Thank You

He took all the pain. All the agony. The stripes, the nails, the suffering. He took all the blackness of the world. Him so pure, so beautiful, untainted. Perfect. But He took on every bit of it anyway.

But I don’t deserve it, I whisper.
“I love you,” He says.
But I deserve death.
“I love you.”
But I mess up so much.
“I love you.”
But. . .but. . .but. . .
“I love you. Forever. Unconditionally. I love you, My child.”

He calls me child, when I should be nothing but a slave to the darkness. He calls me beloved, when I’m so filthy.

When I was born so tainted. Too ugly to even look upon His goodness. He loved me. He wanted me.

“I’ll take these stripes, the pain, this suffering, for you. For you. For you.”
But. . .
“Because I love you.”

He gave His beautiful, beautiful blood and washed it over me. Me. The unworthy urchin. With His blood and tears and love, He wiped away the darkness, cleansed the layer upon layer upon layer of filth. And then, oh, and then the unthinkable happened. He took my hand. The hand of the once hideous beast deserving only of death. He took my hand. He looked at me.

“I am yours. And you are Mine.”

My own wickedness which once kept me so far from Him was gone. And now He looked at me, He held me, He claimed me. He loved me.

He could have left. He could have turned His back. He could have been done with my mistakes I make again and again and again. How could He even tolerate such a being?

Instead He gladly took the stripes. The stripes I put there myself. Over and over. With my petty mistakes and selfishness. But He took them. He took it all onto Himself, stripped me from the darkness, spilled His blood over me so I could be clean. The shackles fell from my wrists, and He promised me freedom forever and ever.

Then He came back. He did not abandon me. When He could have. When I deserved it. But He returned and held my new body. My new body, cleansed by His blood.

“It is finished,” He said. “You are Mine.”
Because You love me, I say with tears in my eyes as I look upon the print of nails in his hands.
”Because I love you.”

Thank you, Jesus. I am so, so undeserving. I make so mistakes, every single day. But you did it anyway. You suffered and died and returned. You are mine. I am Yours.

Because You love me.

Though Easter may has passed this year, what He did is eternal.

Thank you, Jesus.