The Morning I Finally Saw the Cross
The
Stillness Before the Revelation
It was early — the kind of quiet that only
happens before the world fully wakes up. The sky was still dim, the air calm,
and a stillness that felt as if it were waiting for something. I remember
standing beside my bed, phone in hand, looking out the window as I talked with
one of my mentors. We had made it a rhythm — every Saturday morning, without
fail, a call to check in, pray, and share whatever the Lord had been stirring
that week.
I wasn’t expecting anything different that
morning. It was ordinary, in the way that only the extraordinary can interrupt.
We were talking about surrender — the idea
that to follow Jesus isn’t about balancing your will with His, but about
letting go entirely. I’d heard that phrase countless times before: “Lay it
at the foot of the cross.” But that morning, those words suddenly felt
different, heavier.
As my mentor spoke, a strange awareness began
to fill the room. It started as a weight — not oppressive, but holy. Then came
warmth, like sunlight breaking through clouds. I knew I wasn’t alone. The
presence of the Holy Spirit wasn’t just around me; it felt beside me —
near enough to touch, yet far beyond anything physical.
In that moment, time seemed to pause.
And then it came — a wave of realization so
powerful it dropped me into silence. I wasn’t just remembering that Jesus died
for the world. I knew, for the first time, that He had died for me.
Personally. Intentionally. Completely.
Teaching
Reflection: When Awareness Becomes Encounter
There’s a difference between knowing about
God and encountering Him. One fills your mind; the other transforms your
heart. Many believers understand the Gospel intellectually, but a holy moment
happens when that truth shifts from information to revelation.
That’s what happened to me that morning.
John 14:26 (NIV) says,
“But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the
Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and will remind you of
everything I have said to you.”
The Spirit doesn’t just comfort; He reveals.
He takes what we’ve heard about Jesus and makes it come alive within us.
When that happens, it’s not emotional hype —
it’s divine awakening.
If you’ve ever felt numb in your faith or
wondered why the cross feels distant, ask the Holy Spirit to make it real
again. Don’t rush it. Don’t chase a feeling. Just invite Him to reveal
Jesus in a deeper way.
Because when you see the cross for yourself,
you never unsee it.
The Moment
of Realization
I remember exactly where I stood — halfway
between the bed and the window, the light creeping through the curtains. The
sound of my mentor’s voice was still in my ear, but I couldn’t focus on his
words anymore. Everything went quiet inside me, except one truth that became
louder than all others:
Jesus gave His life for me.
It hit me not as a sentence, but as a reality
that flooded every corner of my being. I felt the gravity of it — not guilt,
but gratitude. For years, I had known that Jesus died for the world, but
I hadn’t felt that He died for me — that He saw my name, my life, my
sins, and still chose the cross.
It was personal now.
I thought of Isaiah 49:16 (NIV):
“See, I have engraved you on the palms of my
hands.”
Those words used to sound poetic. That
morning, they became literal. My name was there. So was yours.
The realization broke me. The strength I
thought I had suddenly wasn’t strength at all — it was a wall. A wall that had
kept me safe from pain but also kept me from grace.
And as that wall came down, the tears began.
The Flood
of Tears
I don’t remember dropping to my knees, but I
know that I did. My mentor stopped speaking. Somehow, he knew. The silence on
the phone was sacred. It wasn’t awkward; it was holy.
The tears came in waves — deep,
uncontrollable, cleansing. I cried for everything I had carried: the guilt I
never voiced, the anger I never processed, the shame I thought I had buried.
But through those tears came something greater — the unmistakable sense of
being washed clean.
It wasn’t punishment. It was purification.
As I wept, a verse I hadn’t thought of in
years rose to mind:
Psalm 34:18 (NIV)
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and
saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
That morning, He was close indeed.
It felt as though the Spirit was saying, “Now
you understand. This is why He came. This is why He stayed on the cross.”
Every sob, every tear, was met not with
judgment but with love.
And for the first time, I wasn’t just forgiven
— I was free.
Teaching
Reflection: Tears That Heal
Tears are not weakness. They are often
worship. When the Holy Spirit convicts, He doesn’t condemn — He cleanses.
