This morning, I sit here in the aftermath of a celebration. Here in this country, we celebrate the liberty and freedom afforded to us living here. It came at a cost. Men gave all so that we may have what we have today in the United States of America.
I wonder what those men would think about what we are doing to the gift they gave us.
Sunday in church, I was reminded that whatever men may give, whatever the price they pay, no matter the depths of emotion and devotion they feel, it is as fragile as a snowflake on a summer’s day. It will erode and fall away.
But Christ gave a gift, a gift far beyond what I credit him for giving. He put aside the things I cling so tightly to, revenge, anger, self-image, and became the worst of what I am while he was beaten down in defeat.
Defeat could not hold him, though, because after three days of it he stood, grasping my chains in his hands, holding the tyranny that sin ruled my life by, my dismal future laying on his bloody and scarred back and he broke those chains, crushed the head of sin and changed my future.
This was not a fleeting victory, but a victory that would stand for all eternity. I have hope because of that mighty gift.
I celebrate it one tiny day a year really. Is that even enough? I certainly have never proclaimed it with the vigor that I have thrown myself into over the 4th of July. Why not? I think I need to begin to place him at the very center of ALL my celebration. He is the reason all other things matter at all. Without him, I am still in bondage no matter how many holidays man declares, no matter how many wars we wage. He is my freedom.
Psalm 118:5 In my distress I prayed to the Lord,
and the Lord answered me and set me free.
His freedom is eternal and it is life. I have so much to be grateful for, so much to celebrate.