Am I Not Worth More than Ten Sons?

1 Samuel begins with the story of Hannah. She was the wife of a man named Elkanah. Elkanah had one other wife also whose name was Peninnah. Peninnah was able to bear children. Hannah, as we know, was unable to. She was barren. Well, in their customs, when a woman could not have children she would be considered worthless. Afterall, women were already lower than men and when you add to that barrenness, then what use is a woman?

Elkanah was a man of God. He would go to the temple yearly and offer sacrifices to the Lord there. When he sacrificed, he would give a portion to Peninnah and her sons and daughters. However, to Hannah he would give double portions, showing to her that he still loved her even if she didn't bear children. As the years went by Hannah got tired of seeing Peninnah bear children while she bore none. She was heartbroken. No matter what she did, she could not conceive a child. She stopped eating and started weeping. This caused Elkanah to be distressed. He turned to her and asked her what the problem was, why she was so distraught that she would quit eating. He was perplexed. "Am I not more to you than ten sons?"


God showed me how this relates to Him and our spiritual condition. We are married to Christ. Sometimes we have problems of sin habits that we can't conquer. We can't produce fruit of perfection. (Note that I don't believe in sinless perfection can be obtained and never dealt with again, but rather sinlessness can be a perpetual state that you fight for. You choose to sin, therefore theoretically you can choose not to sin continually.) However, while we are struggling with being barren, there are other people we see that have it made. They have many overcome sins. They have the social thumbs-up for their productive lives. And yet we get looked down upon for not bearing. That's when God gives us grace. He gives us special things like grace so that we can avoid believing God is loving us because He has to, but because He wants to.


Hannah could not bear children. She had to come to the point where she simply had to trust in God to provide for her a son. She knew it wasn't her husbands fault--Peninnah bore children. Therefore it was all on her. But, if you think logically, the only way for her to even be "eligible" to have a child is if she pursued a relationship with her husband. If she didn't, there would be no children. Logical. She had to do her part and trust God to come in and do his: take away her barrenness.

So is true with our situations. We cannot possibly ever bear the fruit of perfection if we do not pursue a relationship with God. If we simply stop going to God, then we will never overcome sin and we will never bear fruit. We must pursue a relationship with God and allow Him to bear the fruit in us.

And just like Elkanah looked at Hannah and asked "Am I not more to you than ten sons," God asks us a simpler question. "Am I not worth more to you than overcoming sin?" Our pursuit should not be to be free from sin. Our pursuit is to love God and better our relationship with Him. We ought to view God as being much more to us than having overcome ten sin habits.

God wants us to be free from sin. So He will bear those fruits in us. It isn't a question of whether he will or not. It is a matter of whether we will pursue a relationship with God. We cannot ever bear fruits of righteouesness if we never pursue a relationship with God. We must do our part by loving Him and pursuing Him alone. He will deal with the rest.

Tale of the Beautiful Bride (Who Thinks She is Ugly).

There was this bride. Well, she was more than just a bride--she was a wife as they have been married for nearly five years. The husband was a wonderful man, sharing everything good his with elegant bride. Sure, he was rich, but they didn't wed for the bank account: Husband would provide for every need Wife had, and sometimes gift her with extra money.
As much as Wife loved the extra gifts, she simply loved him for other things he's done for her. For example, one day she was traveling a side path in Africa (They had gone together on one of those extra-special gifts) and she lost her way. Night grew crisply and the frightening sounds of the African plains at night vibrated at her very bones. However, the most chilling sound was the gruff purring of a lion prowling in the grass. Wife couldn't see the lion, but she heard every step it took. It was circling her.
Suddenly everything went silent. The nocturnal critters seemed to stop their movements in what seemed to Wife as a somber moment of silence for the human slain. But what Wife couldn't hear were two things. One: the lion crouching for a pounce, for the lion trained every night to be more silent in its attacks. Two: the approaching all-terrain jeep, for Wife's nerves drove her to deafness as she breathed in her shallow breaths. In her bleakest of moments Husband blared his horn as he slid between them, instantly flashing his high beams and spotlights in the face of the beast. Frightened in its own danger, the lion darted away from the harrowing prey.

Yes, Wife loved Husband very much. Safety was found in his embrace. Love was found in his words. Passion was found in his hope for the future. As any bride, Wife felt unworthy of the deep love of her Husband. However, her feeling of unworthiness often provoked certain thoughts and actions that grieved Husband. For such thoughts and actions, let us immerse ourselves in one of their typical conversations of such.