In 2 Corinthians 7:10 (NIV), Paul
writes:
“Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to
salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death.”
There’s a sorrow that destroys and a sorrow
that delivers. The difference is Jesus.
When we finally grasp what He did for us,
emotion becomes expression. Those tears are not shame — they are surrender.
Sometimes the most powerful prayers are
wordless.
When the Spirit moves you to tears, don’t hold
back. Let them fall. Each one is a drop of healing grace.
The Gift of
Awareness
When the tears slowed and silence filled the
room again, I stood still for a long time. The air felt different — lighter,
somehow charged with peace.
That morning marked the moment awareness
became awakening. I realized that faith isn’t about trying harder but seeing
clearer. It’s not about striving to love God but allowing Him to show you
how much He already loves you.
Romans 5:8 (NIV) says it plainly:
“But God demonstrates his own love for us in
this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”
That word demonstrates struck me later.
Love is not an idea. It’s action. God didn’t just tell us He loved us — He showed
us.
And He did it when we least deserved it.
That morning, I felt the truth of that verse
wrap around me like a blanket. It didn’t matter what I had done or how long it
took me to understand. The moment I truly realized the cross, the weight of sin
gave way to the weight of glory.
Everything I used to strive for — forgiveness,
worth, peace — had already been given to me. I just hadn’t opened the gift.
Teaching
Reflection: Living in Revelation, Not Religion
Many believers live as though the cross earned
them a second chance to try harder. But that’s not grace — that’s
pressure.
Grace doesn’t say, “Do better.”
Grace says, “It is finished.”
John 19:30 (NIV) — Jesus’
final words on the cross:
“When he had received the drink, Jesus said,
‘It is finished.’ With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.”
If you want to live in the freedom of the
cross, you must stop striving for what’s already complete.
Religion says, “Earn your way.”
Revelation says, “He made a way.”
When you begin to live from grace
instead of toward it, everything changes — your prayers, your worship,
your sense of identity.
That’s when you finally begin to live as a
child, not a servant — not working for approval, but resting in it.
Foreshadowing
in the Old Testament
After that morning, I spent weeks revisiting
scripture, tracing every shadow and promise that pointed to the cross long
before Jesus hung upon it. It was as though God’s fingerprints were everywhere
— in every covenant, every sacrifice, every act of mercy that foreshadowed the
day His Son would give His life for us all.
The more I read, the more I realized that God
had been telling this story from the very beginning — a story of rescue,
redemption, and relationship. The cross wasn’t a last-minute solution; it was
the centerpiece of His plan since the foundation of the world.
Abraham and Isaac – Genesis 22
In Genesis 22, Abraham is told to take his
only son, Isaac, and sacrifice him on Mount Moriah. I’ve read that story
countless times, but after my encounter, I saw it differently.
Abraham didn’t know it then, but he was
walking in a prophetic parallel. When he raised the knife, an angel stopped him
— but the Father, centuries later, did not stop the nails that pierced His Son.
When Isaac asked, “Where is the lamb for the
burnt offering?” Abraham answered in faith, “God himself will provide the
lamb.” (Genesis 22:8, NIV)
And He did.
That Lamb was Jesus — the provision for every
broken soul, the substitute for every sinner, the sacrifice that ended all
sacrifices.
That realization humbled me deeply. The story
of Abraham wasn’t just about obedience; it was about foreshadowing the Father’s
heart — a God who would rather give up His own Son than lose us forever.
Teaching
Reflection: Seeing the Cross Before the Cross
The Old Testament reveals a God who was never
distant. From the first sin in Eden, He was already preparing a way for
redemption. When Adam and Eve hid in shame, He clothed them — a symbol of the
covering that Christ would one day provide.
The cross wasn’t born in Rome or carved on
Golgotha. It was whispered in Genesis, foreshadowed in Exodus, and promised
through the prophets.
If you ever doubt God’s plan for your life,
remember this:
The same God who planned the cross from the beginning has already written
redemption into your story.
Romans 8:28 (NIV) says:
“And we know that in all things God works for
the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”
When you can’t see the full picture, trust
that He can. The cross was proof that He always keeps His word — even when the
wait feels unbearable.
