The daisy field was shimmering on this day, the sunlight dancing and stopping here and there to kiss the daisies. The little girl wanted to stop and kiss them too because they told the story, “He loves me, He loves me, He loves me!” Such a different story than what she had heard: He loves me, He loves me not. She frowned. What if that was true? That Jesus loved her when she was good but not when she was bad. Or that it really was a toss up, depending on how many petals or how many chances one used up.
She skipped along the path to the clearing, letting these doubting thoughts fall behind her. She could see that Jesus was in the clearing waiting for her.
He warmly welcomed her with a hug and then pulled on her arms to sit down on the ground facing Him. At first it was lovely. Their knees were touching each other and His smile warmed her little heart.
He took her hands into His. All of a sudden, she wasn’t a little girl anymore. She was a woman. It felt too intimate to have her knees touching God’s knees. But He held her hands firmly, waited for her to lift her eyes up to His and said the most astounding thing. “You have beautiful hands.” She squirmed inside. He went further, “These hands do beautiful work.” The words melted the stiffness that always accompanied any mention of work. She could feel the roughness of His hands underneath hers. Her hands felt wonderfully swallowed up in His.
She tried to stay there; she really did. She knew that this was intimacy, the intimacy that she craved with Jesus. Intimacy that would help her grasp a little more that He thought wonderful things about her – even the things that others criticized or were jealous of. But the purity and truth of His love scared her. She didn’t know what to do with it.
“I have to go, Lord,” she said apologetically.
He didn’t say anything, He let her go freely.
As fast as she wanted to get away from the love, she wept because she couldn’t stay.
Photo by Casey Murphy - Unsplash