tender

This summer, I have been in the habit of saying "tender" a lot. Ask my co-counselor, Gail, and she'll tell you it was probably my most commonly-used word of term four. It is very fitting at K1 in nearly all the moments- at the swim meet while Gail and Alex consoled nervous campers, in Bible class as a girl passionately explained that her cracked-open Crayola paint holder was a safer habitat for a roly-poly which would no doubt be trampled if left in the wild, during tuck-ins as girls confided their prayer requests, and during the day when a cabin two cutie would stick her fingers up in the air to test if I could really see without my glasses (50/50 on that one). "Tender"ness is not hard to come by at K1, or any Kanakuk Kamp (though it is sometimes harder to find at the Kamps with moody teenagers).

Tenderness (n.): Gentleness and kindness

One of Jesus's main, most beautiful attributes is His tenderness, but it can be deceptively hard to see. Hard because we limit Him to a being that is so far above us that He just ordains our life but does not interfere in it. Hard because we are blessedly burdened with His glorious power, greatness, and omniscience and cannot somehow reconcile these traits with 'gentleness and kindness"- especially gentleness.

 The penultimate chapter of John's Gospel holds a story that I have learned to be tender: "Doubting Thomas", as contemporary Christianity has dubbed it.

Thomas was one of Jesus' twelve disciples. He followed Jesus around for three years; if people had seen Jesus, they had probably seen Thomas. Thomas had seen Jesus in his best and worst moments and trusted him wholeheartedly. He had seen Him mourn His best friend, Lazarus, and raise him from the dead not long after. He knew Jesus and walked faithfully with Him.

He had also walked with eleven other disciples for three years. He knew them really well, too. He had probably done his fair share of laughing at Peter, rolling his eyes at James and John, and scratching his head at the selection of Matthew. He was buddies with Andrew, Thaddeus, Simon, Judas, Bartholomew, and Philip. As young men, they had probably spent a considerable amount of time messing with one another through pranks and such. They were buddies who lived life fully together.

Then, Jesus dies. By crucifixion. Through the betrayal of Judas.

Then Judas dies. By hanging. Himself. Out of guilt and shame (shame which is-high school small group say it with me- NOT OF THE LORD).

As a dear friend to both men, I'm sure Thomas was confused, mortified, and heartbroken by this turn of events.

Three days later, two women start saying that Jesus is alive. Then, John and Peter concur. That night, the rest of the disciples see Him, too, when He miraculously appeared in their locked upper-room meeting. Thomas could not make it that night, though. The moment they saw him next I'm sure it came pouring out of their mouths like wildfire. "Dude, you should've been there..." "... and then, poof, He was just THERE..." "He was wearing that robe- you know, His favorite one, the white one with the blue sash?" (I don't know why but that is always my go-to outfit I picture Jesus in) "He looked the same, but we could see the nail marks in His hands" "and He was just talking to us- as if He had not been CRUCIFIED three days before."

"Thomas, it was really HIM."

Thomas, I'm sure, was feeling a myriad of emotions: disbelief, for obvious reasons; disappointed, because he had accidentally missed the welcome party for his Savior/ Teacher/ Friend; confusion, because how could Jesus ever possibly raise Himself from the dead; skepticism, because his friends had pranked him before; anger, because this would be a TERRIBLE prank; and probably a deep-seeded hope, because this would mean his Savior/ Teacher/ Friend was not a fraud and the life He promised was now attainable.

So, in a completely understandable and human way, Thomas responds "Unless I see in His hands the imprint of the nails, and put my finger into the place of the nails, and put my hand into His side, I will not believe" (John 20:25 NASB). We often scoff at this response, citing a doubt which he did not deserve to have, but I've come to learn that I can tend to act in the same way. Maybe Thomas was not, in fact, a skeptic, but instead, a rational human being who served a God whose ways are unfathomable to us mere mortals (Isaiah 55:9).

So, eight days later, Thomas follows the other ten disciples to the upper room and Jesus! Shows! Up! Because He is faithful to put our fears to rest every time. And Jesus, knowing the rollercoaster of emotions Thomas was dealing with, simply looks at Thomas and says, "'Peace be with you.' Then He said to Thomas, “Reach here with your finger, and see My hands; and reach here your hand and put it into My side; and do not be unbelieving, but believing.'"

