I have a story teller in my crowd. He commands attention with a loud "hey guys!!" And they all turn to listen. 

Huge hand gestures. Bright eyes. Faces that match the emotions. Scenes acted out. And laughter ensues. There's nothing like a good story. Stories make memories. Stories move hearts.  

Sometimes when I'm cuddling my babes, I whisper big things in their ears. I tell them what I'm praying for them. I call out God in their little lives, in hopes they too can see that He loves them and has a plan for them. I whisper in the story teller's ear that I just know one day he will be a God story teller. He smiles big and nods his head.  


This morning I asked the kids what they wanted to thank God for. It's time to put leaves on our thankful tree. His little scratchy morning voice said "I want to thank God that Jesus touched sick people." His eyes sparkled. He wanted to learn a God story, so he's been practicing. He's so excited to tell about when Jesus healed a lady that had been sick for years on his way to raise a little girl from the dead. 

"Jesus touched sick people." I think his little heart gets it. Oh! I pray one day he fully understands.  


Jesus was never scared of the sick, the broken, the cheaters, the liars, the scared, the crippled, the prideful. Those were his companions. He wasn't scared of them. He didn't think they weren't good enough for him. He didn't snub them and say he didn't have time. 

Jesus clearly didn't keep company with the perfect. So why do we sometimes think that's the case now? He hasn't changed. 

I'm so glad he still touches sick people. I don't have to have my act together before I can come to him. I'm glad he reaches down and heals my broken heart. He heals my sickness. He cares when I'm broken. He knows when I cry. This floods my heart with hope. 

Jesus touches sick people. I'm glad too, little buddy.