When Pain Demands a Decision – Part 1 of 3
As we step into this season of Lent, #Lent26 let’s take a moment to remember the comfort Jesus Christ laid down for us on the Cross.
“Comfort is fleeting. The Cross is real. I must choose not what eases my pain, but what saves my soul”
I won’t be creating images for this series because my hope is that the message speaks louder than the visuals.
To all of you, I pray you have a glorious day. May you enjoy this series, share it with others, and be truly blessed by it... YOU ARE LOVED
There is a question most believers hope they never have to answer.
It is easy to declare faith when life is comfortable. It is easy to follow Christ when pain is manageable and needs are met. But what happens when comfort is taken away? What happens when relief is offered at the cost of your faith?
Comfort or The Cross was born from that question.
This series is not about theory. It is about the heart. It asks what we would choose if following Jesus cost us everything. Safety. Healing. Stability. Even life itself.
The first chapter begins with a simple drive through a familiar neighborhood. What I saw there forced me to confront a deeper truth. Before we can talk about endurance or grace, we must answer one question honestly.
If comfort required denying Christ, what would we choose?
This series begins there.
I remember two winters ago, driving into Chicago for a doctor’s appointment. I was about forty-five minutes from home. I was hoping to receive a cortisone shot to ease the pain from my torn rotator cuff.
After the appointment, and after finally feeling some relief, I decided to drive through my old neighborhood. I did not plan it. It was a pull from deep inside, a quiet longing to see the streets I grew up on. I grew up in Chicago, and since moving closer to the Wisconsin border, I did not get back there often. Time, distance, and life had slowly made those memories feel like a dream. Yet something inside me kept saying, Go back. Just drive.
Something pulled me toward Humboldt Park, what I always called Little Puerto Rico Park. It was a place rich with culture, music, flags, and restaurants. The air there always carried the smell of something delicious. The food was unforgettable, and the memories ran deep. Humboldt Park was more than a location. It was a feeling. It was home.
As I drove around the park, something felt wrong. Something I had never seen before.
The park was filled with tents. They were everywhere. At first, it looked as if people were camping for an event or a festival. But there was no concert. This was not a campground. This was Humboldt Park.
I parked my car and searched for answers. I needed to understand what I was seeing. I typed the question into Google, expecting something ordinary. I expected an explanation that would make sense. What I found stopped me cold.
The tents were there because of a growing unhoused population in Chicago, made up of long-time residents and newly arrived asylum seekers who had nowhere else to go. People were living in tents in the middle of winter. Not because they wanted to. Because they had no other choice.
My first reaction was shock. Then sadness followed. This was a park I loved. But what hurt more was the realization that people were living there through a brutal Chicago winter. Cold. Snow. Wind. No real shelter.
I felt my chest tighten. I felt my breath shorten. I felt a sorrow so heavy it felt like it could crush my ribs. I thought of the children. I thought of the elderly. I thought of the mothers trying to keep their families warm with nothing but hope.
In that moment, I thanked God. I thanked Him for my home. For heat in the winter and air conditioning in the summer. I thanked Him for my family, my job, and the ability to provide. I thanked Him that I had never been in that situation, and I prayed that I never would be, nor my family or friends.
Then a difficult question settled in my heart.
What would I do if I were living like that?
What would I give up to make it stop?
That question is the reason for this series.
If you lost everything, and someone came to you and said, “I will give you a home. I will give you food, money, comfort, even a palace to live in. You will never suffer again. All you must do is deny God and lay down your cross.” Would you do it?
Right now, it is easy for me to say no. It is easy to say I would choose the cross over comfort. But I also know I do not live in a tent. When it is minus twelve degrees outside, I run to a warm car. I rush into a heated building at work. I get to thaw out.
They do not.
They live in it all day. Every day.
So I wonder. If they were offered a warm room, an apartment, a home, or even a palace, and all they had to do was deny Jesus Christ, never pray again, never worship again, and never pick up their cross, what would they choose?
And now I ask this of believers.
Those of us who pray. Those of us who carry our cross. Those of us who believe that Jesus Christ is Lord. That He is the Son of God. That He walked among us, was crucified, buried, rose again on the third day, and ascended into Heaven.
Think about your own pain. Your losses. Your illness. Your grief.
If someone came to you and said, “I can take it all away. No more pain. No more sorrow. No more disease. All you must do is deny Christ.” Would you choose Comfort, Or would you chooseThe Cross?
To Be Continued…..
I’ll leave you with this thought for now. I’ll be back soon with the next part of this series, going deeper and speaking more clearly and boldly into what Comfort of the Cross truly means.
Stay tuned for Part Two of: When Pain Demands a Decision – From the Comfort or The Cross Series….
Willie Torres Jr.
02/19/2026
@BeingCrazyForChrist.com
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Willie Torres Jr. 
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