If Jesus were a guest

What happens when I invite Him inside

“Come on in,” I gesture Jesus inside. I hope he’s impressed by the dovetail white walls— I painted them just for Him. It's different than an eggshell white, surely. I figured He’s the type to enjoy those kinds of subtleties.

My freckled face is a smiling facade. I’m worried about what he’ll think of the creaking floorboards or the fact there are still dust bunnies on the countertops. Or worse, the secret I’ve been keeping.

I keep hoping, praying He won’t notice.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” I say shutting the door behind us.

“English tea please, two sugars,” says Jesus, settling Himself into an armchair.

Once Jesus and I are both sitting with our tea, there’s a silence. He looks expectantly at me but I’m not sure what we’re supposed to be talking about.

He then looks up at my living room wall. By the window, I’ve framed several pictures of varying wildflowers. They’re where I long to be—in a field lying by green pastures and still waters. I’ve spent years trying to get there, but for some reason, I’d always end up in a graveyard of dry bones.

“These walls…they’re cracked,” He says, sipping his tea.

“Ah yes, my apologies,” I tell Him. “I just painted the walls a few days ago, I knew you’d be arriving.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that for me,” Jesus continues.

“And the wildflower field…why aren’t you lying there?”

Now I’m wondering how this conversation got so personal so quickly. I gulp down my tea as it scalds my tongue.

Jesus sets his tea down, stands up, and walks toward the gallery wall. He leans against it with his gentle, blood-soaked hands.

“No—don’t!” I jump up to stop him, but it’s too late.

The wall shatters. Suddenly there are rats everywhere—in the drywall, in the cupboards, squeezing themselves up from the kitchen sink.

The more He pressed in the more He found. More Rats. More mold. More gnawing termites. Layers upon layers of infestation.

I look down and rats are clawing at my feet, termites crawling up my leg. I shake them off but they only seem to be multiplying. I’m about to give in to the swarm when I hear a voice call out among the noise —

“Peace, be still.”

The chaos ceased. There was a great calm. But I’m still shuddering, inexplicably. He lifts me from the dead carcasses of rats and insects. He wipes them all away, including my tears.

“This is for you,” He says, covering me with a white robe. Then, with all the warmth and tenderness of Christ, He grabs my hand and leads me out the door.