Yesterday in the quiet of late afternoon, I stepped onto the trackmill. I wasn’t chasing speed or distance. I simply needed to move and breathe. I put on a song I’ve known for years, Jesus Paid It All. As I walked, the words began to settle into me in a new way.

I hear the Savior say, Thy strength indeed is small. That line met me in my weariness. After a full day of ministry and listening, I felt that smallness. Not as failure, but as truth. And the song did not resist it. It embraced it. Grace does not wait for us to be strong. It meets us in our weakness.

Step by step, breath by breath, the trackmill became a kind of sanctuary. The rhythm turned into prayer. Not spoken, but felt. A quiet liturgy of movement and mercy.

Jesus paid it all, all to Him I owe.
No transaction. No performance. Just a love that covers, restores, and renews. And then, all of a sudden, I was deeply moved. I found myself remembering a dinner meeting with two young individuals I have been walking alongside for some time.

They are in love. A same-sex relationship. Their love is tender, real, and brave. But it is also under pressure. Cultural expectations, family silence, and religious condemnation have weighed heavily on them.

They have heard the voices.
You are sinners.
You are living in sin.
This is not God’s love.
You will not be accepted by God if you keep practicing.

And yet, sitting with them at that table, I saw something sacred. I saw two people trying to love well in a world that tells them they should not. I saw courage. I saw longing. I saw the image of God.

As I walked and listened to the song, I felt the tension between what they have been told and what grace actually offers. The hymn does not say Jesus paid it all except for you. It says all. And I believe that means all. No exceptions. No exclusions.

Sin had left a crimson stain, He washed it white as snow.
That is not a threat. It is a promise. A promise of restoration, not rejection. A promise that love, real love, sacrificial love, faithful love, is not outside the reach of grace.

I finished the walk with tears in my eyes and a prayer in my heart.
That these two young people would know they are not alone.
That they would hear a different voice, one that says, You are beloved.
That the church would become a place of healing, not harm.
That we would learn to see love not as a problem to fix, but as a gift to honor.