When the Hurt Goes Unseen

She said, “I love Jesus, but I can’t stand people.”

It didn’t come from arrogance. It came from exhaustion. From years of giving more than most will ever know… and being met with disrespect in return.

My sister served as a first responder—a paramedic—and later became an instructor, sharing her skill set and experience with many around the country and some around the world. She was trained, capable, and compassionate. In one shift, she saw more than many of us will see in a lifetime: blood, terror, fractured lives, and she carried it all without complaint.

Until someone knocked her down—literally. After she couldn’t save an infant, the child’s relative blamed her, screamed at her, and pushed her to the hospital floor.

That moment never really left her.

So when she heard a weather reporter casually refer to someone in a rescue vehicle as “an ambulance driver,” it wasn’t just a throwaway phrase. It felt like another slap. Another way the world erases the people who stand between us and disaster.

Sometimes what sets us off is not about the moment—it’s about what it touches.

Jesus Understands What the World Misses

At the beginning of the conversation, I failed to see what had been touched and tried to speak to what I thought I heard, but didn’t feel. When I tried to gently say, “What if Jesus had turned away the dregs of society the way the Pharisees wanted Him to?”—she bristled. Not because she didn’t know it was true, but because the wound was too raw.

Sometimes love feels confrontational even when it’s wrapped in gentleness—especially when it brushes up against an injury that hasn’t healed yet. She wasn’t rejecting people because she lacked faith. She was protecting what little she had left after years of being unseen.

But here’s the truth: Jesus sees that. He sees her. Not just the Christian she’s trying to be—but the paramedic she was. The sister. The woman knocked down on a hospital floor, crying not because she failed, but because she couldn’t save a life she desperately wanted to.

When Love Looks Like Honor

If you say you love Christ but have nothing kind to say about the people who serve when everyone else is running away—stop. Pause. Remember who washed the feet of His friends. Remember who touched the leper. Remember who stopped for the broken.

First responders aren’t perfect. But they deserve better than what the world often gives them.

They deserve honor.

And if you’ve been one—if you’re like my sister—then hear this:

You are not invisible.
You are not just a driver.
You are not the failure someone tried to make you believe you were.
You are seen by God.
And your wounds matter.

Christ In Me—Christ In Them

If we love Christ, then we must love those who carry the wounds of others. Even when they’re angry. Even when they’re tired of trying to explain themselves. Even when their love for Jesus comes wrapped in a little sarcasm and a lot of pain.

This isn’t condemnation. It’s invitation. To listen better. To speak gentler. To honor more freely. And maybe, just maybe… to help someone believe again that people can be kind.

“Christ in me… teach me to see Christ in them.”

Even if they’re hurting. Even if we are.

Scripture for Reflection

  Matthew 25:40 – “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these… you did for me.”

  Isaiah 42:3 – “A bruised reed He will not break, and a smoldering wick He will not snuff out.”

  Psalm 34:18 – “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”