When He Walks Ahead

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

There is something in me that prefers a manageable Jesus—One who blesses my plans, affirms my direction, and adjusts Himself to my schedule. Yet when I read Matthew 16:24 slowly, I realize how backward that instinct is. Jesus does not say, “Invite Me into your life so I can support your agenda.” He says, “Come after Me.” The Greek word for follow, akoloutheō, means to walk behind, to accompany as a disciple. He walks ahead. I walk behind.

I have often taken comfort in Matthew 28:20—“I am with you always.” And rightly so. But I must not twist that promise into the assumption that Jesus trails behind me wherever I wander. He is present, yes. Faithful, yes. But He is not my assistant. As He said in John 15:16, “You did not choose Me, but I chose you.” The initiative belongs to Him. The direction belongs to Him. The mission belongs to Him.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.” That is not sentimental language. It reflects the cross Jesus mentions. To deny myself is not self-hatred; it is surrender. It is the daily relinquishing of control. It is saying, “Lord, my preferences do not outrank Your purposes.” That denial may involve letting go of pride, comfort, reputation, or even deeply held expectations. The cross is not an ornament; it is an instrument of death to self-rule.

Following Jesus will lead me into places I would never script for myself. I will stand with Him as He weeps over Jerusalem (Luke 19:41). I will feel His compassion for the crowd described in Matthew 9:36, “harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” Following Him means sharing His heart. That can be joyful beyond measure—seeing the spiritually blind begin to see, watching broken lives mended by grace. There is nothing like witnessing the Spirit restore a marriage or free someone from bondage. It is like standing on a mountaintop with the wind of heaven against your face.

But following Him can also mean storms. The same Jesus who multiplied bread also led His disciples into a boat that would be battered by waves (Mark 4:35–41). If I follow long enough, I will encounter opposition, misunderstanding, and moments of weariness. At times I will be tempted to retreat to safer ground. Yet even there, His question echoes: “Are you willing to follow Me anywhere, at any time, under any condition?”

That question exposes something in me. There have been seasons when I have stopped following—not publicly, perhaps, but practically. I walked ahead, making decisions on my terms. I prayed for God to bless what I had already decided. And when things unraveled, I realized I had drifted from behind Him to in front of Him.

Returning to Jesus is never a negotiation. It is not, “Lord, I will follow if You promise comfort.” It is, “Lord, You are God, and I am not.” The Greek word for deny in this passage, arneomai, carries the sense of disowning. I disown my claim to ultimate authority. I relinquish the throne. That is the doorway back to discipleship.

Augustine once observed, “Our hearts are restless until they rest in You.” I have found that rest does not come from controlling the path, but from trusting the One who knows it fully. Following Jesus does not shrink life; it enlarges it. It leads into experiences I never dreamed of—deeper compassion, unexpected courage, and surprising joy.

In this “day in the life” with Jesus, I picture myself literally stepping behind Him. I imagine Him setting the pace. When He pauses to minister, I pause. When He moves toward someone I would normally avoid, I move. When He speaks truth, I echo it. That image reshapes how I approach my calendar, my conversations, even my frustrations. I am not inviting Him to join my activity. I am joining His.

If today you realize you have drifted, do not despair. The invitation remains. But it remains on His terms. He does not consult me about what is best. He already knows. The question is not whether Jesus will follow me. The question is whether I will follow Him.

For further reflection on what it means to take up your cross daily, I recommend this thoughtful article from The Gospel Coalition: https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/article/what-does-it-mean-to-take-up-your-cross/

As I step into this day, I want to live with a simple, searching prayer: “Lord Jesus, where are You going today? Let me walk behind You.”

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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.

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The Freedom of Letting Go

DID YOU KNOW

Did You Know that Real Strength Begins with Turning the Other Cheek?

When Jesus said, “If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also” (Matthew 5:39), He wasn’t inviting weakness—He was revealing a deeper kind of strength. In the culture of His day, a slap across the right cheek was more than physical aggression; it was an insult to dignity, an attempt to shame. By turning the other cheek, a person refused to play the game of vengeance and pride. Jesus was not commanding His followers to be doormats but teaching them how to stand above the cycle of hate. When we refuse to retaliate, we claim the freedom of peace that anger can never provide. It is an act of holy defiance against evil, saying, “You cannot make me like you.”

