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Friday, April 3, 2015

Dying For You

        “Why didn't it come true?” she cried. “I believed. I had hope.”

        There was no answer.

        “Do you even hear me?”

        “I hear you, child,” he said softly.

        “But I thought you promised.” She stood below his figure on the cross, defeated and blinded by heartbreak.

        “I’m dying right now. Dying for you.”

        She could not look up at him.

        “Look up at me, child.”

        “What do you want from me?” she cried. “Just what do I need to do to make this happen?”

        “Look up at me, child.” His voice, soft against the darkened afternoon, resonated with longing. “Look up. Not down. You must look at me.”

        She was afraid of what she would see.

        “All I ask is that you look up. Is that too much to ask?”

        She had heard the weight of his body tearing the flesh surrounding the nails. She had heard those nails pounded into his hands and feet, but she had been unable to watch.

        “Why did you take my joy away?” she finally cried, eyes focused on the ground beneath his cross.

        “You lost it by yourself,” he said. “I never turned away from you. You looked up at me that one time so long ago, and then you dropped your eyes from mine.”

        She felt the pull. It had been so long.

        “Look on me. My yoke is easy. My burden is light.”

        “I don’t want to feel your pain.”

        “But I feel yours, dear child. I know yours.”

        She wanted to look up, but it would mean accepting his gift as her own.

        “Please,” he cried. “I haven’t much longer.”

        As thunder rolled suddenly in the distance, the cry of his heart resounded within her.

        “Into your hands, Father…” he whispered.

        Gripped by the moment, her eyes swung upward. She barely saw his face, much less his swollen eyes, now closed in obvious agony, yet also in anticipation of imminent release.

        “Lord,” she faintly managed.

        His eyes slowly opened. Peering deeply into the crevices of her pain, her despair, her terror, he ripped them from her heart, and took them upon himself.

        “I commend my spirit,” he finished and died.

Is there something you believe God has promised you, and it didn't happen? Do you feel that God has abandoned you in your need? That He doesn't understand? How can the Savior who died for you not understand your pain? He is there for you right now. Lay your discouragement, your pain, your suffering, your disappointment, and your heart at the foot of His cross, and look up. The promise of Resurrection Sunday and healing is yours.

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