When Life Hits Harder Than Sin

Life,
you don’t knock.
You crash.
You storm into the room uninvited,
with fists that don’t tire
and wounds that don’t heal easy.
You don’t fight fair.
You wait for the soft spot—
loneliness, weakness, loss—
and then you strike.

You hit harder than sin.
Because sin at least I can name,
confess,
lay down at the altar,
and hear the words: “You are forgiven.”
But you—
you wear masks.
You come dressed as unpaid rent,
as rejection letters,
as empty chairs at dinner tables.
You don’t leave absolution.
You leave echoes.
Long nights.
Heavy mornings.

I’ve wrestled with you in silence,
Life.
I’ve tasted the iron of despair
on the edge of my tongue.
I’ve heard the whisper—
“Give up, give in, it’s not worth it.”
And for a moment, I believed you.

But here’s what you forget:
there is One
who let you hit Him too.
And harder.
You threw your best punches
at His back,
His hands,
His feet,
His heart.
You crowned Him with thorns
and hung Him high,
thinking you had the final word.

But on the third day,
He hit back—
not with fists,
but with resurrection.
Not with rage,
but with mercy.
Not with despair,
but with eternal hope.

So Life, hear me now:
break me, bruise me, bury me—
but you will never bury Christ in me.
Because your blows may sting,
but His mercy saves.
Your storms may rage,
but His Cross still stands.

When you hit harder than sin,
I’ll rise harder in Him.
And that—
is the last word.