The Passover Lamb – Exodus 12
The next passage that came alive to me was the
story of Passover. The Israelites painted lamb’s blood over their doorframes,
and death passed over them. I used to think of that as just a story of
deliverance for Israel, but now I see it for what it truly was — a
foreshadowing of salvation for humanity.
The lamb’s blood was a sign that a substitute
had already died, so the people inside would live.
That’s exactly what Jesus did for us.
When John the Baptist first saw Him, he didn’t
say, “Look, the great teacher,” or “Look, the prophet.” He said, “Look, the
Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29, NIV).
That blood — His blood — still marks the
doorposts of every heart that believes.
Teaching
Reflection: The Blood Still Speaks
We live in a world that tries to make grace
sound symbolic, but the truth is — it’s supernatural.
Hebrews 12:24 (NIV) says:
“To Jesus the mediator of a new covenant, and
to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.”
The blood of Abel cried out for vengeance; the
blood of Jesus cries out for mercy.
When you fully realize what Jesus did for you,
you stop trying to earn peace and start living under the covering of His
sacrifice. The blood doesn’t just forgive you once — it declares you free every
single day.
So when guilt tries to speak louder than
grace, remember:
The blood still speaks.
The Suffering Servant – Isaiah 53
Isaiah’s prophecy is perhaps the clearest
window into the cross before it happened. Every line points to Jesus with
divine precision:
Isaiah 53:5 (NIV):
“But he was pierced for our transgressions,
he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on him,
and by his wounds we are healed.”
When I read that after that Saturday morning,
it broke me all over again. I realized that those words weren’t abstract; they
were intimate. Every “our” was “my.”
He was pierced for my transgressions.
He was crushed for my iniquities.
The punishment that brought me peace was on Him.
By His wounds, I am healed.
And that’s when the gospel stops being
information and becomes transformation — when our becomes mine.
Teaching
Reflection: From Theology to Testimony
Many of us know Isaiah 53 as theology, but few
have allowed it to become testimony.
The difference is revelation.
Theology informs you of what God has done.
Revelation invites you to experience it personally.
When you read scripture, don’t just look for
verses — look for Jesus. He’s in every chapter, every story, every thread. From
Genesis to Revelation, it all leads to the cross and the empty tomb.
Ask the Spirit to move it from your head to
your heart. That’s when you’ll find yourself weeping not from guilt but from
gratitude.
Fulfillment
in the New Testament
Every prophecy became flesh when Jesus walked
the earth. Every promise found its “yes” in Him.
The more I read through the Gospels, the more
I saw that everything He did — the healings, the miracles, the teachings — all
pointed to one thing: the cross.
And yet, He didn’t resist it.
He embraced it.
When Jesus prayed in Gethsemane, “Yet not as I
will, but as you will” (Matthew 26:39 NIV), He was saying yes to everything
that would save us — the pain, the nails, the rejection, and the weight of sin
itself.
I think about that moment often. The Son of
God, who could have called down angels to end it all, chose instead to bear it
all.
And when He cried out, “It is finished”
(John 19:30, NIV), He wasn’t announcing defeat — He was proclaiming completion.
The work was done. The debt was paid. The door to the Father was open forever.
Teaching
Reflection: It Is Finished — Now Live Like It
The hardest part about grace is accepting that
it really is enough.
Hebrews 10:10 (NIV) says:
“And by that will, we have been made holy
through the sacrifice of the body of Jesus Christ once for all.”
Once for all.
No repeats. No conditions. No prerequisites.
When Jesus said, “It is finished,” He
meant it.
You don’t need to keep proving yourself worthy
of His love. You just need to walk in the reality of what He already did.
If you want to honour the cross, stop living
like you’re still trying to earn it.
Live forgiven.
Live loved.
Live free.
That’s the power of the cross realized.
Three
Scriptural Examples of Realizing What Jesus Did for You
The Bible gives us beautiful portraits of
people who went through that same revelation — people who moved from failure or
ignorance to divine awareness of who Jesus really is.
Let’s look at three of them.
1. Peter — The Moment of Restoration
Peter’s journey has always spoken deeply to
me. Here was a man full of passion, boldness, and love for Jesus — yet also
full of fear. The same Peter who walked on water also denied knowing Christ
three times in His hour of suffering.
