Most days I don’t want to carry my cross, at least not the raw, rough hewn one like Jesus carried. I’d rather mine be sanded smooth, lightweight and preferably stylish and attractive. My faith requires much of me, and sometimes I just don’t want to give everything I have. I like my relatively easy life, with luxuries like a safe and comfortable home and tasty food to eat. I haven’t had to give these up to follow him.
Yet there is still an offering required of me if I want to call myself a follower of Christ. I must die daily to my own agenda, my biases and preconceptions. My selfishness must be sacrificed upon the altar of service to my family, but without resentment, otherwise it becomes duty alone. I need to move forward willingly, even with hesitation and fear if I must, when he calls me out.
I follow because I have no idea where I am going most of the time, but I know he’s leading me somewhere good. He can do nothing less, it’s who he is. Even if the trail appears smooth in some spots and rugged in others, I keep to the path because while I’m not always certain of the route, I know the destination is sure, and while the timing is unknown, my arrival has been planned for and anticipated. So I will keep walking.