I moved to a small town for my undergraduate degree. For context, I actually moved across the world and away from family, not just to a small town. My school is known for being a a great school academically, but a tough environment for racial minorities like myself. As you can imagine the usual reaction when I say I attended the institution, especially all the way from Ghana, there is a mixture of awe, disbelief and maybe some pity. Someone recently asked me if I regretted my choice, and after a while being out of school, I can say that I do not. I didn’t choose the school, it was chosen for me by God. And within the four years that I had the privilege of being there, I experienced God like I never had before. It was one thing after another: financially, academically, and emotionally, God showed up for me by Himself, even without human vessels, which is what I was accustomed to. Unfortunately, I didn’t experience the ease I expected when graduating for some reasons, but in the midst of the storms, something that I was told is to remember.
I forget so easily. It’s not intentional, of course, but when I am behind an obstacle, unless something or someone brings it to memory, what I focus on is the obstacle – not God, not what He’s done, who He is, or even the possibility of overcoming – it looks impossible, my emotions are jumbled, and that’s it.
The Bible tells us this already, that more ways than one: “The heart is deceitful above all things, And desperately wicked; Who can know it?” (Jeremiah 17:9 NKJV). Sometimes, the forgetfulness actually leads me down a path of thoughts, something I identify as “false testimony”: where I can’t see God in a situation His presence had been previously abundantly clear. It changes the narrative of His hand in my life, and I become upset with Him – until I say a prayer differently, check my journal or read the Bible, and I am brought back down to Earth and the reality of Christ in my story.
It’s also something I think I do with the heart of our faith, which is Easter weekend. The death and resurrection of Jesus Christ has lost its potency to many of us because it’s one that is repeated, albeit exactly as it should be, or because Easter has become about other things to the world.
This season, I had to be intentional about learning about the sacrifice of Jesus once again. For me, one little girl (Luke 22:47-65 & 23:1-49), Jesus cried so desperately that His tears turned to blood, He was betrayed and arrested by His own, falsely accused, spat on, blindfolded, beaten and mocked, denied by one of His own, exchanged for a criminal’s freedom, flogged (likely with metal), carried a cross, mocked and nailed to the cross between two thieves. All because He thought of me.
I pray that as the month goes on, you, too, can remember that you were sacrificed for and that this is what love looks like – to lay down one’s life for his friends (John 15:13). I pray in Jesus’ name that the reality of Jesus’ death and resurrection, as well as the potency of His blood that still works, continually washes over you and fills the gaps that you think no one can see nor understand. And I pray, above all, for a continual remembrance of God’s mark on your life, and that a false testimony will never be your portion – may who He is always be abundantly clear to you, refreshed every year – and even more often – as we celebrate Jesus Christ. Happy Easter, Christ is risen!
