I found something I wrote a couple of years ago. I probably wouldn’t write it the same way again because my thoughts and words have slightly changed a over time, but it was meaningful when I first wrote and it’s meaningful now.
“I heard something that made my gears start to turn, and what I came up with made me angry, sad, curious and determined all at the same time. I believe that there is a God that was torn to pieces and hammered to a cross because I am flawed. He lovingly took the beating I deserve so I can spend all of eternity with Him. All it takes on my part is to love Him wholeheartedly. If I choose not to then when I die I don’t have to spend eternity with a loving, gracious, merciful, good God. I can spend all of forever in a place completely absent of everything loving and good, in torment and agony. If I truly believe in this shouldn’t I have an extreme sense of urgency for everyone that I know may not be in love with this God? If what I believe is true shouldn’t my heart be torn for all the people that don’t know how spectacular it is to love the One that created love? Shouldn’t tears come to my eyes every time I think of someone that is dear to me spending endless time in outer darkness? I don’t think I should be able to go one day without desperately and lovingly pursuing every single person I know and making an attempt to share this miraculously good news with them, but I do. I walk through my life only whispering what I should be screaming as loud as I can; that there is a God who loves, but an eternity with Him is not promised to anyone who doesn’t pursue Him. Out of fear I ignore that tug I feel to open my mouth and speak. This makes me angry with myself, sad for the people around me, curious about where I learned to be such a coward, and determined to fight, claw, and pray against that fear that bottles up the voice inside me that is screaming and begging to help the people I love turn a heart of stone into a heart of flesh.”