2017 throwback: Me and my guy Mitchell, kicking it old-school selfie mode—grainy iPhone glory and all. We trekked up this massive hill to find a tree that looked like it had seniority over most of the forest. Once there, we cracked open the Word, dove into some Bible study, and just soaked in the moment. Two dudes, a whole lot of faith, and a front-row seat to God flexing His creation with the ultimate panoramic view. Hits different up there, for real.
Not at the Bible study, but now we’re vibin’ to Do It All Again by Punctual and Jordan Shaw. Different kind of elevation, same good energy.
If there’s one thing you need to know about Mitchell, it’s that subtlety is not his strong suit. Picture the summer of 2017. While the rest of the world was figuring out how to blend in, Mitchell was out here illuminating sidewalks like a human caution sign. His fashion sense? Somewhere between “traffic cone” and “emergency flare enthusiast.” A beanie aggressively declaring “BIEBER” sat atop his head like a statement crown no one asked for, while his nuclear-orange t-shirt made sure you could spot him from low-Earth orbit. But this isn’t a story about his personal makeover arc (spoiler, there’s no makeover); it’s about how Jesus—yes, that Jesus—took one look at Mitchell in all his neon glory and said, “Yep, he’s mine.”
Wardrobe of Warning Signs, Heart Fully Seen
Mitchell didn’t just wear clothes; he broadcasted them, each outfit a one-man protest against blending in. And while the world might’ve paused to wonder if he’d wandered out of a construction site, Jesus didn’t flinch. If Mitchell’s t-shirt shouted, “I’m a glorious wreck,” Jesus simply nodded and thought, “Well, aren’t we all?” Because here’s the thing—where others saw loud colors and attempted rebellion, Jesus saw a kid desperate to be acknowledged. It wasn’t judgment. It wasn’t disappointment. It was the kind of warm, knowing chuckle you might give a toddler making spaghetti art on the wall—messy, sure, but unmistakably loved.
Fastballs, Curveballs, and the Smallness of Big Moments
One lazy summer afternoon at the park, Mitchell parked himself in front of the diamond with a mitt and an attitude. Baseballs went flying. Not far behind? His grievances with life. “Why does everything suck so much?” he lobbed out mid-pitch, treating the game not as a sport but as a one-act existential drama. Then his friend, glove ready but in no rush, answered with a pitch that hit harder than any fastball—“You know, Jesus loves you, right now, mess and all.”
Mid-throw, Mitchell froze. The orange shirt, which by now had taken on the texture of Velcro thanks to sweat and earth, stuck to him like a glowing question mark. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard about Jesus, but it wasn’t just words this time. It was a moment that landed—a grace note thrown alongside the ball, delicate yet with an undeniable weight.
Grace That Doesn’t Wait for Costume Changes
Here’s what young Mitchell didn’t know then (and probably does now, even if he’d rather not admit it): Jesus wasn’t waiting for him to dim the neon or retire the beanie. He wasn’t treating love like a reward for better behavior or, heaven forbid, subtlety. Nope. Jesus had already taken a front-row seat at Mitchell’s soda-stained, chaotic soul table, ordering the full calamity experience with a side of fries. The love was unconditional, reckless in its gentleness, unwavering even on the loudest, most “please just look away” days.
That’s exactly the miracle of it. Jesus’s love doesn’t cross its arms and tap its foot while you iron out your flaws. It’s there in the orange-shirt moments—in the messy public ones where you feel like a walking, fluorescent cry for help.
The Bright Side of Broken Things
Mitchell’s story isn’t about a wardrobe malfunction. It’s about a truth that refuses to dim, no matter how hard the day. Jesus loves you—in the chaos, in the cringe, in those don’t-look-at-me-but-also-please-look moments. Loud shirt, messy heart, fearsome beanie, and all.
And if there’s still a part of you wondering whether “you” includes your worst messes, your own glowstick-T-shirt days? It does. It always has.