Taking Up My Cross

For ten or fifteen years after my injury, I still woke up each day and attempted to turn over. Then I would remember, “Oh. I’m paralyzed.” I hated remembering. Depression set in. I would not accept this broken body.

Yet, I continued to live. Angry, I lashed out at my family. Embarrassed, I wanted to stay home. I feigned sleep to avoid conversations.

It took many years for me to grow into this new state of being. Physical therapy and strength training helped me adjust.

It took many more years for me to believe I could be useful to God. Love and Christian encouragement taught me to trust God.

I no longer dread waking up. I have adjusted my mind’s eye to see my body as whole and healed. My body is God’s temple. Its shape and physical ability do not matter. What is important is my faith and willingness to let God speak through me.

Crucified with Him that day more than 2,000 years ago, I no longer live. But Christ lives in me. He died for me. His blood covers all my sin. He delivered me from sin and death. I am forgiven.

What cross am I picking up each day? Christian ministry.

I live as a child of God in active ministry with you. I write and you read my devotions. We call, email, text and talk. We encourage and pray for each other. I tell people about my Savior where ever I go.

I pray that people will see and hear Jesus in me each day and they would know I belong to God.

If anyone wishes to come after Me, let him . . . take up his cross (Matthew 16:24)

In Christ,

Berta

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