Why Jesus Wants To Be With Us All The Time
I stared in the mirror at the frothy white foam clinging to my lips.
What’s so special about this? I thought to myself, spitting out the minty toothpaste and washing it down the sink. I peered around me. In this very rare occasion, I was alone. Standing in the quiet. Brushing my teeth. There’s nothing exciting about this, and yet, Jesus promises He’s here with me. Every moment. Always. But why on earth would He want to be here with me right now?
I shook my head, answerless, and wiped my face with a towel, flipping the lights off as I left the room, and then collapsed in bed beside my husband.
The following day, I took my son to gymnastics. Just me and him. A Mommy Son date, as he likes to call it.
With the confidence of a young man but the strength of a little boy, he tugged and yanked and pulled the door open with all his might, and then ushered me through.
“Here you go,” he said, nearly out of breath.
“How very helpful! Thank you, sir.” I sailed through, smiling at him as he held the door with the entirety of his body weight.
He followed me inside, slipping his tiny hand into mine. “I like being with you, Mommy.”
I playfully squeezed his hand in return. “I like being with you, too, sweet boy.”
As usual, we were a few minutes late, so he quickly slipped off his wintery layers, socks, and shoes, stuffed everything into a cubby, and bolted into the gym. And, as usual, I stayed behind in the viewing area, watching as he leapt with glee toward his classmates.
During the hour my son is in gymnastics, I stand by myself in the viewing area. There’s no one calling for my attention. No hungry mouths begging for snacks. No diapers to change. There’s just me. Standing in the viewing area. By myself. I could do anything I wanted. I could sit on the bleachers and read a book or scroll mindlessly through my phone. I could catch up on emails or call a friend. Heck, I could leave all together and go do something productive like grocery shop without four little kids running in four different directions.
But I don’t.
I stay and I watch.
I watch as my son bounces straight up and down on the trampoline 427402 times in a row. I watch when he climbs the matted steps to the parallel bars, which I know to be his favorite part of gymnastics. (The steps, that is. Not the bars). I even keep my eyes fixed on him as he patiently sits in one spot waiting for his turn.
What’s so special about this? The question echoes in my mind from the night before. There’s nothing exciting about watching little kids jump one inch off the floor over and over. So why on earth do I want to be here right now? Why do I feel like I can’t take my eyes off him?
And then, he does it.
He looks over at me and smiles.
In that moment—the half-second it took for our eyes to lock—all my questions are answered.
I stay, my eyes fixed on my son, because on the off chance he glances my way (which he does less and less as he gets comfortable in class), I want to make sure he finds me. I want him to know he’s in my spotlight. I want him to know he’s the most important thing in the world to me.
The same is true with Jesus.
He stays, His eyes fixed on us, because on the off chance we glance His way (which we do less and less as we get comfortable in the world), He wants to make sure we find Him. He wants us to know we’re in His spotlight. He wants us to know we’re the most important thing in the world to Him.
On the daily, we slip our hand from His, bolting into our lives, attacking our schedules and the all-too-menial tasks that are set before us.
The breakfast routine. The getting kids to school or perhaps even teaching them yourself.
The emails. The phone calls. The meetings.
The dishes. The laundry. The lunches, snacks, and dinners.
Heck, even the brushing of your teeth at the end of the night.
Jesus is right there. Every moment. Always.
All because there’s an off chance you might glance His way—a chance He might get to lock eyes with you—and that is the most exhilarating thing in the world.