Think about the last big goal you set for yourself. You had a date of accomplishment looming somewhere in the future. To get to that point, there were steps along the way you had to first traverse. But at last you arrived at the moment of completion.

How does it feel now that you’ve met your goal? Is there triumph? relief? even a possible letdown, wondering what’s next now that this is finished?

Think about this week in the life of Jesus, from Palm Sunday to Good Friday. His entire earthly dwelling, 33 years, had been leading up to this point. He faced the ultimate goal—salvation of all humankind. No pressure, right?

Though he was God, here he was fully human. There was nothing preventing Jesus from feeling the full amount of agony, shame, and abandonment—all the physical and mental anguish that could be experienced during the torturous capital punishment known as crucifixion.

Truly this was his goal. Yet what a strange culmination to his mission. Look how he acted during the days leading up to this certain, painful death. He paraded into town. He kept teaching. He reached out to his disciples with the humble act of cleansing their feet. He prayed earnestly for all of us.

Jesus lived out his final week just as he had been doing in the previous years. He fully kept on with his ministry until his dying breath. He lived out his mission until the final minutes. And then he reset the clock and gave a curtain call.

This was what his three decades of life had been all about. This is why a tiny, innocent baby was born in Bethlehem and lived out a childhood, an adolescence, and matured into an adult. This one weekend—a Friday death, a Sunday resurrection—made the difference between death and life to every human soul.

Jesus’ goal was met. It is finished. He created the salvation offered to even us. Now what will we do with it?

Surreptitiously I crept to the hall closet, making my 7-year-old self as minuscule as possible. With furtive glances about me, I swiftly, silently opened the door and dove inside, closing it behind. Heart pounding, I tried to slow my rapid breath. This was it—the moment of truth. With trembling fingertips I reached into the darkness and through the hanging coats. The moment seemed an eternity, and I dared to hope.

Thud.

My hand hit solid wall. Dejected, I faced the fact—this was not a portal to Narnia.

I love getting lost in a story, even as an adult. I’m caught up in childlike wonder by creative characters and twisting plots in books, in movies, onstage. I escape my own life for a while, and that’s relaxing, energizing, and even motivating. Perhaps I’m especially drawn to narratives that, as C. S. Lewis understood, have reflections of glory woven within.

Yet we don’t have to look far to find daring rescue, enthralling romance, confounding mystery, or spine-tingling suspense. Life provides plenty of each. God designed us to live with abandon. “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10).

True, our plots aren’t always appealing. The scars brought on by sin are painful. But the Master Storyteller can redeem the most harrowed protagonists if we entrust ourselves to him. He provides hope that we matter now and we matter for eternity. Though we’ve heard an old, old story, Jesus’ sacrifice on our behalf is real and offered the same today as when God first planned his heroic act. After heart-wrenching loss he can bring wondrous awe.

How has God’s better story affected yours? How has he changed your view of yourself and others? Your chapters are intertwined with mine as we are in this narrative together. Let’s live our story to the full.

Once upon a time in a land far-off, there was a girl and construction paper before her. She took crayons and markers and crafted poem after silly poem to make the best birthday cards she could for her family members.

The years went on, and the girl grew. A blank notebook set before her with decorative cover. Inside it she produced thoughts and memories, ranging from the deep to the minuscule. The ink flowed freely from her pen onto the lined pages, filling journal after journal. Her thoughts generally vacillated from the soul-searching questions about faith to the heartbreaking unrequited crushes of her youthful years. New writing styles emerged in forms of poetry, short stories, plays, and personal essays. She couldn't stop writing.

The years continued on, and the girl became a woman. A blank document set before her, glowing on the computer screen in the darkened room of night-owl tendencies. Though life had become filled with responsibility after responsibility, she began a blog to occasionally share some thoughts with the world, trying public pondering on for size.

Life changed and became filled with activities, both challenging and fantastic. Blogs became something she read rather than wrote, seeing others who made names for themselves in their blogging efforts. These days much of her creativity was mustered weekly for her editing position, writing 52 short pieces a year, one a week. Personal writing went by the wayside, but reading other people's words (both fictional and non) as inspiration remained a joy.

One night during a distracted quest to search for something for work, the woman recalled that she had a blog. She visited the land forgotten and smiled at past posts. Some were a little embarrassing to her as an editor (they sure could use some editing!), and most she could hardly recall writing. But they reminded her of the life she lived and the blessings God had given and continues to give.

She also remembered how cathartic it could be to put words together just for fun. Not for work. Not for anyone else's benefit. Just for her.

So she sat down and wrote. And after 2.5 years, she posted.