His story was forming before time.
He was crafting every detail, every heart, every mountain and valley.
He’s the ultimate Orchestrator, the perfect Author.
Often times I think that I have some say, some influence, and regretfully
It’s when I believe that, I forget.
I forget that the Jesus who came and sat amongst sinners,
the Jesus that didn’t match the dreamt up version of a Messiah,
the Jesus that also met our expectations (and more) by willingly stepping into miracles and mess,
took Himself to Calvary on my behalf.
I forget that He knew about it all…
I forget that the man who could predict His own death and resurrection would desperately wait on the sidelines while I searched and succeeded in placing my faith in everything but Him…
I realize He knows what He’s doing.
I forget that He sees me wringing my hands in paranoia, while He’s right there offering comfort and safety, when life unravels and makes me insanely nervous.
I realize He’s patient and as gracious as ever.
I forget that He knows I feel the loneliness of a broken family.
I realize He longs with me, and breaks with me, for them to accept His unconditional love.
Here’s the point…I forget that He chose this. He chose me. He chose you.
I need to remember His sacrifice, His suffering, His invitation, His gift of grace every day so that His faithful current is in every rise and fall of my chest.
I need to remember it on all days, not just this in-between.
I forget that He felt what we feel, He sees what we can’t, and has sorrows that stow much deeper than ours. I forget that He didn’t have to do this.
But He did.
I forget that He willingly gave Himself up and surrendered His spirit amongst brutality, cruelty, and a kiss of betrayal that cost Him His life.
Yes, He did.
I forget that He went through all of that to give us a better ending.
I forget that His ending is what the real beginning is.
I think of all the people I long to feel what I feel and see what I see because I want the real beginning for them.
I wish I could wipe out all of their doubt, bad experiences, and judgmental encounters. I wish that but then I remember to pray. To pray and trust that God cares deeply. He cared so deeply thousands of years ago, and now there’s a story to be told. A history that was re-written. An offer that holds true even amongst all that has tried to shatter it.
I forget that He extends the invitation.
I realize I’m a deliverer because He delivered me.
As I woke up this morning, I remembered. This weekend always brings revival for me. A tender reminder of the partnership that God entrusts to His wavering, uncertain, yet prized children.
It brings revival to the reality of the way that was paved with His body, His spirit, and His perfect sacrifice.
I feel somber, reflective, and I try to put myself there even though its near impossible. I’m undoubtably thankful but that’s still not thankful enough for what He’s done for me.
I feel hopeful, because I know what happens in three days.
I know the ending to the story.
And that is a better story than one I could ever write.
“Long ago the Lord said to Israel:‘I have loved you, my people, with an everlasting love.With unfailing love I have drawn you to myself…’ “Jeremiah 31:3