So, to recap, Jesus shows up in the room- the same room they had met in the previous week- and clearly names each one of Thomas's individual insecurities about Jesus' return and puts them to rest. Right then, and right there. This is not a moment where he chastises with a "Ye of little faith" but instead a tender, personal appeal to Thomas' exact misgivings. That is kind. That is gentle. That is tender.

Thomas went on to preach the Gospel all across the Middle East. 
"Doubting Thomas" was beheaded by a king who could not tolerate Thomas' fierce faith of his true King.

This summer, I met the same God Thomas met in that upper room. The God who knew my fears before I voiced them and put them to rest before they were awoken. 

I had a seizure. In the kitchen. At Kamp. I was sad. As I lay in the nurse's station that night, I asked God WHY it happened to me. He, firmly and evidently, said to me, "But look what didn't happen..."

You see, I had prayed fervently to not have a seizure. The truth is- plain and simple- that sometimes He says, "No" to our requests because at the core of it all, HE is God, and we are not (once again, Isaiah 55:9). He did not cause my seizure- that is due to missed meds or exhaustion or a different unknown factor- but He did ordain it so that in all things I will learn to glorify Him.

He showed me, as I lay there, that I had given Him an unconscious checklist for the conditions in which I should have a seizure if I were to have one at kamp:
1) That I do not get hurt.
2) That no kampers would see it.
3) That level-headed people who I knew and loved would be around.
4) That few people would be around.
5) That a lot of people would not know.

He showed me, as I lay there, that every single thing had been checked off that list:
1) I was working back Hobie, a position which should have made me hit my head on the drying rack, plates or the CONCRETE floor of the kitchen when I fell. But Caitlynn caught me. Like literally saw me lose my balance, stepped over, caught me and laid me on my side on the floor. A miracle.
2) We were working party cleanup while the party was going on. No kampers were within 200 yards, at least, of where I was. A blessing.
3) Because it was party cleanup, only seven people give-or-take were in the kitchen. Additionally, many of them were the more muted kitchie krew members, which allowed it to be as drama-free and calm as it could be. When one girl ran out to get help and alert the proper authorities, Anna Willis was the first person she saw. Anna Willis was my counselor three weeks after my first seizure and knew my situation and exactly how to handle it. A miracle. Riley, my boss, was not in the kitchen but was also walking towards the dining hall with two of my best friends- no one had to search to find her. A blessing. Then Riley went to find my sister Kate who was a kamper. She expected to have to wade through the dance floor, but Kate and her counselor Peyton came out of the K-dome at that very moment (I am really not making this up). A blessing. So, Kate and Riley and Peyton were in the nurses with me. The perfect combination, really. Kate, because she's my sister and had experienced this before. Riley and Peyton, because while they are very compassionate, they also have very quirky which allowed them to crack jokes and treat a hard situation as something light which made me feel infinitely calmer and generally better. A blessing.
4) The people who I mentioned were literally the only people around. A miracle. (Especially at Kamp).
5) This one is a little bit of a pride thing, but still cool that God respected it. He knew that I hate having all eyes on me and people tiptoeing around me like I'm fragile. And, even with people's best intentions, that is what usually happens when I inform that I am epileptic or have recently had a seizure. The incident this time was so isolated that most people who knew only knew because I told them (or because they were a kitchie). I got to tell who I wanted to and withhold the information from those who I felt did not need to know- truly, because it was so controlled an experience that few people needed to know. A blessing. 

Just like Thomas, Jesus let me stick out my fingers to touch His hand. He appeased every single doubt and fear I had and reminded me of who He was through it all. He is consistent, loving, and approachable. He is understanding. He is tender. That does not undermine His strength or His omnipotence but instead underlines them. Just like Thomas, I got to a weak spot and did not vocalize my weakness, but Jesus verbalized my fears and put them to rest.

He is tender, and we are all the better for it.


There is another in the fire my friends. Don't forget it.
Lucy