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In the third grade, I desperately struggled to make friends. My parents still can’t pinpoint what caused this, but having a big group I could depend on wasn’t in the deck of cards dealt to me. Sadly, I quickly became the victim of bullying, especially from those who I thought wanted to be my friend.
I’ll never forget the hot August day I broke my wrist. I’d made some new “friends,” and they wanted to play tag on the playground. I loved running around, so I agreed. When one of the older girls stuck her foot out and tripped me, I was disheartened. My arm throbbed with pain as I face-planted into the concrete. Later that night, a quick ER visit gave the conclusion: I’d fractured my wrist, and surely, those girls weren’t “friends.” The X-rays weren’t pretty.
In a turn of events, I prayed that God would heal my wrist. Not only did I want to show that group of girls that I followed Jesus, but that I believed in a friend who could heal me. I believed in a friend who would never leave my side and would treat me the way I was supposed to be treated. You can imagine their faces when I returned to school with a perfectly healed wrist that Tuesday—no cast required.
Over the next decade, I learned to distinguish those who wanted to be true friends and those who just wanted something from me. True friends desired my presence. Fake friends desired what I could do for or give them.
When I asked Jesus into my heart earlier that year, I learned the greatest news: Jesus desired to be my friend, and He didn’t want anything from me except my heart. The greatest news for us today is this: Following Jesus will cost you something, but it’s worth it. And what He offers us is much more than the healing of a broken wrist, but the healing of a broken and sinful heart.