Husband walked into the house. In his hands were the groceries he had bought after a three hour excursion. Wife was always grateful when he picked up the task of grocery shopping, especially when she was feeling down. She didn't always tell him why she was disheartened--but that didn't mean Husband didn't know, she figured.
And he did know. In one of the bags held a box of chocolate and drink packet of lime-aide. He quickly stirred up her a glass of lime-aide and sat at her feet, massaging her sore heels after giving her the presents. She sighed her appreciate and looked at the crown of his head.
"Do you love me?" She asked the question as quick as an arrow out of a bow.
Husband didn't pull back his hands from her toes, but kept massaging. His heart twinged. He hated that question. Not because he didn't love her, but that his love for her was very immense. He never failed to make evident his love for her, yet she pestered him with the question weekly.
"Yes, I love you. Until all the suns of the universe explode, devouring all things and a new universe is formed from the ashes. That next day will I still love you and devote my love to you to the same end."
Wife ignored the flowery words. Not because he didn't mean them--he did with every atom in his body. But because she didn't believe it wholly. She looked away from him. "But look at me: I'm ugly." The words were slow this time.
This time he stopped rubbing her feet. Husband looked into her eyes and placed his hands on her knees, clutching one of her hands in his fingers. "You are beautiful. More beautiful than the feathers of a thousand peacocks."
"No, no. My heart is ugly. Remember what we talked about last month? You know...where I've been looking at other guys with lust in my eyes?"
It was Husband's turn to sigh, but it wasn't out of appreciation. He tilted his head in remembrance.
"Well, I did it again. Neighbor across the street went running today while you were shopping. It was so humid that he kept his shirt of while lapping the block. I tried to look away, but he kept making laps. Somehow I found myself pulling up a chair beside the blinds and peaked through them each time he rounded the corner. He moved on to the next block toward the gym after a half hour. I was disgusted at myself after I watched him with my lusting eyes, though. I ironed all your shirts in the closet for work. I made you two pitchers of tea. I weeded the garden and even planted a purple tulip for your sake."
"Butterfly, nothing you could do will erase my love for you. It's as constant as salt in the ocean, or stars in the sky. I appreciate what you did after you realized your violation of my love, but all I want you to do is to love me. That's the best thing you could do." Husband touched Wife's face with his thumb. "You are my love."
"But I'm ugly. You don't understand. I feel it in my body--even my smile is ugly."
"No. Your smile is elegant. Even though you have two smiles..."
"Two smiles?"
"Yes. One smile is when you smile at other people. Your friends, your family. Even Neighbor when he takes his trash to the road at the same time you do. It's a beautiful smile. But kind of broken. Not ugly, but broken. Broken because you are half-joyed. You feel a slight flutter in your heart when you are with your friends and family in their love, and it radiates to your lips. It's even radiates when you try to look more attractive to Neighbor when getting the mail. It's that smile in form number one that is broken, however the smile that is perfect and purely delightful is the smile you bear when you think of me. When I stepped into the hall with the bag of chocolates and lime-aide your face brightened and your smile made my heart jump for joy. That's the smile that I love the most: when your heart is so thrilled at my love that it overflows into your face and smile."
"So you love me when I'm ugly?"
"You are not ugly, so there is no special love for your ugliness. When you lust, I love you. When you try to earn my love, I have loved without interruption. Of course I would much rather you not lust for other men. In fact, I beg you deeply not to. It it absolute violation of our love. When we made our marriage vows those five years ago, we made sacred bonds to each other to love until death do us part. Those sacred bonds weren't just mere words, they connected our hearts together with iron and steel. But though you've made a slip to remove yourself from your end of our love, I have never ceased to love you. My deepest desire is for you to love me with your everything. I want your eyes to love me, your heart to love me, your thoughts to love me, your spirit to love me."
"And when my ugly heart refuses?"
"I will love you yet the still. My heart breaks in many pieces. In one when you deny your love for me. In another when you think my love for you changes with the seasons of time. And yet another piece when you reject my words of love and believe yourself to be ugly. You are beautiful. There is no ugliness in you because when our hearts connect in love you burst forth with ever-glowing beauty. My love for you drives out any ugliness and creates in its place beauty that can't be fathomed. When my love runs dry, your beauty will turn to ash. You know very well when my love will end, and therefore you must believe with every atom in your body (and every time your heart pumps) that you are beautiful."

