SPLINTERS FROM THE CROSS

From the heart of an abused individual.

The Vision
As always, I cried out to my Savior, my Lord, my God, tired, with
desperation in my voice: "Jesus, I can't take this lonely road again.
I've walked it so many times before yet it leads me nowhere."  I
swallowed the words but the thoughts numbed my brain as they drudged on
unharnessed, nowhere but to the end of my emotions-to the void; that
immense gulf of painfully cold blackness.
"Mary," He called softly.
"Yes, Lord?"
"How is it that you still don't trust Me?" His voice was warm and deep.
"Lift your eyes to Mine." And with that He gently placed His hand
beneath my chin and brought my face opposite His. Looking into His eyes
I saw something I'd never seen before. There, a single tear swelled and
spilled over His dark lashes and down His smooth olive skin. First one,
then another. His heart was breaking for me. I lifted my hand to wipe
the tears from His cheek, pausing to caress the precious face of my
Jesus.


Then He took my hand gently into His own. I winced as my fingers touched
the scar. He cupped His other hand over mine and with a pat of
reassurance, in that same soothing voice, said, "Follow Me. There is
nothing to fear." With that He let go of my hand and turned and walked
away.


There before Him I saw that road just as I'd always seen it before. But
this time, Jesus walked ahead of me. I knew I had to follow. The road
was long and winding. It was narrow and rocky. The incline was sharp and
steady. My feet were heavy and each step became harder to take. I slowed
to a crawl, but Jesus kept His pace and soon was far ahead of me, out of
sight.


It seemed as though hours had passed as I neared the end of the road.
But my heart was full of anticipation. I knew my Lord would be waiting
for me, arms opened wide, just around the next corner. I wouldn't have
to face the void alone this time. Filthy, exhausted and out of breath I
finally reached the end. As I rounded the last corner I couldn't believe
my eyes. Shocked and horrified a cry of agony filled my lungs as I fell
to my knees.
"Nooooooooooooooo!"

There before me hung my precious Jesus, once again nailed upon the tree.
His skin hung in ribbons. Blood flowed freely down that smooth olive
face as the thorns dug deep into His skull.
There at the foot of the cross I wept, and once again I looked into His
face.
"Why?" I asked Him pleadingly. "Why did You do this for me?"
He pushed Himself up on the nail in His feet and gasped a reply I didn't
expect.
"The question, My child, is not why?, but what now? What will you do
with Me now?"
"I don't know what You mean," I sobbed. "What choices do I have?"
Then there appeared next to me a large bucket, filled with a lifetime of
atrocities. The stench was sickening, more hideous than anything I'd
ever experienced before. It was all I could do not to wretch at the
sight of it. 
I looked again to the mutilated figure on the cross and, shaking my
head, I pleaded, "I just don't understand."

Again He put all His weight on His feet and spoke in painful gasps.
"Throw it on Me."
"No!" I screamed. "I can't! I don't understand, my Lord, please help me
understand!" I continued frantically. "You've already taken my sins, why
must You do it again?"

"These aren't your sins, My child,  but the sins of the one you seek."
"You mean, the one who hurt me," I said quietly. It was more of a
statement than a question.

"But You've already taken his sins too; why must You do this again?"
"My precious child," He spoke lovingly. "Each time you seek him out you
drive the nails into Me all over again. Until you let go of the past,
until you forgive him, I will hang here suspended in agony."
With that I grabbed the bucket and flung it as hard as I could away from
my Savior into the void beyond the cross. Then I threw myself at the
foot of that tree. There I clung with all my might, sobbing
uncontrollably.
"I forgive him," I cried. "I forgive him."
An angel came at that moment and released my sweet Jesus and the two of
them soon disappeared from view.
I released my painful grip of the cross and pulled myself to my feet.  I
looked at my own hands and forearms, and again I gazed in astonishment.
There, deeply embedded in my hands and arms, were splinters from the
cross.  As I pulled each of the shards from my own soft flesh, the
wounds immediately began to heal.
Then, in a moment, the blackness of the void was overtaken by the
glorious light of the Son of God.
I was free.

..as posted in the Heart Check
Ministry devotional
by
Mary Lawrence Comm