Count it joy, brothers and sisters.
Count it all, the meadows and the bogs,
the jogs through sun, rain, and pollen,
the laughter, and then the frogs
stuck in your throat because of the pain.
Count it joy, brothers and sisters.
Why? Because you're a Christian.
You hail from a legacy of martyrs,
and the glory of God is your mission,
the mission of the ages, nothing to be taken lightly.
Because when you're tried,
when you're placed very carefully into the crucible
of trial, the heat burns intensely, and the walls expand,
and you are purified, strengthened, made durable
under the pain, under the joy of a broken body redeemed.
This is the calling, that affliction
introduces a man to himself, and that for His purpose
of sanctity (though some call it insanity)
we find our strength outside of ourselves, in the poise
of the One who drew the boundaries of the Earth.
When you bruise a flower,
it rewards you with its perfume.
This is the joy of the saints, an unshakeable gift
we need only to ask for, to only presume
that the God of love is giving, and is working all for good.
What an idea, that the most evil of powers
is even unable to design the trials of steadfastness!
That such tests, designed by the perfect designer,
are the means of SANCTIFICATION, REDEMPTION, and MADNESS
for the GLORY OF OUR SAVIOR, our BRIDEGROOM of ETERNITY!
This is love; this is glory; this is perfect;
created by our Father in heaven.
Run well the race of your life,
run it with endurance, straight into the haven
of our Father's steady arms.
Run through the meadows, through the dark forests,
across the snow-capped peaks, and across the valley of dry bones.
Run it with the confidence in a Savior who is so capable
to catch you when you stumble over the stones
who will never forsake you
because you are His child.
And even those stones shout in exultation
for the GLORY of He who is redeeming them,
redeeming us, this broken nation.
We must only ask for Christ, Christ, Christ.
Messiah, Immanuel, Counselor, King.
--Chris Ramos - C3 Member
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