Moments lingered, wading through thick thought-waters. Finally, Wife stood to her feet. She spoke nothing, but she set her glass down on the end table and walked to the garage. Husband remained where he knelt, staring into the blackness of the open garage door. In two minutes she returned with a paint bucket and roller brush that they had been using for their library. (It was a special paint: chalkboard paint. They would write quotes from books on their freshly painted walls reminding them of different things they've learned.)
Wife tore off the curtain rod to the window she lusted from and laid it out in front of the window sill. She peeled off the lid of the paint can and dipped the roller brush into the blackness with a sideways lilt. She scraped the side as she pulled it out and slapped it on the window, lathering the black paint across the panes.  In moments the entire window was blackened out. She threw the brush into the waste basket and closed the can. She returned it to the garage and came back with a fan and a box of chalk. She positioned the fan to quick-dry the window.
In a few minutes, the paint was dry. She withdrew a chalk stick and wrote on the window. She set the chalk on the counter and walked back to Husband and sat down next to him, placing her head on his heart.

"I am beautiful. My heart shall forever overflow with your love and I shall cast my overflowing love back to you."


~A story of Jesus and his Bride, the Church.

The Dirty President

There was once a president over a fairly large nation. He had many admirers, but at the same time he had many antagonists in his presence. Often people berated him, accusing him of various injustices because actions committed by the president hurt these people. Even still, this president loved his people. He would do anything to remain in seat of command.

One day news spread throughout the nation about this band of ragamuffins who were nomadic. Often they lived in the president's nation, often they moved north or south to find better sources of food or shelter. These people were poor. They lacked the money to buy any variety of food, so any question of new clothes or soap with water was out of the equation.

Local law enforcement saw these people as an eyesore. They felt the economy failed wherever the nomads were for people refused to eat in any restaurant that reeked of them; people hated to enter the same store they were in, and people dared not walk down the same street lest they contract some unknown disease or brush against their grime. Therefore, the local law enforcement sent their arms to capture every nomad and lock them up in prison. Shackles and everything.

Days passed, nights crept; and the people found a way to survive the horrible conditions of the jail. They had no other option than to live and sleep in their own filth. Food was scarce, and people began to die. However no body delivered the unfortunate lost souls out of the prison for proper burial or cremation, rather they were left alone with their surviving friends and family.

As months passed, the disgust of the nomads' prison was unimaginable. However, as issues were left untouched over the weeks, people soon forgot anything ever happened. Businesses were cranking out economic figures and people were happy. Everyone forgot about the enslaved nomads. Everyone but the few jailers who kicked food into the dreary hallways. Everyone but the few souls who linger around the jails seeking some new adventurous excursion to release boredom.

These adventurers soon discovered these nomads through a small window carved out of the stony wall. At first they thought it was like an open sepulcher, but as they drew nigh they heard moans. Naturally they assumed ghosts and were interested, but their excitement was all but shattered when they realized the moans came from living--though barely--souls deep in the prison of the nation. The adventurers saw the shackles. They saw the pain; the filth; the dead; the dying.

The adventurers pulled away from the prison window aghast and appalled. Surely this was disgustingly overlooked and no one actually allowed this atrocity to persist. They rushed to the guards and exclaimed how there was moaning and crying out from the lower level of the prison. However, the jailers simply shrugged it off as another feeding time and went with their buckets of slosh to feed the enslaved souls.

Such apathy to the horror shocked these young men who looked for answers within themselves. Finally, they turned and ran to the president's capitol building and sought aid from him who loved all.
They fell down before his feet, panting at the many mile run. Unable to look at his face, they poured out their spirits to his feet, crying out with a gnawing pang in their hearts. They clenched their fists, pounding the ground with defeated dismay.

The president knelt down by them and brushed tears from their eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. He anguished with them, for he knew already of the disaster in the jailhouse. He, however, spent months planning some sort of rescue attempt, but he was left with only one option: To go down there himself and pull them out of the grimy hole in the ground they were living in. The adventurers cautioned against the proposition, but the president bowed his head longingly, lovingly. He was the only one who had enough love to actually touch them, to rescue them.

