On my way to Boise, I heard a song on the radio that made me think. When Jesus was on the cross, how much did he love me? He loved me completely, perfectly, without reservation or condition. I've heard it said that even if I were the only person, Jesus would still have gone through the crucifixion. He did what he did, just for me. That implies that as he was being whipped, tortured, beaten, and finally nailed to the cross - it was me doing that to him. I did all those things to him
In essence, I whipped him.
I tortured him.
I beat him.
I hammered in the nails.
I mocked him.
I pierced his side.
And through that whole process, he continued to love me. Never once did he stop loving me. He had reason to be mad at me, to hate me even. And yet, he loved me while I did all those things to him.
Now I don't believe that God gave me arthritis to teach me some sort of lesson. I don't think he took my voice. I think we live in a world full of disease, and I caught something.
But, even if God caused me to be sick, how can I possibly be angry with him for having done that? I killed him and he never stopped loving me. How can I do anything less?
Given all the good things God has brought into my life, how can I stop loving him just because my voice isn't audible?
The answer for me: I can't stop loving him. I can't stop trusting him. I can't stop relying on him.