The Cost

Some callings come through circumstances completely outside of our control. They are not chosen—they are endured. They are costly. A calling of deliverance is often like this.

For example, suffering that you did not choose can, through surrender to Christ, become the very thing that qualifies you to partner with Jesus in helping set others free from similar captivity. But if suffering is not stewarded well—if it is not surrendered to Christ—it can be misinterpreted. What was meant to become a calling can begin to feel like a curse.

Consider the Christmas tree.

At its core, the Christmas tree is creation. It is a pine tree. Across cultures and civilizations, trees have carried many meanings, but ultimately, it is still creation. In Christianity, the star placed at the top of the tree points to the coming of Christ. On the night of His birth, a great star appeared in the sky, and that star guided the way. The star atop the tree reminds us of that moment—the promise, the arrival, the hope. Some believers choose to place a cross at the top instead, symbolizing the same truth.

Today, when believers wear the cross, we do so as a declaration of faith in Jesus Christ. It is a reminder—to us and to those who see it—of what He has done. To us, the cross now symbolizes resurrection and new life. But historically, the cross did not begin as a symbol of hope. It symbolized death, suffering, and curse.

This distinction matters.

In a dream, a young woman handed me a gold object shaped like a Christmas tree. She told me it represented a curse.

But this tree was not made of pine. It was constructed entirely of crosses—suffering stacked upon suffering upon suffering. At the very top of this tree of crosses was a single leaf, symbolizing creation. When she handed it to me and called it a curse, I reminded her that I was surrendered to Christ Jesus.

This brings me back to the heart of the message: we sometimes misinterpret a calling or assignment that comes through trauma or hardship—something placed on us without our consent. In my own life, trauma was not chosen, but healing through surrender to Christ transformed it. Through surrender, I found myself stewarding a calling I never asked for—one that came at a cost I did not choose, but that Christ redeemed.

The young woman in the dream lay in a bed, frail—nearly skin and bones. She looked like suffering itself. Her condition revealed the truth: she had misinterpreted the meaning of what she had endured. Instead of seeing Christ above it all, she saw only the suffering. Her perception was out of order.

The tree itself could have represented process—an upward journey toward the star, toward Christ, toward promise and peace. But because the symbol was out of order—because it was not surrendered—it no longer represented hope. It became a symbol of suffering with no purpose, no peace, no promise, no hope. What should have pointed upward instead collapsed inward.

There is another detail that matters: the tree was gold.

Gold does not exist without refinement. It must pass through fire. Scripture often uses this imagery to describe our transformation in Christ. Jesus is the refining fire. Through Him, we are purified and made new.

That tree being gold meant this: the suffering she endured had the potential to produce something precious—pure as gold. But because her suffering was not surrendered, because all she could see was pain and not God above it, what was meant for good became harmful. Not only to her, but to those she shared it with. In the dream, she passed this “curse” to me—though it was never meant to be a curse at all.

I hope you’re hearing me.

Our suffering does not have to be meaningless. Scripture tells us that all things work together for the good of those who love Christ—and that includes the things that hurt the most. When a person lives in surrender to Jesus, their suffering is surrendered too. That surrender shifts perception. Instead of seeing only pain, you begin to see living hope—Jesus Christ Himself.

You begin to see peace.

You begin to see purpose.

You begin to see restoration.

There is something about hope—much like the horizon I wrote about in my last entry. Having a living hope gives you something to fix your eyes on in the midst of process, in the midst of suffering, in the midst of life. Because to live is, in some way, to suffer. That isn’t cynicism—it’s reality. Jesus Himself said, “In this life, you will have trouble.”

But God reminds us that suffering does not have to be the end of the story. When surrendered, He can transform it into something beautiful. Something powerful. Something redemptive.

The question is this:

Will you trust Him enough to let Him turn the tables in your life?