By Kristin B. Sizemore


To the prophets, He was fulfillment, the completion of covenant, the coming redeemer. To those who walk in darkness, He is the light. To His earthly followers, he was Yeshua. To many, He is Jesus. To millions, He is salvation. To the weary, He is rest. To the thirsty, He is the living water. To the hungry, He is the bread of life. To the sick, He is the healer. To Israel, He is the righteous branch, the lion of Judah, eternal king, Anointed One. To the Gentiles, He is the hope of redemption. To the seeker, He is the Answer, the Truth. To the lost, He is the Way. To the wanderer, He is home.

Who is Messiah to you?


As I watch my sons battle the stubborn earth and my daughters succumb to the pain of childbirth again and again, I bear the weight of my fall. Nothing is the same. I miss my home in the garden. I still weep when I take the lives of the animals I named, my very first friends, because of my disobedience. As Eve and I grow old, our bodies decaying before our very eyes, I am learning the hard way that the wage of sin is death. When my wife looks at me, I see accusation in her eyes. I failed to guard and protect us from sin. Even though she will carry the blame for our fall throughout generations, I know what my Creator expected of me. Eve and I both failed each other, but I see the memory of my cowardice in her eyes. She never forgets that I blamed her and the Lord, God Almighty, that gave her to me. I never forget that when choice was mine to make, I chose disobedience.

Jehovah no longer comes to walk with me. He hasn’t since I left the garden. This separation, a death of spirit, is worse than the slow physical death that approaches. When I was younger, I would journey back toward paradise only to see the fiery cherubim still standing guard, their flaming sword a reminder of all that I no longer had access to. Now, close to death, I spend much of my time remembering my life before sin. My memories are more real than the life I live. I can still feel the rushing wind coursing through my body as Jehovah breathed life. I can hear His voice speak my name for the first time, “Adam”. I can hear the sounds of paradise; birds chirping, streams flowing, the Creator’s footsteps as He approaches for our evening walk. Fear, the new feeling I felt the last time I heard those footsteps, always makes its destructive entrance into my memory. As I return to the reality of my spiritual and physical decay, the adversary is there; no longer a serpent, but a dark, towering, ever-present force that whispers lies and deception. The voice of temptation is all around me. I am thankful for Jehovah’s promise of One who will crush the serpent, one who will finally lift the shame of the curse I brought upon humanity, one who was with Jehovah from the beginning; the very Word of God.

To me, Messiah is Creator.


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