Some things in life are hard–beastly, horribly, terribly hard. Some things are so hard that we’d never dream of getting through through them if we had a choice. Deep grief, for example. Or seeing a child suffer deep and scarring wounds. Or caring for someone who’s debilitated and ungrateful and mean. It’s hard, hard, hard.
Recently it occurred to me that when I hear myself groaning about how hard something is, it would help to link it with something else that’s hard: the wood of the cross. This is hard… that was hard. This is difficult… that was difficult. This is painful… that was painful.
In my miniature version of Christ’s suffering, I have the chance to learn to be a bit more like Him. I have the opportunity to map my heart to His, to offer myself up in a smaller way for the glory of God.
It doesn’t make my task less hard. But it does make it beautiful.
