My name is Mephibosheth. I’m a poor cripple, hobbling around on crutches, often falling in the dirt. I spend my days begging for even a crust of bread to eat. I often sleep outside with no roof over my head: if it rains, I get wet; if it’s cold, I shiver and turn numb. I’m hungry, tired, often sick, and so very lonely and sad.
Then one day I’m called into the King’s presence. I fear I have done something terribly wrong and now I’m going to be put to death. I fall on my face before Him, hoping He’ll have mercy on my poor self.
“Mephibosheth,” the King says, His voice kind and loving. How does He know my name? I wonder. I look up and realize He’s kneeling in front of me; He reaches out and helps me sit up straight.
“Mephibosheth,” He says again, “I want you to live with Me; I want you to be My child. I will feed you, clothe you, provide for all your needs.” His gaze turns almost pleading. “Will you come be a part of My family?”
I stare at Him in shock. The King wants me to be His child! “But, oh King,” I falter, “what have I done to deserve this?”
He beams. “Nothing. You’ve done absolutely nothing to deserve this.”
“But You want me to be Your child?” I ask. “You want me to live with You? You’ll take care of me?”
He nods, still smiling.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I love you,” He replies.
I start to cry and can only nod my head; He understands and gives me a big hug. He lets me weep for a bit, then wipes my tears and calls me “beloved child.” The servants are called and told to prepare a feast; they grin and dance away, singing.
The King–my Father— pulls me to my feet. “Come, child, let’s clean you up.”
Some time later, I walk to the banquet hall. I am clean, almost sparkling, and dressed splendidly. I didn’t know blood can actually clean you! I thought. I saw the King–Father, I remind myself, relishing that thought–standing at the door waiting. He looks my way and beams again.
I step toward Him, then freeze as the realization hits me. I’m walking! I look down at my legs then up at my Father again. He laughs, looking absolutely delighted about my shock and joy. “Surprise, child! Every one who enters my family will be healed.” I run to give Him the tightest hug I can muster and laugh with Him.
We walk hand-in-hand through the door and enter the most beautiful, breath-taking room. It’s filled with long tables piled with food and surrounded by what has to be thousands of people. They stand and cheer when they see us.
I ask the King, “Who are all these people, and why are they cheering?”
“These are my other children,” He replies, “and they’re welcoming you to the family.”
The tears start falling again, but I’m not ashamed; I see others crying too, crying and smiling and laughing. I know they are all happy I’m here. I’m happy I’m here.
My name is Mephibosheth. I’m a child of the King, healed and cleansed and filled with His strength. I have a seat at His table where I’m given my daily bread. I sleep in His arms, covered by His wings. I’m full, strong and healthy (and if I do get sick, my Father is the Great Physician), rested and peaceful, and so very comforted and joyful and surrounded with family.
