. He stood in the door of my house under the shade of the porch. He wore a white linen short-sleeve dress shirt and light khaki pants. His shirt was unbuttoned the first three buttons and it wrinkled around his tan chest. He had brown leather bracelets around his wrists and penny loafers on. I fell. There was nothing else good to do at that moment. All of my questions seemed to skyrocket out of my skull and into his being, as if he had consumed me. So much I wanted to say, gone in an instant; thankfully, or I would have never learned anything. I don’t remember a span of time after that but I recall there was an amount of walking and then we were sitting on a bench at Squirrel Lake Park. I’ve tried ever since He left to remember His voice, and while I feel Him as if He is still here, the sound of His voice seems quenched. We drove for a while and he made me drive. I guess it makes sense, he probably doesn’t have a license, but Jesus wouldn’t wreck. I made a stupid joke about Jesus take the Wheel and He smiled—actually I think he laughed; yes, it was a deep and hearty laugh like Eli in I made you special. All afternoon Jesus seemed to be working on my mind and soul. They were certainly His. I felt higher than a kite—drunk on peace and overflowing with love. For brief moments I was pierced with the insecurities brought by my sinfulness and a shameful feeling now having seen the Son, but at these moments He never failed to fill me again. All I knew was Love and everything of my past—my arguments, my sins—all was overcome with the flood of His love and Grace. I melted beneath the weight of His love. I melted silently—which is rare. Before I was aware He was saying goodbye—as if it were some surprise I threw my hand up like a toddler and mumbled goodbye. Yet I didn’t say I Love you. Maybe I was embarrassed maybe I forgot, but I would have done anything at that moment and anything now to share those words with Him. I missed Him as it turned out—still do.