Chasing Jesus

Much of life is understood only in retrospect. Experience and wisdom filter perspective through film reels of memory, throwing shadows on doubt and illuminating the facts.

So it is that I settle back into the South and find Jesus at every turn. He's in modern, comical paintings. He's on the church signs on every corner. He's in the heart of every friend. And I find that wherever He is, I am home.

When you live long enough with a funky valve and hole in the heart, you get used to it. The absence of Christ or anything clearly Christ-like in Vermont was haunting - just as the trickery of cardiology. I adapted as best I could, but life continued, much like the misguided blood that passes through my faulty valve, catching my breath with each skipped beat.

It is only with the gift of time that I realize Christ was never missing, per se. I knew he was always nestled in my psyche. But I know now that my friends, believers or not, WERE Christ. They embodied the best of Him: love, forgiveness, friendship, compassion, humility, charisma, generosity.

Perhaps the friendships that don't require ancient script as explanation are some of the best. If you should find yourself surrounded by friends whose very character resembles that of Christ, regardless of their reason or season, then count your blessings.

They will make you richer than any security blanket of employment or wealth. And they will save you and keep you afloat as you drift away farther from an altar of faith.

With gratitude for my little family in Vermont,

The Megster