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Count the cost

  • Writer: Sarah Trent
    Sarah Trent
  • 15 hours ago
  • 2 min read

The cost is great.

But oh, dear one—count it.

Measure the weight of your silence in eternity’s scales. If you do not pray, hell does not sleep.

So count the cost.

If you do not kneel, do not weep, do not war in the secret place, What rises in your absence?

What ground does the enemy gain

While your sword gathers dust?


If you will not stand in the gap for the next generation, Count the cost. Watch the drift—

the slow, silent slipping of hearts into shadows

because no one built an altar,

because no one remembered the fire.


If you will not fight for your children—

not just feed them, clothe them, raise them,

but fight—with trembling hands and a blazing heart, then count the cost.

Count the tears they will cry without knowing why. Count the nights they’ll ache for truth

but find only echoes of a faith you never passed on.


If you will not pursue holiness—

not perfection, but a burning yes to God—

then count the cost. “For it is written: Be ye holy, for I am holy.” This is not a suggestion; it is the call of blood-bought sons and daughters.

If you ignore it, count the numbness that follows.


If you live your truth,

instead of dying daily for His,

count the cost. Your truth may comfort you for a moment, but His truth will set you free for eternity.


If you choose comfort over conviction,

ease over obedience,

acceptance over anointing,

count the cost.

Ease is a slow killer.

Comfort is a lullaby sung by the deceiver.

And compromise will always cost more than obedience ever will.


Yes, the cost to walk in His steps is great.

It may ask for your pride, your plans, your preferences, your peers.

But the cost of not following Him?

Oh, it is far, far greater.

It is the cost of wasted purpose.

Of generations unanchored.

Of fire gone cold.

Of hearing, “I never knew you,” when it’s too late to turn around.


So weigh it now.

The beauty of the burden.

The sacred ache that calls you higher.


Lay your life on the scale.

And count the cost—

Then pick up your cross.

And never look back.


 
 
 

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