Jesus died. The one person who did nothing wrong, paid for all of my wrongs. And there are too many to count. I should be better at so much: A husband, a father, a pastor, a brother, a son. I am all of these and I fail. As a husband I haven’t loved my wife enough. Said the wrong things at the wrong times. Sat on the couch too much and too long. Demanded many things in simmering anger. As a father I have been lazy and lax. I haven’t taught and trained like I should. I have gotten mad when I should have listened. I can't get the years back. As a pastor I definitely don’t pray nearly enough. I preach at times to perform. I like to be liked. As a brother I don’t keep in contact. I slip in, wave, hug and slip out. As a son...the list is too long. And then I read in Psalm 69:4 one line that stops my heart. I am overwhelmed everytime I read it. It makes no sense: “What I (Jesus) did not steal must I (Jesus) now restore?” This is the cross. A payment for my failure. At every point I have stumbled, fell, rebelled and willfully sinned, Jesus paid for it. It makes no sense. Why would he do this? Why did he let me go free? I failed. I keep failing, and I always will. The only thing I can figure is John 14:3, “I (Jesus) will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also.” Jesus wants to be with me. And the cross was the only way. It makes no sense, but I accept.
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