Make in me O Lord, what I can't make in myself / Leaving Behind Saturday

Let’s Be Real. I’m Not Talking At You. I’m Talking With You, Because In More Ways Than I’d Like To Admit, I Know What It Feels Like To Live In Saturday.

Friday’s Over. The Damage Is Done. The Blood’s Already Been Spilled. You Can’t Rewind It, Can’t Fix It, Can’t Make It Clean Again. And Sunday? Sunday Feels Like A Rumor. Everybody Talks About Hope, But You Don’t See It Yet. So You Learn To Live In The In-Between. That’s Saturday.

You Ever Stare At The Ceiling And Think, Is This It? You Beat Yourself Up, Replaying Every Dumb Thing You Did That Got You Here.  Inside Your Own Head, The Silence Gets Loud. The Guilt Talks Back. And Somewhere Deep Down You Start Wondering If Maybe God’s Done With You. If Maybe This Is Punishment, Not Process. If Maybe Jesus Loves People Like You When They Change, Not While They’re Losing An Internal Battle With Faith.

But Let Me Tell You Something. He Went To The Tomb Too. And He Didn’t Go There To Nap. He Went There To Kick The Back Door Off Of Death Itself. Saturday Looks Quiet, But It’s Not Still. While Everybody Else Thought He Was Finished, He Was Just Getting Started. That’s The Thing About God. He Does His Best Work When Nobody’s Looking, In Places Nobody Wants To Be.

So Don’t Confuse Silence For Abandonment. If You’re Breathing, He’s Still Building. If Your Heart’s Still Beating, He’s Not Done Yet.

But Here’s The Problem. We Get Comfortable In The Dark. We Start Decorating The Tomb. We Rearrange The Chains, Polish Them Up, Call It Home. We Convince Ourselves That Saturday Is Safer Than The Risk Of Resurrection.

I Do It Too. I Stay Stuck In Patterns I Swore I’d Outlive. I Tell Myself, It’s Just Who I Am, Because Owning My Resurrection Feels Harder Than Admitting My Death.

But The Truth Is, If We Stay In Saturday Long Enough, We Start Loving Our Graves. And Graves Don’t Grow Life. They Just Preserve What’s Dying Slow.

Some Of Us Justify Our Dryness Like It’s Spirituality. I Don’t Need Church. I’ll Change When I’m Ready. I Talk To God In My Own Way.

No. Just Stop It. That’s The Judas Syndrome, Being Close Enough To Look Faithful, But Still Selling Jesus Out For Convenience.

If We Truly Believed This Gospel, We Wouldn’t Keep Talking Ourselves Out Of Obedience. We Wouldn’t Treat Sin Like A Personality Trait. We Wouldn’t Let Shame Drive The Car And Call It Humility.

Hear Me. Saturday Isn’t Forever. The Stone Will Move. Maybe Not When You Want, Maybe Not How You Expect, But It Moves.

Sunday’s Not A Fairy Tale. It’s What Happens When Obedience Outlasts Despair. The Same God Who Crawled Through Human Skin, Who Met Us In A Manger Cold And Crying, Will Meet You Here Too. He Wastes Nothing, Not Your Time, Not Your Mistakes.

You Don’t Have To Wait For A Gate To Open To Start Living Free. Freedom Doesn’t Start With Release. It Starts With Surrender. You Can Stop Pretending. Stop Hiding. Stop Calling Your Coping Mechanisms Peace. Cry If You Need To. Kneel Even If Your Knees Hurt. Confess Like A Man Who’s Done Lying To Himself.

Because He’s Still At Work In The Dark, Same As He Was In That Tomb. He’s Rolling Stones While Nobody’s Watching. And One Day, That Light Is Going To Break Open, And You’re Going To Realize The Tomb That Held You Was Already Empty.

So Don’t Die On Saturday. Don’t Make Peace With The Grave. Get Up. Believe Again. Say His Name For Real This Time.

Because The Same Jesus Who Walked Out Of His Tomb Is Here, Walking Through Yours.