🤔Clink link below if you’re wondering whether you’ll go to heaven when you die👇
https://mastodon.social/@ChristTexan/116494217016010092

🔥 Jesus’ words on living with real purpose—every day, not just sometimes:

✅ Deny yourself → step past selfish wants and trust His way instead

✅ Take up your cross → accept sacrifice and death to self

✅ Follow Him → walk in obedience wherever He leads

✨ You don’t do it alone—His power changes everything: Galatians 2:20 LSB

#TakeUpYourCross #FollowJesus

The Road That Costs Everything

A Day in the Life

“Then Jesus said to His disciples, ‘If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me.’” — Matthew 16:24

When I read these words of Jesus, I am immediately confronted with how easily I soften them. We often speak of “bearing our cross” when referring to an illness, a difficult coworker, financial strain, or even the consequences of our own poor decisions. Yet when I walk closely with Jesus through Matthew 16, I realize He is speaking of something far more deliberate and far more costly. My cross is not simply what happens to me. It is God’s will for me—embraced voluntarily—no matter the price.

Jesus introduces the cross only after His disciples confess that He is the Christ (Matthew 16:16–21). That detail matters. He does not invite casual observers to suffer aimlessly. He invites convinced followers to participate in His redemptive work. The Greek word for “deny” is aparneomai, meaning to disown or renounce. Before I can follow Him, I must renounce the claim that my comfort, reputation, or preference is ultimate. Denying myself is not self-hatred; it is self-surrender. And then comes the cross.

Your cross, and mine, is not random hardship. Health problems, rebellious children, and financial pressures are real burdens, but Jesus does not label those as the cross. The cross is a chosen alignment with Christ’s redemptive purposes. Paul captures this in Philippians 3:10 when he writes of his desire to know Christ “and the fellowship of His sufferings.” The Greek term koinōnia means participation or partnership. Paul understood suffering not as meaningless pain but as shared labor in God’s saving work. In Colossians 1:24 he even says he rejoices in his sufferings because they serve the spiritual maturity of others. That kind of suffering is not imposed; it is embraced.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, “When Christ calls a man, He bids him come and die.” Those words may feel heavy, but they are clarifying. There is no Christianity without a cross. We often want to move quickly from “deny yourself” to “follow Me,” but Jesus places the cross squarely in between. There are aspects of God’s redemptive work that can only be accomplished through hardship endured for His sake. Just as Christ suffered to bring salvation, there will be moments when obedience costs us influence, convenience, or security so that others may encounter grace.

I have learned that I cannot endure such suffering unless I am deeply convinced that Jesus truly is the Christ. If I am uncertain about who He is, I will retreat at the first sign of discomfort. But once that relationship is settled—once I know He is the Messiah, the Son of God—then obedience becomes an act of trust rather than reluctant duty. The cross is introduced only after conviction is secured. That is mercy. Jesus does not overwhelm immature faith with unbearable cost.

In a culture that prizes comfort and self-expression, this teaching feels counterintuitive. Yet paradoxically, it is the pathway to life. Jesus continues in Matthew 16:25, “For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.” The word for life here is psuchē, meaning soul or true self. The cross does not erase me; it refines me. It aligns my life with eternal purposes rather than temporary satisfactions.

C.S. Lewis once observed, “Give up yourself, and you will find your real self. Lose your life and you will save it.” That is not poetic exaggeration; it is spiritual reality. When I refuse the cross, I cling to control and shrink my soul. When I embrace it, I participate in something larger than myself. My suffering, when offered to Christ, becomes a channel through which others may experience grace.

So what might your cross look like today? It may be the quiet choice to forgive when resentment feels justified. It may be speaking truth with gentleness when silence would protect your reputation. It may be investing in someone’s spiritual growth at the expense of your convenience. These are not dramatic displays of martyrdom; they are steady acts of redemptive obedience.

If you are waiting for a version of discipleship that never requires inconvenience or sacrifice, Jesus gently corrects that expectation. His own life was marked by suffering for the sake of others. As Isaiah prophesied, “He was despised and rejected by men, a Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53:3). To follow Him is to walk in that same pattern—not as victims of circumstance, but as participants in grace.

