The 5000

They each had a story. Every man, woman, and child that witnessed it had a story. Had a perspective. Perhaps the eight year old boy hadn’t eaten in days. Maybe he was tired of following his parents and just wanted to chill at the house. For heaven’s sake, he hadn’t chased the chickens in days. 

Maybe the 57 year old mother-in-law hurt from where her bones rubbed together as she and her son-in-law and daughter traveled the five miles from their village of Chorazin all the way over to Bethsaida. Again. Her son-in-law was a gem, though, and let her ride their old donkey. 

And the young man with the job he hated felt compelled to go and hear Jesus speak again. He knew if he kept listening, he would hear the words that would set him free. 

It was a long day. Everyone in the crowd of over 5000 had been listening for hours. It sounded like it might be hard to do - even for the older ones among them, but there was something about His voice. It beckoned them to listen. And listen, they did. And not only were they fed spiritually and mentally, but they watched Him take bread and fish and feed more than 5000 people. They ate until they could eat no more. And then, they left. And they told that story from every possible perspective, from every possible voice, and from every possible teeny tiny dot on the map. 

Can you imagine every voice telling exactly what happened with their own unique voices? What a beautiful literal and artistic picture of how Christianity spread. 

Recently, I was somewhere - maybe a ladies’ conference - and either this event was discussed or a different event was discussed, and all of a sudden I found myself thinking about how breathtaking a picture God gave us. And then, how amazing a plan for Him to give us each a life in which each chapter is a story of His grace and our job is to share it.

I’ve always been fascinated with people and their stories. This is one of a few events that has inspired my art. For every face - man, woman, and child - there is a story. For every tiny detail - the reason her sash was a little looser than usual, the reason the young boy didn’t drink any milk that morning, the reason there was no peanut butter OR jelly for their sandwiches - there is a story. For every soul that God has given breath to, there is a story. And those stories are to be shared, remembered, and celebrated.