I Can't Talk About Jesus

4 seconds.

That's about how long it takes.

That, or about 5 words.

Before the dry mouth, cracking voice, lip quivering effect kicks in.

It's challenging, being a teacher & talker, trying to share testimony when this is the result.
Every.Single.Time.

I can teach classes, join discussions, (sometimes) lead prayers. 

But you ask me about my Savior
And all of that
Changes.

What is it about this man?
That captivates me so deeply to my core that every cell in my body becomes seemingly unable to function when I'm called to share my story...
My Love Story...

There are certain friends about whom I cannot speak without tears.  And there are reasons.  Deep, powerful, life-altering reasons.  These friends, men and women, from different walks of life and pages in my story, stepped up in outstanding and unexpected ways thus etching themselves permanently into the fibers of my heart.  No matter fluctuating circumstances or spanning time, these souls are intertwined with mine for eternity.  You know those friends.  You have them too.

Along those lines yet much, much deeper, is this Man.
Whose eyes, which I've never seen, penetrate into my soul, seeing me for me and loving me just the same.
Whose smile is what I long to see when at last I am with Him.
Whose hands and arms cradled children, wiped grime from blind eyes, sketched in dirt, summoned sinners from trees, broke bread with the outcast, cleansed the road from the feet of his students...
Willingly outstretched, allowing iron to crush him into a tree.
This man who went, willingly, to the stake.
This man who loved the broken.
This man who worshiped the Father.
This man who prayed forgiveness, mercy, on those 
Who had called for his execution
Who had turned their backs
Their eyes
Their hearts

As he died.

For them.
For me.

This man is the same One
Who caught me when I fell.
Held each tear as they fell like rain and at intervals still fall.
Sat with me through the darkest of nights, the gravest of pain, praying for me when I lacked words or strength for utterance.

Whether it is a song on a worship-ful Sunday morning, echoing in my mind, reminding me of the utter amazement of His attention.
Or the flutter of the wind in the grasses as the birds greet me by dawn on the sacred porch I call home.
Or the brother, sitting at the communion table, asking about my free flowing tears as the congregation around me sings "...near to the heart of God..."

It is emotion I cannot contain.
Let the tears flow...