That’s Not What My King Died For


I’m in love with a boy- three of them actually.

I’ve been so blessed to nanny for the same little kiddos the past two years. To be honest, I’m not quite sure what my college years would have been like without the sounds of little ones saying “Miss Ansley,” infinite dirty diapers, Goodnight Goodnight Construction Site, and Paw Patrol.

I vividly remember taking the boys to Chick-Fil-A one afternoon last fall. I watched three little mouths rush through 4-count nugget meals as their eyes stayed locked on the multicolored playground behind the glass panes in the back of the restaurant. After the crumbs were brushed away, spilled milk was cleaned up, and little hands were wet-wiped, we removed the shoes and they began to climb the plastic play set as if it was their Everest.

I sat on the bench with the diaper bag as my heart exploded each and every time they emerged at the end of the slide with a smile. As if their tank of energy was bottomless, they hopped out of the slide, ran over to the stairs and began the adrenaline rush all over.

I did a headcount in order to make sure all of the children were accounted for when I noticed one of my children trying to play with someone else’s- and they wouldn’t let him. I watched the interaction play out from afar as my little one was continuously shoved out and ignored. After a few more tries to join in, he came over to me and I prepared to begin wiping tears off of his round cheeks. Instead, the blue eyed child came over and said nothing about it. In fact, his smile was bigger than ever. Like every 3 year old, he just needed to reaffirm that I was watching him go down the slide, as if I had not watched him the first twenty times.

Although the child remained unaffected and unaware of the rejection that he had just experienced, I was well aware and confused. How could someone NOT want to play with him? Above all, why was he still trying to be friends with them?

Somehow, I had forgotten about that upsetting moment until yesterday.

My mind had blocked out the sorrow of that situation until I saw something that I had never seen yesterday on my college campus.

As I walked out of my class, I tried to dissolve into the sea of students attempting to stuff themselves onto a university bus. As I began to fight my way to the street, I heard an uproar of yelling coming from a nearby lawn. Attracted to the commotion, I aborted my mission to board the bus and began to walk toward the noise.

What I walked up on was unexpected. Working my way through the crowd of students, I could feel anger and tension thickening the air. I passed students crying, professors taking pictures, and police officers portraying steel faces.

In the center of the shaken up crowd were a few nicely dressed men who appeared to be preaching. However, as I got closer and the words became more audible, I realized they were not preaching. In fact, the words they were saying were like a chizzle continuously chipping at my heart.

As I watched the men continue to yell hateful and condemning things at students on my campus, my heart broke. Tears streamed from my blue eyes as I read the signs that contained the lists of people they believed were going to hell. My fists began to clench as I listened to the darts of audible hatred that were echoing around me.

For the students on my college campus, I want you to know that the finger-pointing you witnessed yesterday is not what my King died for.

That’s not Christianity.

The things listed on those signs yesterday, the things that “qualified you for hell,” are what my sweet Jesus washed away.

My sweet Jesus died for you to have freedom.

His love for you is overwhelming.

His love for you is unending.

In the words of Amanda Cook, “His love is wild for you. His love is proud to be seen with you.”

Angered by the men causing the chaos, the Lord reminded me of that heart breaking moment I witnessed at Chick-Fil-A months ago. The moment when that sweet child was rejected from the play set at Chick-Fil-A…but he didn’t care. The toddler didn’t run over and tattle about how he was being treated. He continuously tried to be their friend anyways.

Despite the horrendous things that were said by anyone yesterday, God still loves them. He’s still fighting for them. Like that three year old, God isn’t phased by yesterday’s events. He’s continuously trying to be their friend.

Taste and see that my God is good.

He’s not who the men on the front lawn described yesterday.

Not even close.


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