“We love because he first loved us.” 1 John 4:19 CSB

A booth at a coffee shop. A moment alone, tapping away at my laptop. But doom impends… I’m meeting a few people in a minute, and I’m always nervous how I’ll be received. Will I say something weird? Will I join them at their table too soon? And do I walk weird? I think maybe I walk weird …

I shake my head at myself: good heavens, why am I so afraid of their opinion? Why does it feel like my validity rests on my perception of these lovely people’s perception of my perception of someone’s perception … arghh!!

I just need to be anchored! I just need to know that I’m ok before I put myself out there. And then I notice the empty seat across the table, in my safe booth. I take a deep breath, and I invite Jesus to sit with me before I venture out. What would he be doing right now, as I spiral into a puddle of self-doubt?

What does he do? Well, it was Jesus who slept in the boat during the storm. And when his terrified disciples woke him up, it was as if he said, “If I’m not worried, you don’t have to be worried.” Jesus sees me in my storm, understanding that this is scary for me, but it’s as if he says to me, “I’m not worried. You don’t need to be worried.” He is my anchor. His unbothered positive regard toward me makes me unclench, breathe, stretch and look at him.

I know that he welcomes me, like he welcomed the little children. Heaven belongs to me; love belongs to me; belonging itself belongs to me. Right here, in my booth in the coffee shop, I am in the very center of Jesus’ heart. I’m ok.

I thank him, ask for his blessing, and slide out to meet my people. People who are also welcomed by Jesus individually. Their well-being doesn’t depend on me, nor mine on them. What freedom we have to welcome each other in Jesus’ name!

Grace is incarnate in this moment of welcome, which I don’t muster out of myself. At Signpost Inn, we say “The welcome is enough!” I can be the welcome because I have received the welcome.

P.S. I’ve written this in a light tone about a very light situation, but the principle and pattern holds for every moment of fear. When I invite Jesus to sit with me, I am bringing him into my storm, clinging to him and anchoring my whole self in his words of strength and certainty. From there, I can face the truly frightening things in the world without looking for stability in anything less permanent than the inexorable love of God.

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