Taking Care of Jesus

The stories of Jesus and his conversations with people are so fascinating. I am eating them up one after another.

I look on, wide-eyed, at his bravery in touching sick, germy people.

I cry as I witness his compassion for sinful women who are so much like me.

I giggle over his brilliant communication with the Pharisees. He has a way of always evading their traps and making them look ever so foolish.

Go, Jesus!

But I come to a halt as I read some hard words that dampen my enthusiasm.

“Then the King will say to those on His right, “Come, you who are blessed by my Father; inherit the kingdom… for I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty and you gave me a drink, I was a stranger and you invited me into your home, I was naked, and you gave me clothing, I was sick, and you cared for me, I was in prison, and you visited me.:

Then the righteous ones will reply, “Lord, when did we ever see you… (like this)?”

The King will say, “When you did it to one of the least of these, my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me.”

To the ones on the left, the King will say “Away with you… for I was hungry, and you didn’t feed me, I was thirsty, and you didn’t give me a drink…”

I ponder the verses. I certainly want to be the person on the right side of the King, to be the one who unwittingly cares for Jesus.

A feeling of unease creeps over me and I wonder if maybe I have missed or even refused opportunities to feed and care for him. I love him so much. But I don’t know if I’ve ever had a real chance to carry out this scripture.

While communicating my uncertainty to my Lord, a scene from the past suddenly begins to take shape in front of me…

***

I was in a rush to get the meal together so that dinner would be ready when Andrew walked in the door. Nothing had gone right that day. One interruption followed another. I had stopped to settle one squabble after another between my three little children. I wiped up a spill, and then another one and my temper was rising.

My hands were busily mixing a meatloaf when I heard a small voice beside me say, “I want a drink.”

Moving to the sink to wash my dirty hands so that I could provide the needed drink, I sighed with exasperation. But then I remembered.

Handing my young daughter a cup of water, I stifled my sigh of exasperation at one more interruption. I didn’t want to miss a chance to look into her beautiful brown eyes and bless her soul with a few kind words that would tell her how much I loved her.

Under my breath, I whispered, “She who gives a cup of cold water to one of these little ones will not lose her reward.”

Now I wonder…

Almost immediately, Jesus moves me on.

***

A few years later, a stranger showed up on my doorstep along with my husband. He was hours from home and needed an evening meal. I set a place for him at the table, and he chatted happily with my husband. I looked on and listened, and I wondered why he asked to come into our home…

***

As a young girl, I snuggled under thick quilts on cold winter nights and made up a story about a poor family who got stuck in a snowdrift and, with no place to go, came knocking on our door. I took their baby and dressed her in the finest clothes I had in my doll’s collection. I wrapped her in a blanket and cuddled her close, warming her cold little body. The ability to provide for this imaginary family brought me such satisfaction.

And then, as an adult, I heard a mission organization was asking for clothing donations to send overseas to the poor. We had plenty of clothes, so I boxed some up and sent them on to the mission, never thinking about my girlhood dreams. Until this minute.

***

A certain relative made some poor choices and found himself in a prison cell for many long months. I wrote him letters, telling him of what was happening in the outside world, but mostly just regaling him with tales of the antics of my young children. I didn’t think too much about it then. But was it, in some odd way, Jesus, that I was writing to?

***

My husband became ill. Not the stomach flu kind of illness that dissipates in a day or two, but a long, drawn-out emotional kind of illness. I worried. I prayed. I cried. I pleaded with God to restore his health. A lot. I nurtured and loved him the best I could. And when the sparkle returned to his eyes, I sighed with relief…

***

The visions in my head come to a halt. A sense of awe washes over me as I realize that Jesus has just answered my question. In each of the scenarios he brought to mind, while I was simply carrying out my duties for that day, I was also given a chance to fulfill the different “needs” of Jesus.

And here I thought I was just doing the next right thing in those moments.

So, now I sit and contemplate the question from my new point of view. Who are “the least of these my brothers and sisters?”

Isn’t it anyone that the Lord chooses to have my day intersect with? Someone who has a need I can meet?

Relief settles over me, wrapping me in the warmth and pleasantness akin to that of a fuzzy blanket on a chilly day. It sounds like every person I cross paths with has the potential to be Jesus. I do not need to seek Him out; He will come to me.

My job is to live each day with intention, keeping my heart soft and my hands willing to serve.

If Jesus has been visiting my life, chances are he is showing up in yours too. Take a moment and ask Him to reveal his visits with you.

Like me, you may gain a new anticipation for interruptions, inconveniences, and difficult situations, because Jesus is probably there, asking you to care for His needs.