My daughter writes each day about something she is thankful for that day. I was so touched by the following post she had on Facebook last night, that I just have to share it with you.
By Sarah Johnson
Today, I’m thankful to God that Jesus didn’t quit.
Imagine. You’re in the desert. It’s hot. Like, really hot. You’re exhausted. You’ve been chained up and beaten. Not only with fists but whips and chains. Every inch of you hurts. You have open wounds all over your body. Your sweat, your salty sweat, is rolling into those open wounds. Stinging like tiny needles being dragged along your skin. You can’t wipe it away. Your feet are raw from walking; every pebble or hunk of dirt they scrape against as you step is excruciating. You are dragging a heavy, wooden, rugged cross on your shoulders. The wood from the cross shoves splinters into your sunburned shoulders with every step. Your vision is cloudy from the blood dripping from your head into your eyes. You can’t wipe it. Your mouth is so dry you feel panicked. There is no water. You hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Bouncing around inside your head. Only slightly muffled by the shouting of people wishing to see you die. Every breath is more painful than the last. You are about to die, but not soon enough. You know you will be nailed to that cross on your back and left to hang for hours. You know you’re about to die one of the most painful deaths possible.
With one word you could make the suffering end and feel no more pain.
Do you do it?
Do you quit?
Most would. In fact, I’d like to argue that all would, given the opportunity. All except Jesus.
The Son of God.
Our Lord and Savior.
He continued His suffering. He valued our eternity more than His life on earth. More than His comfort. More than Himself.