Thus the president left his capitol building. He sprinted down the road to where the jailhouse stood against the shallow light of the rising sun. He pushed past the guards who tried to keep him away from the cellar, but they eventually grasped their position in light of the intruder and backed away. The president pressed on down the cold stairs, lights flickering with every breath of wind that whispered through the hallways--wind, mind you, that reeked of the nomads. The president suppressed his instinctive gagging and continued down the hall to the increasingly growing moans. He reached the large locked cell where the nomads were kept. They aroma hit him harder as he unlocked the cell. His feet slipped into muck. He took a few steps tripped over the chains of a deceased nomad and fell face-first into thick mire. He pushed himself up to his feet, dripping from the sludge. Again the aroma wrenched at his gut, but he successfully held himself complete.

The nomads looked at the dreary figured stumbling before them and wondered who the new prisoner was for only a moment before they caught a fluttering glimpse of their president. They cried out in sorrow for him to abandon them in their sludge-filled abode so that he would not contract a disease he would regret. The president gave them no regard for their outbursts and fell down at the socket of their chains and hoisted a large stone and shattered the bonds. He ushered them out the door, nudging them with his shoulders. He took the hands of those surrounding him and led them up the steps, out the jailhouse, and into the splintering light of sunrise.

The president led them to the river, fresh with rushing waters. He stepped in and his legs were washed of the grime, filth, and muck. He plunged deeper and his clean face was seen again to be recognized. He held out his arm for the first person to be washed by the waters and led her to be plunged beneath the swells of the river. As the frail woman surfaced, the beautiful, radiant glow of her skin and face shone in deep contrast to the refuse floating away down the river.

People rushed into the water to be cleansed of their slime and dirt and sorrow. The first woman danced upon the bank, trilling songs of jubilation. She twirled and jumped and clapped, joined by those stumbling onto the bank with cleansed bodies. As she danced more, her outpouring joy turned to instant confusion and slight sorrow when she spotted a handful of nomads still standing in their filth. She urged them to be washed by the president, yet they refused. To portray these souls as ungrateful to their rescue from the jail would be a false representation--for they, too, sang the songs of rescue and jubilee. They simply would not enter the river.

