I want a deeper life. A fuller life, one more abundant than the fish that almost broke the net.
I want a life of recklessly, relentlessly, dancing after Jesus.
I want a life that meets you in the dirt, in the hopelessness, in the dark and dread, beaming a light and hope in that simply captivates the furthest of hearts.
I want a life that prays earnestly for miraculous and wonderful and impossible things, and faith that declares that Mount Everest will move.
I want a life that sings melodies of love, love, love over scars and songs, over tragedies and victories, over death and life, in the nations of His creation.
I am done, I am so utterly finished with frilly and pretty. I want beautiful; I want glorious. I want to see and feel and burn for and pour out real, gritty, divine grace. I want to speak of a man who is God and who didn’t stay dead. I want to speak to dry bones, praying and demanding that they come alive; oh, come alive. I want to live life in abundance, to the fullest, deeply and richly and truly craving the presence of my Savior, to the very beat of my soul.
I want the real thing.
I want Jesus.
No, not the Americanized Jesus that joins me in my life and is a mere companion, a selective savior, a genie who grants my wish.
I want the Jesus that commanded that I go to the nations, making disciples of his distant beloved, baptizing them even in rivers through their jungles, teaching them his Way. I want the Jesus that demands I die to myself, tiny deaths day by day, and carry my cross as I labor for my crown. I want the Jesus that spoke the heavens and you and me before it even started; the one who compels a dramatic and reckless and beautiful surrender of everything I am for the sake of a place I can only dream of.
I want the Jesus who, hours before his death, fell to his knees and washed his killer’s feet, calling me to do the same. I want the Jesus who mounted a donkey and rode it through palm leaves and hosanna shouts, saying if those people don’t cry out, the rocks would. I want the Jesus who praised Mary for simply sitting at his feet, being with Him. I want the Jesus who flipped tables and whipped men for using the church in vain. I want the Jesus whose feet walked on the crest of water and whose hands made bread and fish into a feast. I want the Jesus who healed, do you hear me, who healed blind people and leprous men and bleeding women. I want the Jesus who gave glimpses of his love for me by sparrows and lillies. I want the Jesus who demanded the man to sell everything he ever owned and give away all the money. I want the Jesus who told fishermen to drop their nets and follow him.
I want the Jesus who laid down his life on that old cross, despising its shame, and who victoriously and actually came back to life. I want the Jesus who is in Heaven, establishing His kingdom here on earth, soon to return. I want the Jesus who has eyes like flames of fire, hair white like wool, whose voice is like the sound of roaring waters. I want the Jesus who has name only He knows, who is deemed King of Kings and Lord of Lords. I want the Jesus who says, “I am coming soon.”
I want Jesus. And nothing else will do.
I’m going Ecclesiastes on you now.
Nothing matters. If it doesn’t passionately and recklessly and gently pour into the expanse of the Kingdom of God, it’s chasing the wind.
If it’s not building the Kingdom of glory and beauty, the Kingdom of God, then I don’t want it.
And listen, I don’t want to settle for a synthetic version of real beauty and real glory and real praise.
I don’t just want pretty flowers, I want my soul to know that God has clothed me more beautiful than those very speckled lilies.
I don’t just want coffee dates, I want divinely orchestrated, life-giving and anchored friendships that will celebrate together when we arrive at Home, tears flowing and joyfully shouting to Jesus.
I don’t just want smooth songs, I want to pour out my soul, raw and gritty before my Creator, I want the words on my lips and the meditation of my heart to genuinely give glory and praise to my God.
The flowers. The drinks. The job title. The dress. The paintings. The posts.
It just simply doesn’t matter. Unless there is real beauty, real glory and real praise underneath it all.
I want to know the joy of the Lord. I want to feel His praise welling up from deep within my soul. I want to live in His peace, experience His rich relationships. I want to enjoy His masterpiece of creation; I want to dwell in the abundance of life that He has come to give us, to lead us into.
Our reality is that there will be a day when we see our sweet Jesus coming on the clouds, with the most majestic and beautiful and fearsome trumpets blowing, and in the flash of a moment, we will be enthralled in His Kingdom.
Streets of gold, walls of pearls and jasper and rubies. River of life flowing from His throne. Trees of healing lining the sides. No need for sun or lamp, He Himself is our light. We will see Him; He will be our God and we will be His people.
We will feast on the most juicy and rich of foods. We will sing and play the loveliest of music. We will garden hillsides of flowers, we will catch boatloads of fish, we will paint murals and masterpieces. We will write with new words, we will design with new ideas, we will travel with curiosity and adventure.
We will be with man and woman, from every tribe and tongue. We will celebrate our victory in Jesus, the victory won way back when. We will love with the sweetest of loves, pouring out from our heart of hearts.
Jesus will be our King, He will reign and rule with goodness and glory.
He loves His people.
It’s here, oh, it’s finally here.
For this, I will give my life.
For this, I will pour it all out like a drink offering, a sweet fragrance to my God and my King.
For this, I will relentlessly run after Jesus.
The one, the only, forever and always, Jesus.
I want the real thing.
With much, much love. And a passion that demands a response. –Melissa
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