Reposting – because there is nothing more to say, no words to express the depth of my gratitude.
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.
You went willingly to the Cross because I need a Savior.
(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…
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