At the foot of the cross I come to witness His tenderness. The One God sent to show us love was chosen to wear my stain. He has done nothing to earn this punishment of death. But He will face it all till His final breath. Every last thing I have done and left undone; all I have said and left unsaid hang up there on that tree where a sinner like me should be. How can a man who offered only grace, mercy and love freely endure my penalty? How can I watch the pain my life has lead Him to bear. Why didn’t He say I do not deserve this and point a finger at the real culprit? With deafening silence He hung enduring years of my repeated disappointing choices. Each drop of blood on His body, each bead of sweat on His brow represents a point on the map of my sinful past. Yet as they roll down his beaten face and puddle on the dusty ground my past is erased, wiped clean. Thinking of nothing but the daughter He adores with abundant, unworthy forgiveness He suffers each mortal ache. Only the Son of God could die in my place with such beauty and grace. So what now? Do I attempt to pick back up all the wounds and pain thumbing my nose at His deed? Insisting I can do a better job? No, I must merely let my days and my ways say Thank you for what He has done!