This trouble the woman greatly. He joy turned to mourning and sorrow as she reminded them of how the president entered their prison and experienced their grime and was plunged into their filth. Her heart ached with the president who was still holding his arm out to plunge them into the rushing, cleansing waters. His heart could not fathom why they would choose to remain in their grime and not be washed clean.

~~~~

So is the story with many Christians. They have been rescued from their bondage, from their chains of sin--yet they do not plunge into the cleansing waters of the Spirit to be renewed. They still drip of the grime of their habitual sins. They still sing and worship in their stained clothes and bodies. They still choose to return to their familiar sins.

It's a crazy thought. A ridiculous thought.

God shows his love for us in the while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. (Rom. 5:8)
While we were still sitting in our own filth and grime, Christ came to us, wrapped his arms around us, and lead us to redemption. Why, then, should we continue in sin? "How can we who died to sin still live in it?" (Rom. 6:2)
"Do not present your members to sin as instruments for unrighteousness, but present yourselves to God as those who have been brought from death to life, and your members to God as instruments for righteousness." (Rom. 6:13)

Poverty.

I was musing some things in my pre-class moments, and a little during class. The thought came to me: "Why should we care for the poor?"

It's a noble thing, a nice thing, perhaps even a humane thing. But we does God so strongly instruct us to care for the poor; and the widows? (And orphans).

Then my teacher said something that struck a chord. He was discussing the history of the United States and how the poor got poorer, and the rich got richer. He, in someway, said the system was set up so that people could, by their efforts, get higher up in the world. They couldn't just sit on their bum all day and get richer. They got the fruits of their labor: work a lot, get paid a lot, get richer. And the opposite holds true. He then explained how this one guy was different from the other millionaires, in that he would work hard to get money, but then use the money for greater purposes. Feeding the poor, helping the needy, etc. Because of the fact that sometimes--or often times--working hard doesn't pay off. Poor people get into debt, work really hard, but can't pay things off in time before interest sets in and they owe more money.

That's when thoughts connected for me. That's why God wants us to care for the poor. Because they do the best they can, and yet remain poor and needy. We might have to become "poor" so the poor can be rich.

God wants us to care for the poor because it is a picture of His relationship with us.
We are poor and needy; He is rich and wealthy. We can do nothing to get out of debt because the interest keeps adding up. We work, work, and work harder and nothing can make us richer. Therefore, God came and became poor so we can become rich. ("For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you by his poverty might become rich." --2 Cor. 8:9)

Cliched Post(End of 2012, Welcome 2013)

The year 2012 was a big year for me. It began with a "simple" trip to Ethiopia, Africa, that turned out to be far from simple. It changed my life. It changed my perspective on living, on money, on possessions, and on God and Church and my relationship to God. It's influenced my college plans, and even my life plans.

I've learned to be patient this year.
I've learned faith.
I've learned the deep, unending love of God.
I've learned the key to victory.
I've learned that it's OK not to have my future all laid out in front of me.
I've learned that a clean slate doesn't have to start with a new year, month, or even week. God's loving kindness is new every morning.
I've learned that it's the little things that leave some of the biggest imprints on my memories and nostalgia.
I've learned God to be true, faithful, and amazing.
I've learned that it's not all about service, but about being with Jesus, abiding in Him and His love.
I've learned (at the same time) missions trips are a tremendous thing to think about. It changes you.


Jehovah is truly phenomenal. He provides for my needs, He provides for my wants. He gives me every single thing--little or big--that I need to be the Christian He wants and expects me to be. He gives me ways to escape temptations. He gives me avenues to use the gifts He's given me. He never gives up on me. He never stops loving me. He never leaves me.

It's amazing to think that in a span of 12 months that God can reveal Himself so much. It's amazing to think that I had no idea what kind of impact simply following where Christ lead would leave on my soul.



So, with this year coming to and end, I think it is fit:

But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Let those of us who are mature think this way, and if in anything you think otherwise, God will reveal that also to you. -- Phil 3:13-15

Good things happened in 2012; bad things happened in 2013. But nothing can be changed by focusing on what was done in the past. I need to strain forward to what lies ahead. New things are before me--greater things are still to be done in my life by God. Deeper aspects of God will be revealed to me this year.

May 2013 carry with it the grace of God, remembrance of redemption, and power of the Gospel.

Hope was Born.

Darkness encroached on all people. A darkness darker than a moonless night. A darkness darker than pure ebony. It slithered out in thick wisps, choking out every ray of light. All creation drew rapid, shallow breaths as the darkness created in their presence a voiding pain. Without words or speech, the darkness offered the very thing it snatched from its victims: hope. Darkness had now reached every man, woman, and even small child. No one was untainted with the smothering grasp of it.
Songs faded. Happiness--true happiness--became a fabled idea of ancient times. Hope died with each birth. The rocks shuddered in sorrow from the theft of life upon their rugged bodies. Stars shone in vain attempt to direct avenues to hope. The sun refused to shine light of exhilaration--only a blanketing swelter.
Centuries this darkness thickened. Rarely did light burst through--but always did darkness fight back. The hosts of light followed the lead of the Source, sprouting rays of hope, despite the parrying attacks of darkness. The Source always tried new ways to  dissipate the darkness, but darkness never gave up. Ambition to cloak the world in its presence drove it to push back the Source at every move. Kings fell; nations crumbled; people failed. Death conquered; fear reigned; hate prospered.

Until.

Nature hushed their noise. Wind stopped her scurrying. Earth stood still.
