Dear Journal,
You see, lately I've been listening to a friend talk about a man named Jesus. A man who claimed to be God. A man who basically said, "If you follow me, I'll show you life like you've never dreamed it could be." So there I stood, at the fork in the road, waiting to take my next step. Should I follow Jesus? Or should I keep going my own way?
I glanced back over the path of my life. To be honest, it had been a painful path littered with broken relationships and forgotten dreams, and somewhere along the way my self-respect had been trampled.
I tried to peer ahead to the path that Jesus offered, but all I could really see was Him. He said His path would unfold step by step, day by day. He promised it would be a path that led to life - the kind of life that would spring up from inside of me and never run out. Then he offered me His hand.
That's when I noticed it. The scar, that is. There was a deep scar in Jesus' hand.
"When happened to you?" I asked.
Then I remembered what my friend had said. He said Jesus had been nailed to a cross. He said Jesus had paid the price for all the damage I had done on my destructive journey.
The sight of that scar was all I needed to make my decision. I didn't need to see the road ahead in order to follow Jesus. It's not where I'd be going on this journey that would matter so much; it's who I'd be going with. I decided to go with Jesus. I reached out, He took hold of me with His nail-scarred hand, and we headed on our way. |
