That Always-Present Protective Bubble? Yep, It's Jesus
By Jessica Brodie
My younger sister likes to tease me about my “bubble.” I’ve had it since I was a kid.
My bubble is beautiful: huge, crystal-clear, with bright rainbow speckles glinting here and there, delicate in appearance but tough as nails if you test it. I’m not sure anyone dares test it—probably because they know it keeps the bad stuff out, keeps me safe inside, and it’s always bouncy, sunshiny, pure, and filled with happiness.
Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.
My bubble—I’ve heard it called by other names over the years: protective sphere, force field, invisibility cloak, circle of love—has been with me for so long I can’t really remember a time without it. It isn’t something I actively remember encountering, but rather a thing that gradually made itself known to me during my tender years, when I needed it the most. It is with me still.
See, I wasn’t like other kids I knew. Shy, bookish, and wildly oversensitive, I probably would have been content to sit my whole life in a tree with my stuffed animals and my nose in a book rather than face The World.
In fact, I’m told I wouldn’t have started talking had it not been for the birth of my outgoing, never-met-a-stranger baby sister, who came into this world red-faced and bawling and seemingly determined to draw this insanely introverted preschooler out of her shell.
Don’t get me wrong—my sister, today a gifted and tenderhearted guidance counselor— is also probably the most compassionate person I’ve ever known. But she just bounced into the world ready to take it on, grab everyone’s hands, and propel them into a glorious future with her. That most decidedly was not my gift.
But like it or not, face the world I did. Thanks to Never-Shy Sister and plenty of moves and new schools, Shy Girl morphed into not-so-shy, who turned into theater geek and poetry-writer, who turned into scholar and teacher and, later, journalist and novelist. I doubt any of this would have happened had I stayed safely nestled in my tree branches reading my heart out.
Still, my bubble went with me, every step of the way.
It was there for every scary moment, every ounce of excitement, every leap of faith, every battle, every tear. It never left me, always covering me with sheltering, loving arms big enough to let in those I chose and strong enough to keep out the rest. All I had to do was take a deep breath, imagine the shimmery orb all around me, and the anxiety would just flutter away.
I’ll let you in on a little secret, one I didn’t realize until recently—my bubble is actually Jesus. Always there. Always with me. Never abandoning me. Always wrapping me in protection and peace no matter what the big bad world can toss my way.
He doesn’t look like the golden-skinned Jesus with long brown hair from the picture I kept in my Bible—some other artist’s idea of Him, and maybe that’s why I didn’t recognize Him. But His voice is the same, and His message.
I love you.
You’re safe with me.
I recognize Him now.
Now that I’m a mom with sweet and overly sensitive kiddos of my own, they know all about Jesus… and His many faces and ways.
But most importantly, they know He’s always there, beside us every step of the way, pointing the way to the Kingdom.
Just like my bubble.