But then came that moment after the
resurrection.
John 21:15–17 (NIV) tells the story of Jesus
meeting Peter by the sea. Three times, Jesus asked, “Do you love me?” —
once for each denial.
And each time, Peter responded, “Yes, Lord,
you know that I love you.”
That wasn’t condemnation. It was restoration.
Jesus didn’t lecture him. He reminded him. He
brought Peter back to purpose: “Feed my sheep.”
That’s what grace does — it restores your
calling after your collapse.
Teaching
Reflection: Forgiven, Then Commissioned
Peter’s story reminds us that Jesus doesn’t
just forgive — He reinstates. He doesn’t just clean the slate; He invites us
back into purpose.
Maybe you’ve denied Him, drifted from Him, or
doubted Him. He’s not done with you.
When the cross becomes real, you stop running
from your failures and start running toward His forgiveness.
Grace doesn’t disqualify you; it redeems you
for the very purpose He had in mind all along.
2. Paul — From Persecutor to Preacher
Paul’s conversion in Acts 9 is one of the
clearest pictures of transformation in all of scripture.
Saul, the man who persecuted Christians, was
blinded on the road to Damascus. And in that darkness, he met the Light of the
world.
When the voice of Jesus asked, “Why do you
persecute me?” (Acts 9:4, NIV), Paul’s entire worldview collapsed. He
thought he was defending God, but he was fighting against Him.
When his sight was restored three days later,
he saw everything differently — not just physically, but spiritually. The cross
had become real. Grace had become personal.
Paul went from being an enemy of Christ to one
of His greatest messengers.
Teaching Reflection: The Power of a New Vision
True encounter with Jesus always changes how
you see — yourself, others, and your purpose.
The same God who opened Paul’s eyes can open
yours. The same Spirit that transformed his hatred into humility can transform
your heart too.
Don’t be surprised if the place you once
opposed God becomes the place He uses you most.
The power of the cross is not just forgiveness
— it’s transformation.
3. The Thief on the Cross — Grace in the Final
Hour
Luke 23:42–43 (NIV):
“Then he said, ‘Jesus, remember me when you
come into your kingdom.’
Jesus answered him, ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.’”
That thief had nothing to offer — no good
deeds, no second chances, no time left. Yet in his dying breath, he saw the
truth that others missed: the man beside him wasn’t just another criminal. He
was the Son of God.
And in a single sentence of faith, he was
saved.
That’s grace — pure, undeserved, overwhelming
grace.
It’s not about when you find Jesus. It’s about
the fact that He’s been reaching for you all along.
Teaching Reflection: Never Too Late, Never Too
Far
The thief on the cross teaches us that it’s
never too late to turn to Jesus. You can’t out-sin His mercy, and you can’t
outrun His love.
Whether you come to Him at fifteen or fifty,
early in life or in your final hour, the invitation is the same: “Today you
will be with Me.”
The moment you believe, heaven becomes your
home.
The moment you realize what Jesus did for you,
everything changes.
Living in
the Awareness
In the days that followed that Saturday
morning, something inside me had undeniably changed. I didn’t need to tell
anyone — people could see it. Conversations felt different. My prayers slowed
down, becoming less about asking and more about listening.
Every morning, I woke up with a new sense of
gratitude — not because my life suddenly became easier, but because I finally
understood why I was alive at all.
That awareness became an anchor.
I started to realize that living for Christ
isn’t a one-time event; it’s a continual unfolding — an awareness that grows
deeper every day.
I would read passages I had known since
childhood, and they would pierce my heart with fresh meaning. Verses that once
felt familiar now felt alive, as if Jesus Himself was whispering them directly
into my spirit.
John 10:10 (NIV) became one of those verses
that kept coming back to me:
“I have come that they may have life, and have
it to the full.”
That’s not talking about survival — it’s
talking about surrendered abundance.
It’s the kind of fullness that only comes when you finally stop striving and
start abiding.
When I realized that Jesus didn’t just die to
save me from something, but for something — for relationship, for
renewal, for eternity — everything took on a new perspective.
Even pain had purpose.
Even silence had meaning.
