I think of You, hanging on that Cross, Your life soaking into the rough-hewn wood. The crowd presses in close, cheering as blood drips red. The blood that bought freedom for all of mankind is absorbed into the dust like it’s nothing.

I always used to think that they were such horrible people—the soldiers and the crowds that jeered.

And yet…

You went willingly to the Cross because I need a Savior.

That means…

(it hurts to choke this out)

…it is my sin that cries out, “Crucify Him!”

I’ll never understand the freedom of the Cross until I understand the part that I had to play. Because it wasn’t just an event that happened two thousand years ago. It wasn’t just a bunch of horrible people who did a really bad thing.

It was You and it was me.

Every drop of blood that soaked into the ground carried with it my guilt.

You did it for me.

I don’t know how One who created the universe can love me in all my mess, but You do. So much that with your last ounce of breath and strength, You whispered words that thundered throughout eternity:

“It is finished!”

And just like that, my sin, my shame, my guilt were gone. My brokenness, my mess—it was finished.

It’s You and it’s me again today only now You’re scarred and I’m whole. But there is no reproach in Your eyes, only love. Pure and holy. Wild and uncontrollable. You lavish it on me unreservedly. Undeservedly, I accept.

Oh how I accept!

And with that, a miracle…

As all of my heart embraces You,

all of my heart is set free.