Splinters from the Cross:

Here I sit once again, trying
to sort out the truth.
That nagging feeling has
been chewing away at me,
little by little, piece by piece, until
nothing is left but raw, irritated

As always, I cry out to my
Savior, my Lord, my God,
tired, with desperation in my

"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.

"My child," 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 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

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 ...
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 ones you seek."

"You mean, the ones who hurt me,"
I said quietly.
It was more of a statement than
a question.
"But You've already taken their
sins too; why must You do
this again?"

"My precious child," He spoke
"Each time you seek them out
you drive the nails into Me
all over again.
Until you let go of the past,
until you forgive them,
I will hang here suspended in

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 them," I cried.
"I forgive them!"
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!

Author Unknown