Jesus died.

The one person who did nothing wrong paid for all of my wrongs. And there are too many to count. I should be better at so much: A husband, a father, a pastor, a brother, a son. I am all of these and I fail.

As a husband, I haven’t loved my wife enough. Said the wrong things at the wrong times. Sat on the couch too much and too long. Demanded many things in simmering anger.

As a father, I have been lazy and lax. I haven’t taught and trained as I should. I have gotten mad when I should have listened. I can’t get the years back.

As a pastor, I definitely don’t pray nearly enough. I preach at times to perform. I like to be liked.

As a brother, I don’t keep in contact. I slip in, wave, hug and slip out.

As a son…the list is too long.

And then I read in Psalm 69:4 one line that stops my heart. I am overwhelmed every time I read it. It makes no sense:

“What I (Jesus) did not steal must I (Jesus) now restore?”

This is the cross. A payment for my failure. At every point I have stumbled, fell, rebelled and willfully sinned, Jesus paid for it.

It makes no sense.

Why would he do this? Why did he let me go free? I failed. I keep failing, and I always will.

The only thing I can figure is John 14:3, “I (Jesus) will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also.”

Jesus wants to be with me.

And the cross was the only way.

It makes no sense, but I accept.