That Sunday morning as I went to the motel to check in on the young woman I had just met, I had no idea what was about to happen. I had been working on my sermon for our evening service, the one I always preached, and the message was filling my heart. I felt something different on that day. Something was at work there. Something I didn’t know but can see now from afar.

For too long I thought I’d been doing the right thing. But it’s easy to see all the signs pointing to the right destinations when you’re heading the wrong way.

Suddenly it felt like I’d been turned around. Facing the south. Seeing the sun.

Something needed to tear away. To break off and run free. I don’t know what it was. It started when I’d seen the sign of the cross that night. But I believe it was more than that. I believe a door opened and I was finally pushed through. I felt lighter than I’d felt in years.

I think the spirit was slowly starting to bubble the slow-moving blood flowing in my veins. Telling and stretching out the meaning of a bit of everything.

It’s time, it said. It’s about time.

I guess I had waited long enough.

Maybe the sins of my past were finally going to break off like melting ice finally letting a boat set sail.

Maybe I was finally getting out of Antarctica. I don’t know.

I still don’t know.

I just know that I felt this soaring, swelling spirit inside me and they said nothing about me but they said all about Him.

This figure I’d been focused on for so long. For my whole life.

Those hands crushed into that wood.

The feet torn through splinters.

The chest that tried to drag air through it.

The face that looked up at a silent sky.

It wasn’t just an image, like a painting in some museum. It bled the colors over my skin. It painted the colors inside my soul. And every single breath and every single step I’d ever made was taken because of it. For it. In order to find it.

The cross. Creasing over time and space into the tiny crevices of every single broken thing I’d ever done.

Jesus seeing all of those things I tried to hide and letting them hang on His shoulders.

For a moment. The most glorious moment of eternity. The created falling apart finally set free.

That was it.

That was it for all and for me.

And my eyes had finally seen it and finally understood.

I wanted to run wild and I wanted to tell everybody. To no longer be a preacher, but to be some kind of signpost pointing toward the place they needed to go.

It’s okay.

That’s all I wanted to say.

Jesus says it’s okay.

That’s all.

Believe. Ask for forgiveness. And know those hands and feet and chest and man took it all for you.

That’s everything.

Every single hurt thrown up and at Him.

Every single mess scooped up in hands and tossed forward.

Every single sorrow ever thrown into your face and your future.

Every single everything that broke and bruised your heart and soul.

They all could go there. The cross. This thing that was real and true.

I think my faith had been a little sluggish for quite some time. I think I had forgotten the absolute urgency of telling people about the message of the cross.

That’s what I wanted to share on this Sunday night, like some kind of spark setting off the round of fireworks on a New York sort of New Year’s Eve.

Bigger and better.

I was ready in some kind of crazy way.