What’s most inspiring about this teaching is that Jesus lived it. When He was struck during His trial, mocked by soldiers, and nailed to a cross, He did not lash out. Instead, He prayed, “Father, forgive them.” In that moment, He showed the world that love, not retaliation, has the last word. Turning the other cheek does not mean you accept abuse; it means you surrender the right to revenge and place the outcome in God’s hands. In doing so, you rise above what was meant to humiliate you.

As you move through your day, think about the people who may have hurt or frustrated you. Ask God for the courage to respond with grace instead of reaction. The next time you want to strike back—verbally, emotionally, or spiritually—pause and turn your heart toward the Savior who turned His cheek for you.

Did You Know that Giving Freely Brings Heavenly Security?

Jesus’ words in Matthew 6:19–21 remind us that what we treasure reveals who we trust: “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy … But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven.” In a world obsessed with accumulation, Jesus invites us to experience the joy of release. Possessions are not evil, but they are temporary. Every dollar, every possession, every talent is a tool—not a trophy. When we give generously, we trade what is fading for what is eternal.

This passage also speaks directly to our modern anxieties about control and security. We are tempted to think that more money, recognition, or comfort will protect us. But Jesus reframes the conversation: true security isn’t found in what we hold—it’s found in whom we trust. “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” The kingdom principle is simple: generosity loosens the grip of fear. Every time you give, you remind your soul that heaven, not earth, is your home.

Ask yourself today: where is my treasure resting? Is my heart tethered to what can rust or to what can last? Give something away this week—time, encouragement, or resources—and see how God replenishes your heart. In His economy, surrender multiplies blessing.

Did You Know that Loving Your Enemies Changes You First?

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you: love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:43–44). Few commands from Jesus stretch the heart like this one. Loving an enemy sounds impossible until we remember that God first loved us when we were His enemies. This teaching dismantles the walls that anger and resentment build within us. It is not about approving wrong behavior but about refusing to let bitterness define us.

When we pray for those who wrong us, something miraculous happens—our hearts begin to heal. Jesus knew that hatred corrodes the soul. It steals our peace and turns us inward. Love, however, is liberating. It releases us from the control of our enemies by refusing to let their actions dictate our character. Love is not weakness; it is divine strength on display. As the writer Frederick Buechner said, “Of the seven deadly sins, anger is the most fun… To lick your wounds, to savor the pain you are giving back. In many ways it is a feast fit for a king. The chief drawback is that what you are wolfing down is yourself.” Jesus calls us to stop devouring ourselves and instead feed the world with grace.

Today, take a moment to pray for someone you struggle to forgive. Don’t pray for them to change first—pray that God changes your heart. Every act of love toward an enemy creates space for God’s presence to dwell in you.

Did You Know that Giving Up Control Is the Beginning of True Discipleship?

“Any of you who does not give up everything he has cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:33). At first glance, these words sound daunting, even impossible. Yet Jesus is not calling us to a life of deprivation but of deep trust. He knows that clinging to our rights, our possessions, and our need for control keeps us from following Him freely. Surrender isn’t about losing—it’s about gaining what truly lasts. The paradox of discipleship is that when we let go of our claim to everything, we discover that we have lost nothing of eternal value.

Jesus practiced what He preached. He gave up His right to glory and equality with God to become human, to serve, to suffer, and to save. Paul wrote, “Though He was rich, yet for your sake He became poor, so that you through His poverty might become rich.” (2 Corinthians 8:9). In giving up control, we reflect the heart of Christ. The world teaches that freedom comes from having options; the gospel teaches that freedom comes from surrender.

As you reflect this afternoon, ask yourself what areas of life you still try to control—your future, your finances, your relationships, or your image. What would it look like to lay them at the feet of Jesus? You may find that what feels like loss becomes the beginning of your greatest joy.

We live in a world that celebrates rights, but Jesus calls us to something higher—the way of surrender. Following Him means releasing the need to be right, recognized, or repaid. It’s not easy, but it’s freeing. When we give up our rights, we gain His peace. When we release control, we receive His guidance. When we choose love over revenge, we reflect His heart to a world desperate for grace.

Take a deep breath and remember: discipleship is not about what we lose—it’s about what we discover when our hands are finally empty enough to receive.

Related Reading: “What It Really Means to Deny Yourself” – Crosswalk.com

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