For deeper study on this passage, see this helpful resource from The Gospel Coalition:
https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/article/what-does-it-mean-to-take-up-your-cross/

Today, as I consider a day in the life of Jesus, I realize that discipleship is not about admiration from a distance. It is about identification up close. It is about stepping into obedience that costs something, trusting that God uses even suffering to accomplish salvation in and through us.

The cross comes before the following. But once it is lifted, we discover that Christ Himself walks with us beneath its weight.

FEEL FREE TO COMMENT, SUBSCRIBE, AND REPOST, SO OTHERS MAY KNOW

When Following Costs You Something

A Day in the Life

“Then Jesus said to His disciples, ‘If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself and take up his cross, and follow Me.’” — Matthew 16:24

When I read these words of Jesus, I feel their weight. They are not whispered to the crowd for casual admiration; they are spoken directly to disciples. In Matthew 16, Jesus has just revealed that He must suffer and be killed. Peter resists that path, and Jesus responds with clarity: the way of the kingdom is not self-preservation but self-denial. The Greek verb aparnēsasthō—“let him deny”—means to disown, to renounce claim to oneself. It is not about low self-esteem; it is about surrendering ultimate authority over my life.

Sin bends the human heart inward. Augustine once described sin as incurvatus in se—curved in on itself. That description feels painfully accurate. Left to myself, I instinctively measure decisions by comfort, security, and personal advancement. Yet Jesus calls me to an about-face. Salvation is not simply believing correct doctrine; it is reorienting my entire center of gravity from self to God. When Christ says, “take up his cross,” He speaks of daily identification with a path that may be costly. Dietrich Bonhoeffer famously wrote, “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.” That death is not theatrical; it is practical. It is the daily refusal to make myself the point.

I see myself in James and John. They followed Jesus, left their nets, and endured hardship. Yet in Mark 10:35–37, they asked for the highest seats in His kingdom. Their request was revealing. They wanted discipleship without displacement. They were willing to follow, as long as it did not interrupt their personal ambitions. I have prayed similar prayers: “Lord, I want to serve You—but let me stay comfortable. Let me keep control. Let me hold onto my plans.” Jesus does not shame them; He redirects them. “Whoever would be great among you must be your servant” (Mark 10:43). Greatness in His kingdom is not prominence but participation in His humility.

There is a subtle temptation many of us face. We pursue success by the world’s metrics—career, reputation, influence—and then invite God to receive the glory from what we have built. We say, “Now that I have achieved this, I give it to You.” But Scripture teaches that God is not interested in secondhand glory from my independent achievements. He receives glory from His activity expressed through surrendered vessels. As Henry Blackaby often emphasized, we are not to ask God to bless our plans; we are to discover where God is at work and join Him there. That shift changes everything. It moves me from architect to servant, from owner to steward.

Self-centered living always seeks a life that is unruffled and undisturbed. It wants safety first. Yet Jesus lived differently. He moved toward lepers, sinners, and the cross itself. He did not secure His life; He offered it. “For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it” (Matthew 16:25). The paradox is startling but true. The life I clutch becomes brittle. The life I surrender becomes fruitful. The abundant life we reflected on this morning is inseparable from this call to deny self. Abundance in Christ flows through surrender, not self-assertion.

Denying myself does not mean despising the gifts God has given me. It means releasing ownership of them. My time, my talents, my opportunities—these are no longer tools for self-promotion but instruments for God’s purposes. The cross I carry may not be literal, but it is real. It may look like choosing integrity when compromise would advance me. It may mean forgiving when resentment feels justified. It may involve stepping into a ministry opportunity that stretches my comfort. Each small act of obedience forms the shape of Christ within me.

As I walk through a day in the life of Jesus, I notice that He never seemed hurried to protect Himself. He was free because He belonged entirely to the Father. That freedom is available to me. The more I loosen my grip on self, the more I experience the steady joy of alignment with God’s will. Denial of self is not the erosion of identity; it is the discovery of my true identity in Christ.

For further reflection on taking up the cross and following Jesus, consider this helpful article from Ligonier Ministries:
https://www.ligonier.org/learn/devotionals/take-up-your-cross

Today, I ask myself: Where am I subtly asking Jesus to endorse my agenda rather than reshape it? The invitation remains open. Deny yourself. Take up your cross. Follow Him—not as a slogan, but as a daily rhythm.

FEEL FREE TO COMMENT, SUBSCRIBE, AND REPOST, SO OTHERS MAY KNOW