doorpost of your heart.

Hands stretched apart, nails like railroad stakes through his wrists and ankles. He hung naked, bleeding, sores weeping, scourged, gasping, all the while onlookers mocked. The death of a criminal and his charge: King of the Jews.

What a throne.

And they told him to bring himself down from there.

Save yourself! They sneered. His friends too: Save yourself! they begged, gasping as their friend, son, brother, messiah pulled himself up in the effort to grab a breath, and then sank back down. His lungs were filling up with water. They watched the pain streak across his face while this most perfect God-man suffered insult and injury. He screamed:

Papa! Why have you forsaken me? Papa!

And then it was finished.

It- salvation, redemption, the greatest Love Story of all time had been penned and the great Author looked at it and He saw that it was good.

Then the Author looked at me.

And in the very moment when he should have penned my sentence, an eternity of screaming Papa! Why have you forsaken me? Papa! He wrote,

Beloved.

You see, because when He had looked at Jesus on that cross, it wasn't Jesus that repulsed Him. It was my sin. My hate. My selfishness. My pride. My arrogance. My failure. My shortcomings. My perversion of His created great good.

And now, I am called Beloved.

It's hard to wrap my mind around. I think about Passover, which starts tomorrow, and Good Friday which is only five days away, and am gobsmacked by the magnitude of this giant Love that has somehow changed my status from being repulsive creature to precious child. I can't quite comprehend that the powerful blood has been smeared over the doorpost of my heart and the Angel of Death has no power here.

I'll continue to dwell here, and to let my spirit rest in the knowledge of this Love that has somehow made a wretch His treasure. And I'll think on this as I lay on my bed. And then I'll wake up in the morning, and make every effort to make this my first thought.

But then I will hold onto my idols and my sin, with two hands probably, and the great Love will fade into the background and-- wait, what's the big deal about following Jesus anyhow? I'm much more partial to my way. My pride is so becoming, don't you think?

Oh. How quickly I forget!

This is my prayer this Easter: take from me what I will not give.

You gave what I had no right to take, and now You look on me with Love.