Epic Win.

I pondered the question long and hard, searching for the answer. What does the cross mean to me? What does it symbolize? The discussion had already moved on by the time I reached a word that satisfied me: Victory.

While on that cross, Jesus seemed a picture of defeat, cloaked in suffering and shame. His disciples believed Him to be defeated and scattered. The crowd believed Him to be defeated and mocked him. The demons believed Him to be defeated and erupted into cackles and grins.

And I think many times, when we imagine the cross, that is what we see. The Lamb being led to the slaughter. The pain and suffering and darkness. The shame, the despair.

But though these are essential aspects of the cross, and it is absolutely vital that we (do our best to) grasp the price that Jesus paid that day, it is not the end of the story.

Newsflash: He's not on that cross anymore. The cross is empty; He conquered it, along with death and the grave, swallowing up the darkness in victory. He brought back the keys of Hell and handed them to us, saying, Go. I have given all authority to you. Open blinded eyes. Raise the dead. Set the prisoners free. 

I have heard it said we often think in terms of either/or when God says both. The cross was shame and victory, suffering and glory. Don't stop at one and forget the other. Jesus may have died like a criminal, but His life was not taken from Him; He gave it freely. And though we have our own crosses to bear, our burden is light--for He already bore it. We are more than conquerors, for we won long before we ever stepped onto the battlefield. No attacks that rise against us can quench the new life we've been given. We live in resurrection power. And the joy set before us from that knowledge gives us more than enough strength to endure.

Dear God,

On New Year's Day of 2012, I dedicated this year to You. I told You to break me, mess me up, lead me wherever You would. I told You I wasn't asking for an easy year, or a comfortable one. What I was asking for was a year of beautiful things.

The year is nearly over, and I have never been more miserable. I have been searching for a job for months with no success. I'm living at home when I yearn to be on my own. I've watched new relationships pop up on Facebook like daisies in springtime while cradling my own broken heart. I've said goodbye to friends who moved much too far away. I'm trapped in the town where I've spent my last eleven years, and I'm beginning to fear I'll never escape. My grandpa, whom I adored, died.

And it's all because of You. Maybe if You had warned me, I would never have prayed that prayer. But I did pray it, and You took me at my word. You broke me, messed me up, led me in circles. You didn't give me an easy year, or a comfortable one.

But, my God! You gave me a year of beautiful things. You upheld me through my final semester of college. You brought my entire family together for my graduation, from across oceans and over thousands of miles, and because of that, we could all have wonderful memories with Grandpa, one last time. Even without a job, You provided me with just enough money at exactly the right times to pay my bills. You allowed me to travel, to North Carolina and Alabama and California. You gave me the opportunity to be in a dear friend's wedding, and witness a union between two people who love You and love each other more than words can adequately describe. You orchestrated events so that I could be with Grandpa during his last days on Earth, giving me more precious memories to cling to, and giving me the chance to say goodbye.

It has been a year of goodbyes. And changes, and uncertainty. And I have hated so much of it. But even in my darkest moments, I knew this could only be You. I could see Your hand at work, glimpse traces of Your goodness, the cracks I thought might shatter me forming into the beautiful instead.

Yes, if You had warned me, I might have been too afraid to dedicate this year to You. But I'm glad You didn't. Because I don't regret that prayer. Not for a second.

Don't Count on Me.

I hope you don't count on me to say something profound. I hope you don't count on me to have the perfect words. I hope you don't count on me to bring you comfort.

God knows, I'll try. But I hope you don't count on me. Because I'm bound to fail.

It's my responsibility to be honest. It's my responsibility to love. It's my responsibility to write, because these words are gifts, given to me for a reason. These things I know, I know. But it's not my responsibility to save you. I feel the pressure, sometimes. But it's not my yoke to bear. If you put it on me, my spine will snap, and you will be alone.

I know because too often, I put that burden on myself. And I come so close to breaking.

We are fragile creatures, all of us. Every day we are catching cold and sinking into depression and losing our sanity and dying. I'm not saying there is no goodness or beauty left. I'm not saying we are without hope. I am only saying, it is a dangerous thing to count on me, or any of them, to save you.

Because we all need saving. And I've only ever met one Man who was strong enough to do it.