Speak Jesus.

Maybe it’s because it was raining. Maybe it’s because I was canning tomatoes and feeling nostalgic. Maybe it’s because I was listening to The Civil Wars. Or maybe it’s because I didn’t know what to say.
But there I stood, at my kitchen sink looking out over my soon-to-be-turning-gold-and-red yard, and crying.
Not one given to tears, I have told you as such, I never really know what to do with myself when they come. So I let them come. And I think in some way that’s a prayer in itself, letting the Lord see my tears. An outward expression that this—THIS—is really important to me.

And even though it was important enough for me to cry about, like I said, I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to ask Jesus, I didn’t know where to start.

A dear friend of mine had let me know that her baby sister is not in a good way. Her baby sister is 12. And she is a 12 year old girl who already has some dragons to fight. She is in the midst of her first battle.

They are dragons I know about fighting. Dragons I know about running away from.

Hearing about her story brought back to my mind all of my stories. It was like I was 12 again, not even knowing what the heck was going on, just knowing that I was angry and sad and defiant and didn’t want to be touched but wanted more than anything to be held yet feeling more wild than ever before, but wanted more than anything to know that it was all going to turn out ok. That I was going to be ok. I wanted it to go away, this thing I had brought upon myself.
Sort of.
In reality it had been presented to me and I had taken the bait.
But how was I to know where the bait would lead? I was 12.

The baby sister is 12, too.

So I cried. Because I didn’t know what to say, because when I was 12 I didn’t know what to say, either. And I imagine she doesn’t either.

Tomato in hand, tears pooling in the corner of my eyes, memories flashing through my mind, it seemed all I could think to say was, “Jesus.”

That was it. There was no eloquence. It was just the deep of me calling to the deep of Him. There wasn’t even a simple “Help her.” Because help isn’t really what she needs.

No.

When you are running away from dragons, it’s not like you need help tying your shoes or help carrying your backpack. You need out. You need something bigger than you. 

You need Jesus.

Because he is more than “help.”

Praise the Lord he is more than “help.”

Really, what else could I have prayed then?

Would anything else have been sufficient?

Could I have asked for rescue? Miracle? Savior?

But when does “rescue” not mean Jesus? When does “miracle” not mean Jesus? When has “Savior” ever meant anything other than Jesus?

Never.

And isn’t that the truth? Does anything else ever need to be said? Is there anything greater than “Jesus”?

When things are good? “Jesus.” When things are bad? “Jesus.” When you don’t know what’s going on? “Jesus.” When it seems all hope is gone? “Jesus.” When all have left and walked away? “Jesus.” When the sun shines so gloriously on you and all you see is blessing? Still “Jesus.”

Because when you say that, it’s not just a name. It means all the thousands of things he has done for us. It represents his character, it stands for his power, it’s the name of love. And when you are battle weary, to take a thought from Tozer, we don’t need his attributes, we need HIM.

I think part of the tears that day did come from a line in the new Civil Wars song, because it seemed as if I had heard it before.

Then I remembered: I heard it when I was 14. He said it to me. “He” being that Jesus guy I always seem to talk about; the one who is the greatest of all my stories.

“Let me in the walls you’ve built around; we can light a match and burn them down. And let me hold your hand and dance ‘round and ‘round the flame in front of us. Dust to dust.”

See, all those years ago, that was my invitation; he stood there asking if he could burn down all my walls. Years prior to that I had taken a bait. A bait not from him, a bait that led me through forests and in contact with all kinds of monsters tailor-made just for me.

Maybe then I didn’t know what to say to him, either. Certainly I didn’t have anything figured out at that point.

I think, just maybe, that was his response, his invitation, when I whispered that first time, “Jesus.” Because I didn’t know what else to say, I just know I needed HIM.

My rescue came. My miracle came. My Savior had come.

And we burned down those walls.

And he still comes.

Thank you, Jesus, for still coming. For still burning down walls. For still inviting.

Pray for Baby Sister, dear Wolfies. And whatever dragon you are running from right now, pray “Jesus.”