“For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” — Mark 10:45

Have you ever stopped to think about thinking? Have you ever considered the awe-inducing ability you have to be reading these words in this exact moment? I am convinced that if we knew the intricate details, the unbelievable odds, the perfect connections that must happen for me to write this and for you to read this, our minds would bend and nearly break—only to reason that it is possible that there might, just maybe, be a God. 

And if there is a chance that there is a God, who is big enough, creative enough, and extraordinary enough to take the time to allow me the privilege of not only existing, but experiencing so many wonderful and beautiful feelings and emotions and sights and pleasures and thoughts—then is he not, at the very least, deserving of our consideration?

And when we begin to consider him, we might even find him bigger, more creative, and more curious than we initially thought possible. Everything we see and experience is so divinely complex. The good, the beautiful, the sad, the hard—it all cries of something more. Even our pain cries that God must be…there must be a reason for this or that, there must be an answer. All we see and feel and know cries out, God, you must be there!

And once we allow ourselves the permission to believe that he must be there, we are compelled to muster the courage to examine what he says about himself, and about us. Is it possible that there, in an ancient book, we might find a loving, all-powerful, all-knowing, all-good, just, merciful, perfect, and holy God? It takes courage, but we must look, because if he is all that he says he is, then he is worthy of our whole lives.

Why?

Because for what little we might know about God, we know a lot about ourselves. And we know, deep down, that we are not all-good, that we are not all-wise, that we mess up, and fall short, and disappoint, and are sad, sick, and hurting. If we are honest, we know at our best we are good-ish, and that we could never measure up to “good enough” before a perfectly perfect God. And what’s more, we know that no thing could ever “be enough” for the wide gaping holes we have in our lives. We know that this world isn’t right. Not even close. We ache for something more. Anything we find that is good in this world will always not quite measure up. We know us and the weight of what we are not and what we lack. 

And yet, in his perfect love, God comes for us. He sees us, loves us, wants us, aches for us, and chooses us. When Jesus came, he measured up. Perfectly. And though he deserved heaven, he instead hung on a tree. He paid the ransom price for every shortcoming of the whole world—even every one of yours and every one of mine. With his death, he put to death every sin of every person who would only admit the truth they know: they indeed fall short and need a Savior. And when Jesus rose from the grave, he proved himself to be the one true victory over every shortcoming of the whole world—even every one of yours and every one of mine. He stands, victorious and with an invitation…he gladly removes every heavy thing we carry, and fills every hole in our heart. All we must do is admit our need and say yes to him.

I said yes. Years ago, as a worried, weary child. And I have received peace and confidence since that day, every single day, and for my forever. I do not know every intricate detail, the unbelievable odds, the perfect connections that must happen for me to write this, and for you to read this. But I do know what I have experienced: Jesus crowned as King of my life has brought me freedom, life, purpose, confidence, and peace. He could have stayed on the throne, but he chose instead to cast down his crown, to throw off his glory, not only to meet me, but to serve me, to be a sacrifice for me, to ransom me from my fear, doubt, and death itself. His peace is mine because I said yes.

I want that peace for you. Might you consider him?