Teaching
Reflection: Living as One Who Has Seen
When you have truly seen the cross, you can’t
go back to casual Christianity.
You start to notice grace everywhere — in a
conversation, in a sunrise, in forgiveness that shouldn’t have been given but
was.
Galatians 2:20 (NIV) says:
“I have been crucified with Christ and I no
longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by
faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.”
That’s not a metaphor. It’s a manifesto.
Living in awareness means letting Christ live through
you — responding with patience when your flesh wants to react, loving the
unlovable, forgiving the unforgivable, and extending grace where you once
withheld it.
That kind of life doesn’t come from willpower;
it comes from worship.
Not the Sunday-morning kind, but the daily kind — the worship of obedience,
gratitude, and humility.
Every time we choose grace over judgment,
mercy over anger, faith over fear, we are living proof that we’ve seen the
cross.
The Ongoing
Revelation
Awareness of what Jesus did for us doesn’t end
with one emotional moment. It deepens with every season.
There are days when it feels radiant — when
worship comes easily and the Spirit feels close enough to touch. Then there are
days when it feels like silence — when the cross seems far away, when prayers
echo back unanswered.
But even in those quiet seasons, the cross
stands firm.
God doesn’t move; our awareness does.
When we feel distant, it’s not because He’s
withdrawn — it’s because He’s inviting us to seek Him again. To come back to
that still morning, that sacred space, that moment of recognition.
The more I’ve walked with Christ, the more
I’ve realized that the awareness of His sacrifice grows as we mature. At first,
it’s gratitude. Then it becomes awe. Then it becomes devotion.
Paul expressed it beautifully in Ephesians
3:17-19 (NIV):
“And I pray that you, being rooted and
established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people,
to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know
this love that surpasses knowledge — that you may be filled to the measure of
all the fullness of God.”
That passage isn’t just poetic — it’s a prayer
we’re meant to live in.
Every word expands the heart. Every phrase calls us deeper.
Teaching
Reflection: Keep Returning to the Cross
We never graduate from grace.
No matter how long you’ve walked with God, the
cross remains the classroom where humility is learned and gratitude is born.
The mature Christian isn’t the one who knows
the most — it’s the one who remembers the most: remembers where they came from,
remembers who saved them, remembers that every breath is borrowed mercy.
1 Corinthians 1:18 (NIV) says:
“For the message of the cross is foolishness
to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of
God.”
Notice that it says “being saved” —
present tense. That means salvation is not a one-time transaction but an
ongoing transformation.
Every day that we wake up and remember the
cross, we are being saved — being refined, being renewed, being
reminded.
Return to it often.
Look at it again.
Let it break you again.
The more often you revisit the cross, the
stronger your awareness becomes.
The Cross
and Daily Surrender
Awareness alone isn’t enough — it demands a
response.
Once you’ve truly seen what Jesus did for you, you begin to live differently.
Not because you’re trying to earn love, but because you’ve already received it.
Luke 9:23 (NIV) records Jesus’ words:
“Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny
themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.”
That word daily used to intimidate me.
I thought it meant constant striving — a relentless effort to be perfect.
But now I understand it differently.
Taking up your cross daily isn’t about
self-punishment; it’s about self-surrender. It means waking up every morning
and saying, “Lord, not my will, but Yours.” It means allowing His Spirit
to reshape your thoughts, your words, and your motives.
Every time you forgive instead of retaliate,
you pick up the cross.
Every time you trust God in uncertainty, you pick up the cross.
Every time you choose obedience over comfort, you pick up the cross.
And the more you do it, the more His life
becomes visible in yours.
Teaching
Reflection: The Power of Daily Dying
Paul said in 1 Corinthians 15:31 (NIV), “I
face death every day.”
That’s what daily surrender is — dying to the
need to control, dying to pride, dying to the lies that say you’re not enough.
When you live crucified with Christ, you also
live resurrected with Him.
There’s resurrection power in every act of
surrender.
The world tells you strength means standing
tall; Jesus shows you that true strength begins on your knees.
Don’t fear the dying process — it’s what makes
resurrection possible.
The Fruit
of a Cross-Centered Life
A life lived in awareness of the cross
produces fruit that others can see. You become more compassionate, more
patient, more forgiving — not because you’re trying harder, but because grace
has taken root in you.
