I gasped, perhaps a little too audibly, when our pastor uttered those words today. It isn’t like it’s a new concept; I’ve known for a long time that the battle is already won, that Christ won the victory on Calvary, the Gospel story. This was not news to me.
So why it hit me so directly this morning I’m not sure, but hit me it did. My mind immediately jumped the thought from the expanse of the brightly-lit auditorium across the vista of my life, my day, my goals, my fears, my sphere of influence, my areas of ministry.
When I landed on my ministry here at Write Where It Hurts, I stopped for a while to ponder the application. What if this is the key to what we are doing here?
What if we approached the pain of our past, the tasks of our present, the outlook of our future, from a standpoint of victory? What would change?
The pastor shared a story about how he had once recorded the football game of his favorite college team, and when he went to watch it he accidentally viewed the end of the recording showing the final score with his team the victor.
Even though he was angry to have the ending spoiled, he went on to watch the game anyway. He said the entire viewing experience was transformed. Why? Because he already knew his team had won. Fumbles didn’t ruffle him. Interceptions didn’t rile him. Being down by a few points at any point didn’t unnerve him, because he kept recalling the outcome.
It isn’t unusual for me to come away from our pastor’s messages enlightened and inspired, but today was extra special for me. Today, my heart for this ministry was highlighted. And I am blessed to pass along this reminder to you, precious friend, so that you may have a renewed hope in what we are doing here, all of us together.
When we write through our pain, we know we will reach healing. When we cry out to God in the pages of our journals, we can look ahead and see our Savior on the Throne and know it’s all going to be all right in the end.
I don’t normally like to have the ending of a book or movie spoiled—unless I know it’s going to be a bad ending. As long as I know it ends well, I am content.
How much more should that apply to the way I live my life, word my stories, share my heart, if I know that it isn’t just a medal that awaits me in the end but the Crown of Life?
How much more should it mean to all of us?’
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