The One Who Calls Me Higher

When I was seven,

I knew Jesus without effort.

Not with beliefs I could defend,

not with words I had learned ...

but with the simple knowing

that He was kind,

and that kindness felt like home.

It was easy then.

Uncomplicated.

Like reaching for a hand

and finding it ... warm, steady.

But life grew heavier.

Noise crowded in.

Disappointments reshaped my world,

and certainty thinned like mist in the sun.

Somewhere along the way, I fell back;

turned less to my faith in His kindness, more towards confusion.

Not because He ever left,

but because I lost the bravery to keep climbing toward Him.

And yet, here I am again.

Older.

Softer in some places.

More guarded in others.

Seeking that familiar pull.

It surprises me that what draws me back is not correction,

not fear, not the tally of my failings ...

but the same steady kindness

I recognized as a child.

Only now I see more clearly:

His kindness is not passive.

It carries a yearning inside it.

A holy ache that I would rise,

that I would stretch beyond survival,

that I would learn from Him

how to live at the full height of my soul.

He is gentle ... yes ... but He is also calling me upward.

Out of smallness.

Out of fear.

Out of the ways I have learned to live half-alive.

“Come,” He seems to say,

not as a command,

but as an invitation filled with hope.

“Let Me show you who you can become.”

And suddenly, I remember again ...

this is the Jesus I knew at seven:

the face of God’s kindness,

offering me the quiet courage to grow.

The One who does not shame my falling short,

but still believes in my becoming.

All along, He has been watching for the moment

I would reach up again.

So I do.

Not perfectly. Not fully formed. But willing.

Determined to follow.

Drawn by kindness.

Lifted by hope.

Learning, again,

how to live toward the pinnacle He has always seen in me.