The more you realize how much you’ve been
forgiven, the more natural it becomes to forgive others. The more you grasp the
depth of His mercy, the more generous your heart becomes.
Jesus said in John 15:5 (NIV):
“I am the vine; you are the branches. If you
remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do
nothing.”
Awareness of the cross keeps you connected to
the vine. It reminds you that everything you do flows from Him, not for Him.
A cross-centered life doesn’t need to announce
itself. It’s recognized in quiet strength, gentle words, and unwavering peace —
even when the world around you is restless.
Teaching
Reflection: The Witness of the Redeemed
When you walk in the awareness of what Jesus
has done for you, people notice. They may not understand it, but they feel it.
There’s something unmistakable about a person
who’s been touched by grace. Their confidence isn’t arrogance; it’s assurance.
Their kindness isn’t politeness; it’s presence. Their joy isn’t naïve; it’s
anchored.
2 Corinthians 3:3 (NIV) says:
“You show that you are a letter from Christ,
the result of our ministry, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the
living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts.”
You become a living letter — evidence of
grace.
Every act of kindness, every patient response,
every gentle word becomes part of your testimony. You don’t just talk
about the cross; you live it.
Returning
to That Morning
Sometimes I think back to that Saturday
morning. The room, the stillness, the presence — all of it. I remember the way
the light hit the window, how time seemed to stop, how everything changed in an
instant.
I realize now that what happened that morning
wasn’t a one-time encounter; it was an invitation.
An invitation to live every day in that same
awareness. To never lose the wonder. To never let gratitude fade into routine.
I don’t cry every time I pray now, but the
depth remains. The tears have become joy. The awareness has become worship.
I no longer just look at the cross; I
live from it.
And that’s the shift — the one that moves you
from understanding to embodiment, from awareness to transformation.
Teaching
Reflection: The Gift That Keeps Giving
Awareness of the cross is not a memory — it’s
a movement of grace that keeps renewing your heart.
Lamentations 3:22-23 (NIV) says:
“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not
consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is
your faithfulness.”
Every morning, you can see the cross again.
Every morning, you can be reminded that mercy is still new.
The awareness that changed you once will
continue to change you — if you keep returning to the source.
Grace doesn’t run dry. It deepens.
Closing
Reflection — The Cross Before Me
I will never forget that morning — not because
of how it made me feel, but because of how it made me see.
It was the morning I finally saw the cross,
not as a symbol of suffering, but as a declaration of love. It was the morning
my theology became testimony.
All the hurts, all the failures, all the fears
I carried were met with one unchanging truth:
Jesus gave His life for me.
And now I live to give mine back to Him.
The same Spirit who stood beside me that
morning still walks with me today — in the boardroom, in prayer, in moments of
doubt, and in moments of worship.
The cross changed everything.
And every day, I’m still learning what that
means.
Closing
Prayer
Lord Jesus,
Thank You for the cross — for the sacrifice that set me free.
Thank You that when I was lost, You found me.
When I was blind, You gave me sight.
When I was broken, You healed me.
Help me never to forget that moment when I
first realized the depth of Your love.
Let that awareness shape every word I speak, every choice I make, every breath
I take.
Teach me to live in gratitude, to walk in
grace, and to see Your fingerprints in the ordinary.
When my heart grows cold, remind me of Your
warmth.
When I lose my way, lead me back to the cross.
When I grow weary, lift me with Your Spirit.
Lord, may my life be a living reflection of
the moment You gave Yours.
Let others see in me the same love that rescued me that morning.
I surrender again — not out of fear, but out
of love.
I rest in the finished work of the cross, and I rise in the power of Your
resurrection.
Thank You, Jesus, for giving everything.
Thank You for calling me Your own.
Amen.
Final
Thought
Every believer has a “morning they finally
saw the cross.”
For some, it’s dramatic. For others, it’s quiet. But the truth remains: once
your eyes are opened, you never see life the same way again.
We live, not to repay the debt, but to reflect
the glory.
We serve, not to earn love, but because we’ve been loved first.
We worship, not from duty, but from revelation.
And it all began with that moment —
the morning I finally saw the cross.
