I think sometimes, I am afraid to trust the will of God. I mean. I do trust Him. But sometimes I am still afraid of what He might bring next.
Am I dumb enough to think that things would be better if I was in control? That things like this would not happen if I was in control? It hits me. If I was in control, I would not send my only child to die for this crazy world.
“I don’t want to do this.” My Savior. Fully God, but fully human. He knows. He knows sorrow to the point of death, anguish and sweat like great drops of blood, this fear of what might come even at the hand of the Father. “Yet not my will but Yours,” He says. Can we follow His lead?
Now my tears flow not because I don’t want to trust. I am crying because how can I not when I think of this life-blood flowing from His side and Him in such anguish thinking of me, of all of us. I weep knowing that each time I hide my face, refuse to take this cup the Father has given me, I drive those nails deeper and He in great pain hangs there willing.
No. We won’t hide. Today we approach this cross unworthy and we grab onto the Savior’s feet and we cling tight and we let this blood cover and pool and we remember the ugly stench of our sin and we believe that when He rises Sunday we will rise with Him, He will take us by the hands and pull us with Him yet again allowing us to rise into His glory.
Daily I turn my gaze in distrust. Daily I remember the Jesus who already washed clean this mess and I fall to my knees, sorrowful and repentant. How can I not trust? And He reminds me that I must die with Him – not just that once but every single day – choosing to throw off the distrust and walk with Him in the newness of life. Daily. Hourly. Sometimes seemingly every five minutes.
Today I gaze at my Savior and I know: courage is not the absence of fear.
Today we remember the moment that we were engraved into the palms of His hands and we believe that He holds us there still. Tonight, He dies and I learn to live. To live willing to spill out, spill out and let Him fill.