I Met A Friend of Jesus

'I Met a Friend of Jesus'

I met a friend of Jesus last night. The man was thin, and short, with a mustache almost as big as him. Unkempt, he did not seem to have had a bath lately, someone I would normally steer clear of had I met him anywhere else. Throughout our time shared, we began talking about subjects close to my heart, and the reason my daughter and I were there.

We were at a tattoo parlor. I was giving consent for my daughter to get a tattoo in memory of her uncle, my brother-in-law, who had recently passed away after a battle with cancer. He lived with us those last treasured months, we each spent many hours sitting on the couch, talking about God, faith, spirituality. My daughter and I were there to get similar tattoos in his memory, but the night took a different turn, and I am blessed to have experienced, and now share, the night I met a friend of Jesus.

The parlor we were at was run by a husband and wife team, and the wife prepared to work on my daughter. There was only space to serve one person at a time, it was at that time small talk began as I waited my turn.

The man began talking about the state of the world today, how most don't know God, or being proud to be an American, standing up for beliefs, he wasn't aggressive, just very insistent about his views, most of which I agreed. As he gently spoke the words so true to his heart, he pulled out a 12 string guitar. This man was a Veteran and the guitar had belonged to his brother in arms. His brother did not make it home. When my new friend returned home from service, the father of his brother insisted he keep his son's guitar. It was painful for the father to see, when he had heard hours of beautiful music played by his son from that guitar. He wanted the brother of his son to have something meaningful to remember him by, other than the nightmares. As he told me this story, he softly picked on that beautiful instrument almost like a lullaby, and my thoughts went inward as I relaxed.

I was on recoil, another fight with my husband had brought me here. Agreeing - finally - to my daughter's tattoo request. My own form of rebellion being released. All the things I know, seemingly everything that I love, my life, slipping through my hands, unable to prevent the ultimate result at the hands of a man who no longer cared. As the thoughts flowed through my tortured heart, tears ran down my face, the moment made memorable by the notes coming from across the room.

He sang about heroes, sang of Korea, Vietnam, of duty and of service to our land. Honored friends he had lost, and people he had loved. My brother in law was a hero in so many ways. Not only devoting his career to our country, but continuing after retirement, and was always a symbol of valor and honor to our family. It was his death my daughter and I mourned and this man accompanied our story with the most beautiful sounds that were a perfect complement to the web of stories flowing through the room, and in each of our torchered hearts. The guitar was a choir from Heaven, each string played in perfect harmony. It was impossible to not feel a heavenly presence, a calming hand, and feel a taste of the sweet beauty of Heaven. All from this 12 string guitar.

It was hard to stop the flow of tears once they had begun. He continued to pick the strings in perfect harmony of each of our thoughts as the talking faded and our ghosts bringing silence to our voices. The only sound was the guitar, and it seemed the guitar played the rhythm of stories deep in our hearts. I heard the story of the terrifying events of the man and his brother. I heard so many more stories, with only music, from a 12 string guitar and a man deeply marked by his brother and God's hand. That man was a friend of Jesus. Only God knew what I needed to hear and I heard His love and care through the sounds. It had nothing to do with the man that sent me on a mission of rebellion. It had nothing to do with loving someone who no longer loved me. It had everything to do with the beauty of life, of hearing the music in your soul, of feeling God's hand when you are at your weakest and did not know you needed it. It was about strength, knowing He is the strength that will hold you up against any adversary that dare to attack you.

I met a friend of Jesus last night.