Dying to Live

Galatians 2:20 — I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me.

Whose life are you living?

Recently, I was praying. I journal my prayers. It’s interesting how the Holy Spirit works through the hand, intercedes through the pen and flows onto paper. I found myself praying a familiar prayer: “God, I’m disappointed in my life. I’m disappointed in myself. I’m disappointed in the timeline. I’m so behind. My dreams are over. I can’t move on. I’ll never be happy.” I’ve traversed this road, this overflow of disillusionment and depression over the dissonance between my imagined life and my reality. Have you? Have you also experienced the pain that exists within the gap between who you thought you’d be “by now” and where you currently are? You’re not alone.

It was a familiar prayer. A familiar pain that you might know also. Amid my prayer, God in His mercy held out his palm, received my words, and returned them with His Word: Your life is not your own. You don’t have to live the life you thought you’d have, or the life you currently have. I have died that you might live the life that I have.

We get to live the life of Christ. A new life. A rich and satisfying life, full of joy and peace. Yes, challenges and sadness will visit us. Disappointment may meet us. Loss may mark us. But the Lord will anchor us in the everlasting fruit of His Spirit as we crucify the life we thought we’d have, wanted to have, wish we had, or currently have. When we surrender. When we begin to live from Christ, for Christ, in Christ, by Christ.

Easier said than done. The Lord is still teaching me to walk beside still waters when all I see is the storm. We’re learning to lay in green pastures when the pastures I imagined seem greener. God is teaching me that no pasture is greener than the one He’s watered and tended for me. I am learning to be patient for His harvest when I can’t even fathom the seed.

How do we live Christ’s life? How do we die to our disappointments, missed dreams, unmet expectations, and difficult situations?

We pick up our cross.

And we do so daily. A daily dying to our flesh that we might become more alive spiritually. It’s difficult to carry our cross and carry the burdens of this world - comparison, self-hate, worry, timelines - at the same time. The Lord is inviting us to lay everything down at the foot of His cross, to take up our own, and exchange our feeble lives for His.

I believe that picking up our cross allows us to crucify our pride. We become acquainted with our weakness and must rely on our true Source of strength. Carrying heavy things can bring us to a place of beautiful vulnerability. The beauty of the cross is that its heaviness, its weightiness, its gravity - they usher us not into a place of burden, but of freedom. Under the shadow of the cross, we die to the world and awake to our true identity in Christ. An identity in which we are loved, forgiven, chosen, purified, adored, redeemed, called, accepted, adopted, and set apart.

Beneath the arms of the cross, we fall into the loving arms of our Savior. The pain of rejection lifts - we are sons and daughters of a perfect Father. The pain of dashed dreams dissipates - we are purposeful partners in God’s divine story, with specific callings assigned to our lives. The illusion and burden of control fades - we are awash in the sea of God’s grace, loosed to love and live and serve and build in the buoyant current of His mercy and His goodness and His power and His splendor. We pick up our cross - His cross. We lay down out lives - to take on His life. We set down our bundles, our troubles, our regrets - and we free ourselves to set about the fulfilling, world-changing work that God has for us.

We live for Christ, by Christ.

Begin to live like it’s all for Him. Because it is. The work you do in the office, the meals you cook at home, the way you drive on the freeway, the conversations you have at the grocery store, the laundry you wash and fold - yes, even the laundry - it’s all for Him. Our lives are worship. Every moment can be a sweet aroma to the Lord. Every word, every perspective, every idea, every time you serve, every time you speak life - it all matters and it all has the power to point others to Jesus. This is not a call to perfection. This is a call to seek the perfect grace of God to live a life of from, not for. From grace, not for applause. From grace, not for awards and accolades. From grace, not for earthly power and position. From grace, not for dominance. From grace, not for attention. From grace, not for the world’s acceptance. We receive this grace by faith in Jesus, who loved us and gave Himself for us. Through Jesus’ death on the cross, we have permission to live from Christ, for Christ.

Every disappointment, failure, mistake, tear, and seemingly missed opportunity can be used to glorify Christ. He is working all things together for good for those who love Him. It may not look good right now. It may not make sense. But His ways are higher. His thoughts are deeper. His plans are purer. His story is sweeter. God is writing a testimony in your test. It’s hard to see it right now. But hold on. Surrender to the journey. It’s often in the dark that the healing truly begins. The mending takes place. The heart is softened to fall in love with Love Himself.

Whatever you do, do it all to the glory of God (I Corinthians 10:31). Live the life of Christ by falling in love with the work He is doing in the here and now, in your heart and mind and home.

We pray dangerously.

We decide we want to go deeper with God than we’ve ever gone before. We decide to leave the shores of comfort, and control, and security. Dangerous prayers yield deep transformation. Dangerous prayers invite God to tear down the idols in our lives, to tear down the idol of ourselves. We start praying that God would change us, not our situations. Dangerous prayers place self on the altar that we might put on the life of Christ. When we start praying for more patience, less pride, less control, less of me, more of Him, more forgiveness, more love and compassion for the broken, more desire to give, a mission, a ministry, purity - we’re praying dangerously. When we begin to ask God to remove anything that doesn’t align with His plan and we seek His will over our own - we’re praying dangerously. Dangerous, because we’re dying. Dangerous, because now we’re really living. Dangerous as in, consequential. Dangerously hungry for God. Dangerously beautiful and alive in Christ. We are opening ourselves up to be challenged and confronted by the Holy Spirit to experience deep and lasting transformation. The One who confronts, comforts. The one who reveals, heals.

We pray that God would change us at the expense of our own comfort. We pray that God would make us more like Him. We pray that we would be able to live a life that says, “I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me.”