“He didn’t just teach me how to live with others. He showed me how to live with myself.”
We often remember Jesus for what he taught.
But what changed the world wasn’t just his words—
it was the way he lived them.
He didn’t hand down a rulebook.
He offered a rhythm.
A way of being that begins not in doctrine or duty,
but in the posture he held toward others—
and toward himself.
Over time, I’ve come to see that Christ’s life distilled into three simple, subversive movements:
Love without boundaries.
Forgiveness without limits.
Kindness without expectations.
At first, these sound like outward commands.
But the longer I sat with them, the more I saw:
They weren’t just how Christ taught me to treat others.
They were how he was teaching me to live with myself.
That’s why Jesus is my mirror.
Because—
“When I forget who I am, I remember how he was. And that brings me back.”
Love Without Boundaries
Jesus loved without filters or permission.
He touched lepers.
Spoke with women others ignored.
Ate with sinners, outsiders, and outcasts.
He loved people long before they repented, believed, or changed.
But it didn’t stop there.
In Gethsemane, Jesus wept.
He trembled.
He asked for a way out.
And he didn’t push that part of himself away.
He brought it close. He prayed with it.
That’s love too—the kind we rarely extend to ourselves.
To love like Jesus is to love what we usually try to fix or hide.
To stop editing ourselves into acceptability.
To stop loving only the “better” version.
That’s what I see in him.
And it reminds me to love the parts of me I’d rather leave behind.
Forgiveness Without Limits
When Jesus said, “forgive seventy times seven,”
we assumed it was about the people who hurt us.
But what if he also meant it for the person we live with every day?
He forgave strangers from a cross.
He forgave Peter after betrayal.
He told stories of sons returning and debts erased.
But he also let go of what he couldn’t carry.
He walked away from crowds.
He didn’t chase every critic.
He practiced release.
That’s forgiveness too.
And it reminds me not to hold myself hostage to who I used to be.
If he can forgive what the world called unforgivable,
maybe I can learn to soften toward the places I still haven’t let go.
Kindness Without Expectations
Jesus healed people who didn’t thank him.
He fed people who didn’t follow him.
He gave freely—not transactionally, but tenderly.
But he was kind to himself, too.
He rested.
He slowed down.
He let himself be held.
That’s the kind of kindness I forget.
The kind that doesn’t require me to earn rest.
The kind that says I am worthy before I’m useful.
The kind that welcomes me as I am—unfinished, unfolding.
That’s what I see when I look in his direction.
And it reminds me I can stop striving.
Why He’s My Mirror
Jesus isn’t just my teacher.
He’s my mirror.
He reflects back the version of me I forget is real:
The one already loved.
The one already held.
The one already enough.
When I get lost in shame, or hurry, or perfectionism,
I look at how he lived.
And it calls me back to myself.
Not the self I perform—
The self I am.
That’s why Jesus is my mirror.
He shows me how to love without exile,
forgive without delay,
and live kindly with the soul I’ve been given.
Not someday.
Now.