The stars pulsated with direction of hope. One star expelled exceptionally radiant rays of hope, drowning out all other lights--even the moon paled in comparison.
The hosts of the angels of light were aghast, confused, unsure.
The Source drew a breath of human life.
Silently, Wind brushed over his soft face, assuring her wonder.
Nature uttered soft voices in form of cattle and sheep, uncertain how to respond.
The exuberant star thrummed her directive rays of hope.

The hosts of the angels broke the nervous silence. They shone their light, bursting forth through the darkness. Songs bubbled out of their hearts. Hope danced all around them. Happiness swayed with the livening breeze of Wind. "Glory to God in the highest! And peace, good will toward men!"

The carpenter holding this new human life knew little of all that was going on. The virgin gazing in her Son's eyes knew little of the hope that sparkled in them. They couldn't see yet the radiance throbbing in their Son. But Darkness felt the pangs with each pulsation of light. Heaven felt the hope with each heartbeat of the child. God's heart leaped inside Him; hope welling inside Him. Hope for redemption of Man. Hope for reconciliation. Hope for reciprocated love. Hope for hope.

A soft cry came from the child. Not of fear of new surroundings. Not of fear of those holding him. But of victory. Of triumph. It was soft to the ears of his earthly parents, but it was a roaring thunder to the ears of darkness--a battle cry to the heavenly hosts. Hope breathed life's first breath. Christ was born, radiating the light of pure happiness and hope.

Jesus--Isaiah 53

For [Jesus] grew up before him like a young plant, and a root out of a dry ground; he had no form or majesty that we should look at him, and no beauty we should desire him. He was despised and rejected by men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely he has borne our griefs and carried out sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted. --1-4

I memorized this passage as a child, and as often times when we memorize Scripture, we just learn the words, make sure they stick in our heads, and then continue on with our lives, bringing up the words when convenient.

I was on Youtube watching videos on grace, redemption, and Christ. I was watching how Christians ought to live versus the lives they're living. Then God reminded me of this passage through a video on grace. I went back and read the passage, and new things are sticking out to me. And the key part is verse four, where it talks about Christ having borne our griefs. What stuck out to me was the things going on subtly. There is a contrast here. Versus 1-3 describe Jesus and what has happened to Him socially. Verse 4 starts off testifying to the fact He experienced our griefs and sorrows...but it changes route quickly. It goes to say that we esteem(consider, think) Him to be stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted.
So...Isaiah is saying we think greatly on how Christ died. But I think the main issue was the first three verses. Everything following agrees to what we have esteemed about God--so it's not wrong or incorrect to think about how God died for us...but surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows.


>> For [Jesus] grew up before him like a young plant, and like a root out of a dry ground...
~Thus, to connect with us, Christ was a child and grew up. He was like a root growing in a dry ground, no spiritual water to be found around him. All dry, stuffy, and unsatisfying.

>>He had no form or majesty that we should look at him, and no beauty that we should desire him.
~ Jesus didn't have the regal figure; he wasn't ultra-handsome or gorgeous. He was an average Joe in appearance--or even perhaps uglier.

>>He was despised and rejected by men
~One doesn't have to be ugly or average to be despised and rejected by men. You can be popular, handsome, gorgeous, important--and yet despised and rejected.

>> A man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief.
~Jesus didn't just have sorrows...he was a man of them. They characterized his life and plagued him. He was acquainted with grief--think of acquaintances in your life. Not your friends, but you see them enough to know a little about them, and see them semi-frequently. He wasn't a stranger to grief.

>>And as one from whom men hide their faces he was despised
~Just like when we have people avoid us, hide their faces from us, and ignore us Jesus experienced such similar rejection.

>>And we esteemed him not<<

Did you get that?

>>And we considered/reckoned him not<<

>>And we didn't even think about his problems<<

::Surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted.::

That's the image we have seared into our heads. The man who was struck, the man who was smitten by God, the man who was afflicted, the man who was pierced, the man who was crushed, the man who was wounded, the man who took the iniquity of us all.

None of that is false. Every bit of it is true. He was oppressed. He was afflicted. He was led to the slaughter.

But there is the side of Christ that we often neglect. Christ's death event lasted for several hours--maybe a day or two (from when he was arrested to the time he gave up the ghost). And that's what is necessary for our salvation--to realize He died to take away our sins.
Yet we so often ignore the 33 years of life he endured to bring him to the cross. He lived a life of grief, of sorrow, of pain, of suffering, of temptation, of rejection, of hatred. He knew people who wanted to kill him, he knew people who wanted him to leave forever, he knew people who betrayed him. He had scoffers and mockers. He saw pain, he saw ridicule, he saw sorrow. He endured slander and gossip; he endured misunderstandings of his past and the past of his family. He wasn't rich. He cried. He sat alone. He went hungry. He was exhausted. He felt the weight of doing something he knew was right, but didn't want to do it. He knew what it was like to ask for a different assignment, for a different way, a different plan. He knew what it was like to eat a final meal with his best friends and then be taken from them. He knew what it was like not to have anyone his age to play with, to grow with, to learn with.

For thirty-three years he knew this. He knew it well. He lived it daily. He endured pain and sorrow daily.

Yet we hardly ever think about it. We only think about His death. But...if he never lived for thirty-three years, He never would have died on the cross. If he quit on us because of the hardships in his early adult years, He never would have redeemed the souls of the world present and future.


Therefore, thank Christ for His death the sacrifice He made to redeem you. But also thank Him for his life, that he never gave up so that you could be redeemed. ::Surely he has borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows.::