A Wee Little Man was He

Welcome to another #TrueFictionFriday! Since my computer ate last week’s post, this one is a week past due. I hope you’ll enjoy this somewhat lighthearted look at a short man’s dilemma. Solomon says that “there’s nothing new under the sun”, and I’m sure Zacchaeus had a little-man’s complex to some degree. (And if you don’t know how the story ends, be sure to look up Luke 19 and see what Jesus did for this man and his family).

I think we can all relate to disliking something about our physical appearance–especially in this day of social media comparisons and photoshopped perfection. Personally, I’ve been struggling with this for years in regards to my legs. I’ve never said anything publicly, but what good does it serve to keep this a secret?

You see, I have Lyme disease (a topic for another time). Lyme likes to find your body’s weaknesses and exploit them. I blew out my groin muscles years ago–I mean badly damaged them–so now I struggle with weak muscles and tissue connectivity problems. It’s not pretty. I hate to wear shorts or swimsuits any longer. And, to be honest, I’ve gotten upset with God at times over the situation.

Thankfully, things are improving health-wise with good care, but I’m still not thrilled to step into a pair of shorts. The Lord is helping me accept what I cannot change, however, and also accept what He has allowed. The fact that I’m willing to talk about it here is evidence that He’s working on me! I’ve still got a long way to go, but I’m aware of God’s love and compassion drawing me to Himself in a fresh way.

For now, I’m learning to accept the things I cannot change, like Zacchaeus! Is there something you wish you could change about yourself? Do you find social media makes it harder to accept yourself? Or has it allowed you to connect with others struggling with similar issues? Tell me your story!

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Being small has its advantages. Of course, I prefer to call myself modest in stature. Denotes humility, which serves well in my line of work.

That is to say, it provides a deceptive facade for what I do. Let’s face it, tax collectors aren’t exactly popular. But being on the short side offers the perception of vulnerability. It’s non-threatening. When I knock on the door of a poor, indebted widow, she’s neither suspicious nor defensive as she looks down on me. It provides a foot in the door without resorting to violence. Ordering guards to muscle their way inside so I can demand the king’s due is most unpleasant. Been there, done that. Trust me, no one wants the T-shirt.

But if I’m honest—and, God as my witness, I do try to be honest, more or less—I wish I wasn’t so short. A lifetime of being teased and picked on has made me loath this body of mine. My substantial wealth cannot enable me to grow an inch and it certainly hasn’t bought happiness—Lord knows I’ve tried to attain both. Don’t get me started on the money I’ve wasted with doctors and stretching racks.

Oh, I’ve also learned to laugh it off. To be the funny guy who makes self-deprecating remarks and is first to point out the obvious when we meet. But that’s just my way of deflecting your critical eye and of beating you to the punch. Making sport is the only sport in which I can finish first, so I’ve learned to do it with aplomb.

I might be God’s little joke on the human race but I’ve been clever enough to work it to my advantage.

Today, however, I’m not finding my personal situation so funny. Jesus is coming to Jericho and I really want to see and hear him for myself. But the crowd! He’s always surrounded by a throng of people, pressing in, begging for a touch, asking questions, demanding explanations of scripture. How am I ever to see him in person?

I’ve actually tried several times. Lost in a sea of togas, cloaks, and shawls, I have heard this man’s teachings on God’s love and God’s kingdom. It’s radical! Jesus somehow makes the Lord God sound so personal—so knowable. He makes me long to believe that I’m not some joke or mistake, but instead, that I’ve been fashioned with purpose and intention. That the Lord created me to be his own.

Could this be true?

Well, today, I’m going to find out; I’ve got a plan. 

There’s a sycamore tree near the town square. Jesus is heading that direction now and he’ll most likely stop in the square to speak. I’m taking a shortcut straightaway to climb the tree and get settled in place. Why, I’ll have the best view possible without suffering a single elbow to the nose. 

I used to spy on my parents and neighbors in the same way, when I was a child. They would’ve been shocked by the things I observed tucked inside the branches of our fig tree. My parents would eventually come looking for me. In silent laughter I’d watch them stand beneath the tree while calling, “Zacchaeus! Zacchaeus!”

People rarely look up. Well, they rarely look down, either, I’ve learned, thanks to dodging oblivious passersby my entire life.

So, off I go. Once I scramble up into the leafy boughs, I’ll have the best view possible. Maybe Jesus will talk more about the personal love of the Father. Maybe I can once and for all find peace–something else I’ve discovered that money can’t buy.

I’ll be able to take it all in, far above the sweaty, dirty crowd—perhaps even see a few miracles!—and he’ll never even know I’m there.

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