Yesterday, I wrote about fear, and my new release from it.
Today, I can't stop thinking about death. And Jesus.
One thing I don't think I'm scared of? My own death. That's probably because I've come so close to it so many times in the past few years that it's not such a strange subject anymore? Plus, with my dad, I was introduced to death at a very early age.
What does scare me, though? The deaths of people I love. (Hello, irony. Nice to see you again.)
It's no secret that I am ridiculously protective of the people I care about. I will do pretty much anything to defend anyone I consider a friend. But the list of people that I would actually die for is very short. Short as in, it pretty much consists of my family and Matt. (Now, I'm finally getting to the part that inspired this post.)
One day this past summer, I don't remember when exactly, I was sitting on my bed with Matt having another one of my probably redundant conversations, but the one thing I really remember telling him is that I would die to protect any of my family or him. His reply?
"I would never let that happen."
He made sure I got the point by saying he would never let me give up my life to save his. He'd rather die himself than watch me die (which, yes, is essentially what I had just said to me). He loves me that much.
Gee, sound like Anyone familiar?
I mean, it's obvious that I know that Jesus died for my sins, but tonight, for some reason, it's just hit me like a ton of bricks: There was a man out there who loves me SO MUCH, that he died for me. He made the ultimate sacrifice. How could I ever feel unloved or unwanted when something like that happened? I sure as heck didn't deserve something like that! I could never deserve it. And yet, He did it anyway.
You are loved.
I am loved.
We are loved by the King.
May we always remember.