Carrying my Cross

Mat 16:24  Then said Jesus unto his disciples, If any man would come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.

Crosses are heavy and dangerous, full of splinters and nails. Have you ever gotten a splinter in your skin or stepped on a board with a nail? Well, I have dug many splinters out of my skin with a straight pin slightly burned at the end to prevent infection. I topped it off with alcohol that burned tears to my eyes. Once as a child I stepped on a board with a nail that pricked the delicate center of my foot. That landed me a trip to the emergency room and a painful tetanus shot.  I walked with a limp for a week when I had to walk. Of course I milked it for all it was worth and demanded (in a weak whisper) my family wait on me, as if I had undergone a  complete leg amputation.

Lately Jesus has been teaching me the meaning of dying to self, and denying myself both of which I have very little practice. As much as I would like to pretend otherwise the truth of the matter is: I lack spiritual discipline at least 95% of the time. Sad I know. The good news is I can rely on grace 100% of the time, but Jesus said it's time for me to grow up. Not that his grace is no longer sufficient, that will never happen, but it's time for me to develop tougher skin. He wants me to understand that a servant will never be greater than his lord and if they called him Beelzebub, they will also call me names.

I come from a large family and a neighborhood full of large families. I was small for my age, quiet and shy. Which left me a target of teasing and bullying my entire life. The bullies never understood  the fact that quiet and shy was the outward appearance. Inside I was fierce and scrappy. I fought a lot to protect myself. They would usually have to hit me first, or if they were too big I would just attack them while they were busy entertaining the crowd. I fought and won all the time. I was never a loud mouth or a bully but I have always been a fighter. Lately Jesus has been teaching me that defending myself is pride and self-righteousness. I have been accused of being self-righteous, I've been called a witch, I've been told that I don't need to pray as often as I do. I desperately want to defend myself and it's been a real struggle not to. I can no longer look at them and think to myself, "Whore of Babylon,"( I used to pretend it was okay as long as it was biblical). God said he would pluck out anything he did not plant. He did not plant little mean vicious thoughts.

Abba knows that I'm scrappy and full of fire, he put it in me, but he wants me to know the difference between fighting in the spirit and wrestling with flesh and blood. I want to retaliate verbally against all the verbal abuse. He told me that carrying the cross (his instrument of capital punishment) was a humbling experience, and so is mine. Crosses are heavy and carrying them hurt. I'm picking the splinter that prick my joy and restrict my vision and the nails that leave me hobbling  in pain.  I will not defend myself. I can not defend myself.

Fearless