I feel like a child, reaching for His hand, urging Him to follow me.
“Come on, Jesus! I need You to help me.
I know that You can fix this if You can just get here.
Please, Jesus! I’m begging you to hurry!”
And then the moment passes.
The unthinkable happens, and I sink to the ground in despair.
It’s too late—He was too late.
I think of Mary and Martha, whose brother died while they were waiting for Jesus to come. Mary, who stayed home instead of greeting Him when He finally arrived. You’re too late now, Jesus. What’s the point?
I think of Jairus, whose daughter died before Jesus made it to the scene. Jairus, who had to watch as Jesus stopped to heal the woman with the issue of blood while his daughter lay dying. You’re too late now, Jesus. You stopped and gave someone else their miracle, but what about mine?
Head down and heart broken, I can’t help but wonder why Jesus didn’t show up. If He had only been here, maybe things would have been different.
But then I feel a tug on my hand, and gentle words follow:
“Come on, child, get back up.
Don’t lose faith now—I need you to trust Me.
Just a little further now. We are almost there.”
When I desperately want a specific answer, or a certain outcome, I always find myself tugging on Jesus’ hand. But when things come together for His glory, it’s often at the expense of my own, and Jesus is the One pulling on me. Asking me to trust Him through the disappointment, push through the heartache, and keep walking in His truth.
So I stand back up. I fight against what the world is telling me—there is no such thing as, “too late,” when it comes to my Savior—and I take a step forward.
Again, I think of Mary, and Martha, and Jairus.
And I remember that when Jesus didn’t perform a healing,
it was because He was preparing for a resurrection.
“Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?”
— John 11:40