I see Jesus mostly in people. I think that's my favourite way he shows himself to me. I think this on the way to Florida today, the twenty hour drive that stretches on and on, the West Virginian hills encompassing, the Georgian heat sticky and sweet like the peaches it's famous for. I think of this in between fitful minutes of sleep and neck kinks, while I balance crappy gas station coffee on my leg and stare at the palm trees that quickly reach my view.
I think of the people I've seen Jesus in this summer: always in my dear friend Sarah, and in sweet Tat, hilarious Danielle, and beautiful Joy -- all of who have Jesus gathered so deeply inside of them that in everything they do he surges out. I watch their actions, hear their words, and I can't help thanking God because they keep showing me Jesus. I need those people tucked into every corner of my life.
I think of the kids I've met throughout the nine weeks of camp, the sixteen year old girl I can't stop thinking of, and the kid from last week who told me I was the first person to ever call her smart. It was in those moments, no matter the difficulty or weightiness that pressed in like a fist on my soul, but those were the moments where God was most clear to me.
I see Jesus in people. I see him in ocean blue eyes that aren't sure what they believe, and stories that I've been told this summer: ones strung with hurt and pain and hope. The stories that keep making me cry. Every time I've cried I've thought, "Yeah, Jesus, I know you're here. I know you're crying too."
I saw him in the little love who whispered to me that she could never be adopted. I think Jesus' tears were running down my cheeks that night. I told her she was brave. I told her Jesus loved her. I begged Jesus deep inside of my brain to heal her brokenness, to recreate her as whole.
Time and time again these past three months I've seen Jesus in people.
And this is what I can't quit praying: I hope they see Jesus in me.