I have spent so many hours wondering: Why? Why did Christ have to suffer with such brutal, visceral intensity? As I watch The Passion of the Christ and dive deep into my Bible, the sheer volume of human suffering is overwhelming. Why was He punished so badly? The Bible teaches us exactly how horrible people can be—the Registry of Pain is written in the jagged edges of history, from the ancient sorrows of the concubine in Gibeah to the moment the Roman flagrum sliced the skin from a Savior’s back. He wasn’t just punished; He was demolished. He took the full Structural Collapse of human sin onto His own shoulders so we wouldn’t have to. He was judged by everyone—from the religious elite to a Gentile commander who found no fault in Him, yet condemned the Innocent anyway just to quiet the Site Noise of a riot. But we don’t just watch His story; we live it through our family tradition:
The Sin and the Stone. THE FRIDAY FOUNDATION:
Marking the GritIn our house, we don’t hide our Short Circuits. We gather around One Big Stone—our family foundation—and we begin the Site Inspection of our own hearts. We don’t just talk about mistakes; we paint them right onto the rock so we can feel the weight of what we carry. Every year, we choose colors to represent our Internal Debris. This year, the colors told the truth: The Red of Disobedience: My son speaks first, marking the stone with the color of the blood that covers his mistakes. It is a stark reminder that every cracked foundation has a cost. The Purple of Anger: I touch the stone with the color of the Tabernacle robes, admitting the moments my Angel Voice turned into a sharp yell. It is a royal color for a very human struggle. The Blue of Boasting: Scott adds his color, bringing his pride to the light under the vast Heavenly Canopy, acknowledging the times we try to build on our own strength instead of His. We go three rounds. We admit that we are flawed builders. We look at that stone, covered in the Debris of our year, and we realize that without a Savior, that weight is simply too heavy for one family to carry.
THE SUNDAY STRUGGLE: When the Doors Feel Closed
This Sunday, I felt a different kind of Jagged Edge. I felt a deep, soul-aching longing for Communion —to sit at the Table and remember the One who took the flagrum for me. But as someone whose faith has always been Eclectic, I found myself caught between denominational Building Codes.I love God. I love Jesus. I love the Bible. My journey has been a nomadic Site Build between just God and me, taking me through the pews of Pentecostal, Anglican, Baptist, and Methodist churches. I don’t fit into one Dominion because my heart belongs to the King. My dream isn’t a marble font in a building; I want to be baptized in the rhythm of the ocean or the flow of a river, by a stranger who doesn’t know my name but knows my Savior—because that’s been my life. Just Him and me.Yet, today, I hit “No” after “No.” I was told I couldn’t take the bread because I wasn’t official enough. I felt the hurt of being a true daughter of christ standing outside the gate. At the service, I chose to be respectful—I rested my hands over my heart during their ceremony, honoring their house while my own heart felt the sting of exclusion. I realized then: Man guards the door, but Jesus owns the Table.
THE SUNDAY TRANSFORMATION: The Washing and the Hidden Treasure.
This is where the tradition stands out. When the Site Noise of the world tells you you aren’t allowed, the Master Architect invites you to His private table. I came home, and I took the Work Order into my own hands. I mixed the flour, I kneaded the dough, and I baked Unleavened Bread right in my own oven. I poured a glass of grape juice, its sweetness representing the joy of a New Build. We took that heavy, marked-up stone and washed it clean. As the water hit the rock, the Red, Purple, and Blue vanished. Just as the tomb was found empty and the giant stone was rolled away, our sins were washed into the sea of forgetfulness. I realized I didn’t need a cathedral or a certificate to meet Jesus. He was right there in my kitchen, in the steam of the bread and the glow of the grape juice.
I find it so beautiful that after the washing, we hide eggs for the children. We tuck them away and wait with excitement for them to find the treasure. I truly believe Jesus feels that same way about us. He leaves Easter Eggs of grace throughout our lives—little and big signs that say, “Hey, I’m here. Just look!” He hides these treasures in the Grit of our struggles, waiting for the moment we find Him and realize how much sweeter His salvation is than anything we could buy.
THE FUTURE BUILD: New Bodies and Gold Streets.
This tradition isn’t just about our past; it’s about our Permanent Address. We aren’t just washing stones; we are preparing for the day we receive our new Bodies in Heaven. One day, the Pressure and the Short Circuits of this life will be gone. We will walk streets of gold and pass through gates of pearl. Jesus endured the Registry of Pain so He could have His own treasure in Heaven: Us.His truth and His story unite us, not just through the Grit of the blood, but through the Grace of His words. At His final table, there are no “No’s.” Only Welcome Home. The
Sunday Victory Prayer
“Father, we thank You for the Great Exchange. Thank You that You took the Demolition so we could have the Remodel. As we wash our stone today, let us feel the cool water of Your Grace washing our souls even cleaner. Thank You for the sweetness of this wine and the strength of this bread we made with our own hands. Thank You for the treasures You hide for us to find. Lord, I believe in You. I pray that when my time comes to stand before those Pearly Gates, You will remember my name. Thank You for the new bodies and the eternal home You are building for us right now. We celebrate You with joyful hearts! Amen.”
Today's pen is tomorrows pages 