Thirteen years ago, I found Jesus with my brother in the middle of an alter call at a youth group. I was reminded a couple of weeks ago at our junior high youth group just how much Heaven rejoices when a lost soul finds its way back home. How the angels must roar in triumph, how the King must pump His fists in the air with tears streaming down His face. How He must have wanted to wrap me up in His arms in that moment.
We are on day three of the Olympic games in Rio, and I am obsessed. I’ve spent most of the past weekend with my eyes on the television, watching these incredible humans make history. The thrill of competition makes my adrenaline skyrocket. Although, it’s easy to watch when the country I live in wins so many metals and has the most athletes competing.
When we win, my first reaction is to jump off the couch. I restrain myself because my husband isn’t nearly as enthusiastic as I am. But it’s so good. I love a good world record. Hearing the crowds roar. Watching the faces of gold medalists as they realize they are the best in the world. It gets me every time. I’ve watched the Olympics every year since I can remember.
This morning, I tried to do yoga (which was hard, getting up before my kids feels like torture, if I’m being honest), but my body was not awake. I felt sore from sleeping, and that made me feel old. I won’t ever be an Olympian. I’ll never have a crowd of tens of thousands cheering for me on this earth, because I’ll never be the best in the world. I’m okay with that. I don’t need that recognition.
Thirteen years ago, I made the heavens lose their cool. I made them rejoice louder than I can imagine. I made my King shout with joy, because I had found Him. Louder than the Olympics. Louder than I can comprehend. Every soul brings that sort of party.
I have stuff I’ve got to do today, I’ve got frustrations on the forefront of my brain that won’t seem to quit. The King of kings is cheering me on. He loves to watch me just be myself, because that’s more than enough for Him. He loves to see me turn my eyes to Him. I don’t have to make everything happen, but I’ve got to keep my eyes on Him. And remember how the heavens rejoice over me because I’m on their team. There are angels up there giving me thumbs up, and looks of “You can do this.” I can. Maybe not in Olympian-type fashion. But in Janelle-getting-things-done fashion.
This feels ramble-y, and I’m just talking to talk, but I can’t get it out of my head: the vision of God so proud, so loud and excited because I am His. He loves me. He is proud to call me His. Better than any gold medal, I think.