The Cost of Freedom

Yesterday, as I was trying to cut a piece of plastic with a carving knife the thoughts going through my head were, “This is very silly.  You shouldn’t be doing this with this knife.  It will end in disaster.  This is dangerous.”

They weren’t prophetic thoughts but common sense and the end result was not the plastic being cut, but my thumb being cut!  As I stemmed the flow of blood, felt dizzy and found some plasters, I found myself thinking about my reaction to such a small, albeit deep, cut.  Which in turn led my thoughts down the path of what it really felt like for Jesus to have nails through his hands that his whole body weight will have pulled on.  It struck me then how I know and view the cross as that place where everything changed and I find my security and direction in life is built on that foundation, but I so rarely rarely empathise with the actual pain Jesus endured.

It was the cost of my freedom.  It was the cost of everything I know and enjoy in being able to live life to the full today.  Even so simply that physical pain he felt, without losing his relationship with his Father, I rarely think about.

How much do I demand my rights that that freedom brings me without remembering the cost?

My Good Friday thoughts.

About deerfeet

I am a home-educating mother of four children. We live on a small holding in Wales and my husband is active in local politics and the lead pastor of our church, Festival Church.
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