Lisa Olian
After recess we came back into our preschool classroom and on each of our desks laid a shiny bell. The teacher excitedly explained that santa’s elves had left us bells for Christmas while we were out playing. All of my classmates enthusiastically grabbed their bell with joy. “The elves visited us”, my peers shouted. At 4-years-old, I remember thinking, “That’s not truth. This is a lie. For one, Santa isn’t real. Two, elves don’t exist. And three, it would have been simple for our teacher to place a bell on each of our desks while we were gone.” With the conviction that our teacher was spreading mere fantasy, I began to crush the joy of all my classmates and explain to them the reality behind the “bells from Santa” (sorry if you’re out there). This moment is ingrained in my memory, as it points to something so core to me. I want truth. I want what is real.
By contrast - At the very same age that I was debunking Santa’s elves, The Holy Spirit was revealing the truth about God to me. I saw Him in the evening sky. I saw Him in a warm hug. I saw Him in coloring with crayons. I learned about God in my Jewish Sunday school. And I heard the name of Jesus praised morning, day, and night by my mother.
I gave my life to Jesus when I was 10-years-old. I was watching the Power Team on a small TV in my parents’ bedroom. At the end of the program, they gave an alter-call, and I said my fullest YES to following Jesus. I may have been by myself, but it was clear Jesus was there, sitting next to me, smiling.
The years thereafter, through middle-school and high school, I grew intimately with Jesus. It wasn’t because I was part of a church - I was not. It wasn’t because I had Christian community modeling Christianity for me - I did not. It was because I knew personally that Jesus was a constant companion in a life that felt chaotic.
As I grew into my late teens, I held on to the belief that Jesus was near to me, but simultaneously felt the tension of doubt. I felt His presence. But I could see the brokenness in the world, the brokenness in my own family. I wanted truth. I wanted what was real. One day, I asked my step-dad, “How are you able to know, fully, that Jesus is real? He responded with assurance, “One day, Lisa, Jesus will be as real to you as your own hand you see in front of your face.”
_______15-ish Year Intermission Where a Lot of Life Happened and Jesus was there_______
On December 10, 2018 the Holy Spirit gave me a deeper knowledge of the truth of Jesus Christ. Alone in my apartment in Denver, Colorado, I began worshipping Jesus. Moments into my time of praise, the Holy Spirit hit me with His powerful love; I fell to my knees and began weeping. Down on my knees, face to the ground, eyes closed, tears flowing, the Lord gave me the most impactful vision I’ve had to this day. I remember vividly seeing me as a baby in my mother’s womb. I saw and felt Jesus’ nearness to me in that moment - so much already planned for my life. I was then given visions of me as an infant, fully and completely dependent on my parents to take care of me. The Lord clearly told me, “Just like you needed your parents when you were an infant, you need me now and always.”
He then gave me visions of me growing up. He brought to mind some of the hardest moments in my childhood. I saw an image of me crying as a little girl, alone in the bathroom. In that moment I began to feel the same pain that little girl was feeling. But then, I saw that Jesus was sitting next to me. He showed me that He didn’t want me to go through the pain. He was there, weeping with me. He brought to my vision more times of pain - and every time, He highlighted the same thing. He. Was. There.
In the vision, I grew in age. I saw myself in the midst of my past sin - in drunkenness, in sexual sin. And yet again, He was there. The reality swept over me. He never left. In my hardest moment. In my rebellion. He was there. I saw and felt how He loved me with the same intensity both when pain was caused to me and also when I was choosing my own sin.
The vision shifted and I saw Jesus clearly on the cross. I saw Him pierced and sacrificed for my salvation. He was so holy, so pure, hanging on that cross. He did it for me. I started weeping. All I could say was, “thank you, thank you, Jesus”.
I opened my eyes from the vision, and my eyes locked with my hands. I remember being awestruck with my hands. Amazed that the same God, Jesus Christ, who died on the cross to make me righteous, to give me eternal life, to give me freedom, was the same God who made these hands. Looking at my hands, I then envisioned His - I envisioned the nail marks on his hands, representing what He did for me...what He did for you. And then I looked back again at my hands - weeping in fascination at every detail, every perfectly placed marking and wrinkle. That day I was struck by the weight of the price Jesus paid for me, because of His great love for me. 1 Peter 1:16, “Be holy, because I am holy”, took on a new meaning to me on that day. It marked me with a new vision to walk in radical obedience and purity unto the Lord.
My step-dad told me that one day Jesus would be as real to me as the hands in front of my face. And that’s exactly what happened that day.
This moment, combined with a lifetime of learning about Jesus through The Word, prayer, worship, and community, gives me confidence to believe that He was telling the truth when He said “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” (John 14:6)
Jesus, your beauty was simple enough to captivate me as a young child, yet your truth is so immense, so deep, that it will take me all my days to know even a fraction of your grandeur. Thank you Jesus - you are as real to me as my own hands.
