There’s been a lot of talk about one’s “finest hour”. When a person is at the top of their game, or does something incredible/heroic/etc. I’ve spent time reflecting on what I could call my own finest hour lately.

Was it graduating college? Getting married? Working on an MVA patient with a collapsing lung, praying ALS got there in time? Cutting victims from a mangled car? Removing children from abusive family? Truth is, my finest hour came before I ever graduated elementary school, when I learned about Jesus and accepted him as savior. There can be no finer hour for a person than that of his souls salvation. Nothing done on this Earth comes close.

I’m as certain that He was born, performed miracles, died on the cross and arose 3 days later as I am of the very words I type here tonight.

There is an old hymn that stares it perfectly:
“When I survey the wondrous cross
Oh which the Prince of glory died
My richest gain I count but loss
And pour contempt on all my pride
Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God
All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to His blood
See from his dead, his hands,
His feet, Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
Where the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small,
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my fire, my all.”
That moment I accepted Him was the Finest Hour. 

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