The cross I’m meant to carry everyday is, in a way, crafted for me by the one who loves me most. That there’s a lot of crosses in the world, just as there’s a lot of deaths… but that only one is meant for me. It can be really hard to explain what it’s like to suffer for loving someone, and I’m not able to explain it in more than a visceral response. More eloquent people than me have described it as “fear”, or have said that “He disciplines those whom He loves”. Paul said that God placed a sharp piece of wood — a thorn, in many translations — into his flesh, and when Paul asked God to remove it, His answer was no, that “my grace is sufficient for you.” When Job worshipped God, he said, “though He slay me, yet will I praise Him,” and Jesus prayed, “Your will be done,” fully knowing God’s good and perfect Will was that Jesus should suffer terribly from that point; in the Father’s own words, “Awake, sword, against my shepherd, against the man who is close to me! […] Strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered” (see https://enduringword.com/bible-commentary/zechariah-13/ for a very good discussion of this quote). So, I know that from the outside, that it all sounds like craziness. I’m sure it sounds abusive and one-sided. All I can tell you, though, is it’s not one-sided. If anyone is abused in this process, it’s God Himself. It’s strengthening and freeing and it feels good in a way that’s hard to explain. To step up and start is such an absolute rejection of human nature, you could’ve more readily convinced me to drink poison than to follow a God who promises suffering and persecution. So I’ve got no “Ah ha!” moment to give you in here, no “Pikachu, I choose YOU!” to shout across the hilltops.
All I can say is, I’ve seen God, and He’s GOOD, and He’s worth following.
Amen.