Faith, Hope, and Love

In some Christian circles, it is the "thing" to ask people their salvation story. How did you come to know the Lord? It is often on mission trip applications, volunteer forms, and it might even comes up when you're meeting your new boyfriend's friends, mentors or family. Someone, somewhere is going to ask. Tell us your testimony. This has always made me a little uncomfortable, or sometimes even rubbed me the wrong way. And then I'd feel guilt. Shouldn't I be excited to share my story? To shout from the rooftops the story of how God saved me, redeemed me, made me whole? So why do I feel a little bit of discomfort or shame when I think of my story? Of the place where I first met the Lord? It's taken me a while, but I realized it boiled down to one thing: I don't remember it.  I don't remember the day, the time, the moment where I first surrendered to His call and embraced the message of the Gospel. I grew up in a Christian home. When I w...

Three days and all of history was change. Three days and all of life  was changed. On Friday, the crowd gathered to watch as He was walked to a hill, battered and bruised, and nailed to a cross. Saturday was silent; full of pain and confusion for those who loved Him, uncertainty and regret for those who had wanted to trust Him, empty triumph for those who hated Him. And then there was Sunday... oh, glorious Sunday.  Sunday led to an empty tomb, a risen Savior, to the defeat of Death.  How thankful we all should be for these three days.  Without Friday, no blood would have been shed to cleanse our sins and be the true sacrifice. Without Saturday, no chance for us to wait--to lie between despair and joy. Which might seem cruel, but the wait makes Sunday that much more victorious. Because without Sunday, there would have been no resurrection. No victory over death. No chance for a new life, an eternal  life.  As Christians, we tend to make...