Hold your horses.
Before you think I’m writing something dark, hear me out.

Death to self is not separation from Jesus, it’s reuniting with Him. It’s not the end, it’s the beginning of real life.

Anyone who heard today’s sermon knows, dying to self costs everything.
“Oh my Lord, please help me.” Because once it’s out there, once it’s public, once your heart cracks open for all to see… there’s no hiding anymore.

But here’s the thing: vulnerability is holy ground.
It cannot lie anymore.
It cannot pretend.
It’s done performing.
It’s done defending.
And that… that’s where healing begins.

Try it.
Say it out loud: “I can’t.”
And watch Heaven lean in.

Death, my goodness, it never felt this rewarding. It’s like floating underwater, eyes open, staring at a blue sky above the surface. You can’t hear anything, thank God you don’t speak fish, it’s quiet.

Still.

Disorienting but calm.

You prayed to go home, and yet your heart is still beating.
You’re still here.

And then it hits you:
You have died.
Your flesh is starved.
Your striving silenced.
You can sink now.

But just when you think you’re gone, God doesn’t.

You hear that whisper through the deep: “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you. They will not overtake you. I will protect you. Strengthen you. Comfort you.
You will be okay.” (Isaiah 43:2)
Then the heart starts beating again, a rhythm you cannot control. Because our default setting was never survival.
It was communion.
We were created to walk with Jesus. To be victorious. To live in glory.

And when we finally stop kicking, stop performing, stop fighting the death we need…
He breathes for us.
He carries the rhythm.
He resurrects the parts of us that could never rise on their own.

So no, death is not separation.
It’s the doorway where self ends and the Spirit begins.
It’s where heaven exhales, and your soul remembers its first language again: surrender.

To die is not to lose, it’s to make room. Room for the Holy Spirit to take full control.

I, and Matt… we love You.

V.L