Jesus Loves Me, This I Know

It was just a box. A small blue box. The soldier handing it to me had just returned from eighteen months in Afghanistan. At twenty-four, he still had the face of a boy, but the weariness showed in his eyes.

I met Nathan between deployments, while he was at Fort Campbell recovering from injuries caused by a roadside bomb. He had survived the blast, while others who were with him didn’t. He showed up at a dinner our church hosted for the military, and kept coming back. Based on the extent of his injuries, I thought his days in battle were over. But instead, the army gave him time to recover and sent him back.

During his next deployment to Afghanistan, I stayed in touch with him through email. He is the age of my stepson, and I developed a soft spot for this young man who loved God and his country with such a passion. I took every opportunity to say thank you, especially on the holidays.

I don’t know what he went through during that deployment. I know he was wounded again, not once, but twice. I know he had to make some hard choices, the kind of decisions that stay with you long after your tour of duty is over and you’ve returned home.

After Nathan got back from Afghanistan, he brought the small box with him to church. He handed it to me, and I took it, not knowing what was inside. When I opened the hinged lid, I saw a medal suspended from a red, white, and blue ribbon. It was a Bronze Star, which is given to honor bravery in battle.

I thanked him for showing it to me, closed the lid, and handed it back to him. He wouldn’t take it. It was for me, he said. He wanted me to have it.

I tried very hard to make him understand that I couldn’t keep the medal. I didn’t deserve such a precious gift. I hadn’t fought for it. I hadn’t made the sacrifices he had made. He had earned it, not me.

Nathan wouldn’t take no for an answer, and I finally relented. His Bronze Star sits in a place of honor in my home. Since Nathan left two weeks ago for another tour of duty in Afghanistan, the medal reminds me to pray for him.

Nathan’s Bronze Star has become more than a symbol of patriotism and sacrifice. It has unlocked a door that for years has kept me from accepting God’s love.

I was saved when I was five years old. I know that’s young. I don’t remember the sermon that was preached that Sunday night, but I know that whatever it was, God used it to change my heart. I walked out of the church almost in a daze, too emotional to speak. My parents joined me, and then the pastor, convinced that someone had said or done something to hurt me. At five, I didn’t even have the vocabulary to explain what I was feeling. I finally managed to choke out, “I just love Jesus.”

As a child, my faith was unwavering. I knew that God loved me, no question about it, and I trusted him to be there in all situations. But life happens. My father died. My mother married someone who became abusive. Over time, I started to see myself as someone who wasn’t very high on God’s priority list.

So here I was, a woman who desperately needed to feel God’s love. I didn’t doubt it was there, but I couldn’t get past my unworthiness and just accept it. So I worked for it. Need a teacher for Sunday school? I’ll do it. Looking for an assistant director for the Christmas program? Sign me up. Need someone to serve meals for 100 people every Friday night? I’ll be there.

I couldn’t say no. I just kept waiting for that one act of service that would impress God enough to love me.

After I received the medal from Nathan, I finally started realizing the difference between getting and receiving. Getting means you have to work for something to earn it. Getting involves effort on my part, effort that may or may not be enough.

Receiving is just that — receiving. There’s no work or argument. There’s no worrying that whatever it is I’ve received will be taken away, based on something I may or may not do.

I hadn’t earned that Bronze Star. But I hadn’t earned God’s love, either. That’s the amazing thing about God’s love. God gives it for free. Jesus did the suffering. He made the sacrifice. All I had to do — all any of us have to do — is to receive it. God loves us, just because he created us. I could argue with him until the end of time, but it wouldn’t take away his love.

That’s taking a while to process. I’ve been struggling to earn something I already have.

Over the holidays the Sunday school class I teach planned a surprise Christmas party for me and my husband. At first the old feelings of being unworthy crept in. I should have done this for them, not the other way around.

But then I made the decision to just receive what they were giving me. I opened gifts. I ate too much, and I enjoyed myself. It was then that I noticed something interesting on the faces of the class members: They were filled with joy. My receiving made them happy. Can’t you just picture God’s joy when we accept his love and finally start seeing ourselves as he sees us?

I am loved. When I’m afraid, I am loved. When I have doubts, I am loved. When troubled times roll in, and I don’t know when they’ll end, I don’t have to handle things all on my own. I am loved, and that’s enough.