I didn’t find Jesus in the pages of a Beth Moore Bible study.
I didn’t find him in the countless hours I spent trying to really believe in everything I said I believed in.
I didn’t find him in the two ministry degrees from my Baptist university on the hill.

I found him when I walked away from him.
I found him when everything I had known was stripped away and shattered beneath me at my feet.

And I found him to be nothing like I thought he would be.

After my parents’ divorce, I never really felt settled. I always felt like I was in the way or I was a burden to someone. I was hurting and angry but didn’t want anyone to know, so I tried to hide it. I probably over compensated for it in to some degree — being this super effervescent grouch. I was a walking dichotomy. I wasn’t very good at hiding it, because I remember being very grouchy for a long, long time. This really popular kid in 8th grade called me “Negative Nancy” one time. . .and I was. I’m sure I was mean, too, because that’s typically what scared or hurting people do. They get mean.
I wanted desperately to protect the scared, lonely 8-year-old girl inside me, so I built a hard shell around her.

My head knew all the things to say. I could fake a relationship with Jesus better than anyone I knew. I didn’t fake it because I didn’t believe it. I faked it because I wanted to believe it, but couldn’t. It didn’t make sense to me. None of it did. How in the world could anyone love what I thought was so grossly unloveable? How could someone not only love me deeply, but love me just because I was me. Not because of anything I did or said or didn’t do or didn’t say.

I thought that if I practiced it long enough, I would eventually start to believe it. But I didn’t. I kept pretending, though, and the more I pretended, the wider the chasm inside me grew. On one side, there was the side that knew the right answers but felt nothing. On the other side was the 8-year-old girl desperately longing for a place at the table to belong.

I would tell children that God loved them just because they existed and internally say, “Yeah, but not you, Emilee. Just everyone else.”
I could tell you that through Jesus, God looks on me as holy, righteous, and redeemed, but still felt like I wasn’t good enough.

On the outside, I was a twenty-something whose faith in Jesus was completely unshakeable. On the inside, I was a scared 8-year-old girl who was just looking to belong. I made her carry that mask for far too long. She was pretty strong, though, in spite of everything. Eventually though, it proved too heavy for her and she let it fall. She didn’t want to pretend anymore, so she decided to walk away.

Only then, in the mess and the muck, was Jesus able to finally walk in and scoop her up to take her to her place at the table. Only then, when the realness of my heart was left completely exposed, was Jesus free to be who he’s always been.

The Jesus I found didn’t sound anything like the one I’d heard about. Well, some parts were the same, but mostly, the Jesus I would grow to love was diametrically opposed to the one I thought I knew.

The Jesus I found felt like the spark of connection between new friends. Like the first hug after a long trip from someone you haven’t seen in a long time. He felt like the silence between two people when one of them is hurting and there are no adequate words to say. He felt like laughter, and like music, and a perfectly blue sky in spring. He felt like the friend who says, “I love you and am happy to share in your journey with you”. He felt like cool sand on bare feet. He felt like hopeful anticipation of new things and the comfortable presence of the familiar all in one.

This Jesus was the one I’d been searching for in all the wrong places. He’s the Jesus that gives a grace that is free and a love that disciplines, guides and is completely unearned.

I have been seized by the power of a great affection. — Brennan Manning. 
Peace be the journey.