Good Friday. There is a paradox for you. We commemorate the day that a Man was mocked, beaten, tortured, and killed, as "Good".
I've been trying to understand this for a good year now--how it is that this thing which to the rest of the world looks so sorrowful is the cause of our joy, the reason we hope, the light for us in dark places when all other lights go out...
I don't have answers for you, dear readers. I only know that the Cross is the center of all things, that if I'm going to understand life it's going to be because God keeps bringing me back here to the foot of it to look upon the one I've pierced.
If there's one thing I've realized in the last 6 weeks it's that I'm lousy at suffering. Just Wednesday night God and I were having a bit of a talk, which basically consisted of me yelling at Him because I didn't want to give Him what He was asking me to give Him and then crying and saying, "It's all yours, God"--and since then I've kept saying that, hoping that eventually I mean it.
And while I'm crying and struggling to give up one little thing for God, His Son is on that cross dying for me. Suffering and dying because He sees something worth redeeming in a messed-up teenager from Ohio.