Sometimes I make Jesus seem so small. I always forget how big he really is, he fits perfectly inside my heart but I forget that he is so much more than I make him out to be.
Without knowing it, I put him in a little carton and save him for when I need him most… little does my dense brain know that I need him always.
This happens subconsciously but Jesus sees it and then creates something to show my unsteady self just how enormous he really is.
Mountains are what he makes for me.
I immediately see Jesus when I look at mountains and last week, when we visited Cusco, I looked out at the mountains and instantly realized the huge mistake I had been making.
My God cannot be put in a box.
As I looked out at the massive mountains towering over me, I realized one truth. This truth I seem to learn over and over again because I forget it so often. This truth is tattooed on my arm but slips my brain time and time again. This truth has been taught to me from the time I started attending Sunday school but I can’t seem to get a grasp on it.
Jesus is bigger than my fears, than my doubts, than my past, than my future, than everything and anything I will ever face on this earth. He is greater than I am, ever have been and ever will be.
Knowing this truth, who am I to put Jesus in a box? That’s impossible. Who am I to think I can do life without him? That’s out of the question. Who am I to forget? That’s absurd.
In Cusco, I was standing in front of a horizon full of huge, gorgeous mountains. Those mountains struck me speechless, all I could think was how my Jesus could move those mountains, how he created those mountains, how enormous he is and how microscopic I am.
I never want to forget that feeling. I never want to forget again how tiny I am because when I start to believe I’m big, I try to squeeze Jesus into a box and I forget how much I desperately need him.
Make me small, Jesus.