My mark. The mark that I leave will not be my own, because when people see the mark I have left, they will see Jesus and not me. If that is not what they see, then I haven’t accomplished anything.
My Lord and my God hung out with the low-lifes and the sinners, the adulteresses and the lame, the sick, and the people everyone else hated. I want to be a friend to the friendless. Everyone wants to be friends with the popular people, but they have so many friends, and so many others have none. Jesus said in Luke 5:31 that it is not the healthy that need a doctor, but the sick. If Jesus can touch just one person’s life through me, then I have succeeded. I know of so many people in this school who suffer everyday alone, without a friend to talk to or lean upon. Some have been hurt. Scars lie upon their hearts. Friends have foolishly broken their trust. And what do I usually do about it? Nothing. I just stand off to the side like a coward, and watch these suffering souls as they cry out in desperate agony.
I know of a boy who wanted to die. He thought people would appreciate him more if he was dead. This boy and I are now very good friends, and that is because Jesus touched his life. There were rough patches for sure, but it was all worth it so he could know the love of God. This is my passion. God has placed a deep hurt in my heart for people in emotional pain. Just by saying a compliment to the new girl in the hallway, sitting at lunch with the kid who is too smart for everyone’s liking, or texting a hurting friend could make a difference in their day. Maybe even their life. I want to care for others more than I care for myself. That’s what God calls us to do. He calls us to love. And not just to love the lovable people; but the unlovable people as well. This is what I strive for. If God loves me in spite of my faults, and if He calls us to love, then shouldn’t I love everyone else as well?
Now all of these things are easier said than done. It takes courage to go against the norm. God-given courage. There is a poem that I wrote where a boy displays this courage.
The Line
For years there has been this line dividing the land.
Fear. We are in fear of crossing. Crossing the line. Crossing not just with our legs, but
with our hearts, minds, and souls. Fear of being different. Fear of not being like
everyone else. Fear of standing out. Fear of losing normality.
What is normal? Is normal doing what everyone else does? Is what everyone else does
normal? Is there even such a thing as normal? Why do we all want to be alike, when
we all were made so differently?
The fear is greater still. The fear of getting laughed at is so great, that we go out of our
way to be "normal." Who decides what normal is? Why are we so afraid? Do we care
what people think about us so much, that we will destroy our uniqueness?
The World. It is full of sin, hatred, and people who strive their whole lives only to earn
what will not last. Being normal. Is it worth the work? It's like working your whole life
for an ice cream cone that will melt as soon as the clouds go away, and the Son returns.
One day, everyone stood at the line. Kids were making it a joke, saying, "Hey, who
wants to cross the line? I sure don't. We have much more fun over here. Anyone who
crosses the line is a loser. Everyone knows that."
The kids laughed at the joke. I laughed, not because it was funny, but because
everyone else laughed at it. I was caught up in the normality as well. My best friend
was sitting beside me. I immediately stopped laughing when I saw his face. He had a
unusually determined look. I heard him whisper, "Lord, give me the strength," under his
breath. He then took his arms, and began to pulI himself across the ground. All the
joking and talking ceased as everyone watched him drag his limp body across that line.
No one could believe that he crossed it. Not one person had crossed that line in years.
You could hardly tell that the line was there anymore, for it had been overgrown with
weeds, thorn bushes, and trash.
I was suddenly overwhelmed with emotions of all kinds. I didn't know what to think. I
was so proud to be the friend of someone who had the guts to cross that line. But at the
same time, I was humbled to my knees. Why hadn't I crossed the line with him? Why is
it that all of us healthy people were to afraid to cross, and someone who couldn't even
walk, had more strength?
While I was kneeling on the ground, in tears, everyone else had burst out in laughter,
thinking that this was some kind of joke. I was infuriated. How could they do this?
It was at that point that I looked across the line. I saw my friend on the other side flash
me one of his famous smiles. I closed my eyes, took one step, and before I knew it, I
had crossed that line as well. The word normal no longer existed in my vocabulary.
I want to do exactly what the boy in this poem did. I want to cross over the line of normality and be unique. I want to be my own person, set my own goals, have my own opinion. And most of all, I want to go against the status quo that popularity is all that matters. Some people say that you can judge a person by how many friends they have. Well, I disagree. Somebody might be the most incredible person you would ever meet, but people never find that out because they are too quick to judge. I am one of those people.
Jesus judges a person by their heart, not their looks. It says so in 1 Samuel 16:7.
If Jesus can use me to touch the heart and souls of others, then so be it. So, as you see, it will be HIS mark that is left, not mine. For I am just His servant.
- Mallory
