At the Foot of the Cross Where My Heart Is Torn in Two

I went to the foot of the cross during a prayer meeting at church a number of years ago. I knelt there, rested my hand on the wood, and bowed my head.  I knew it wasn’t the actual cross Jesus was crucified on, but I imagined it was:

I imagined Jesus looking down at me as He suffered, His blood running down and flowing over the rough, splintered wood before reaching my fingertips. I sobbed, imagining His face swollen and beaten, His eyes mere slits. But He was able to see me as I knelt there, my heart tearing in two.  I hated the idea of His suffering and at the same time, I was so deeply thankful because I knew He was saving me in a way I never could.

As He hung there struggling to breathe, agonizing in ways I could never imagine, I wondered if my being at the foot of the cross, perhaps, brought Him a small moment of comfort. Perhaps He saw me here at this moment two thousand years later, surrendering my heart to Him, my King, the Lover of my Soul; my heart was torn in two, wide open for Him to enter in.

I gave Him then, as I do today, all of my brokenness and my torn heart because I love Him with all that I am, all that I have to give.

My God. My God.  How I adore and honor Your Son!  How I want to take Him in my arms and hold Him and take away His suffering as a mother does for her child and ease the agony of my own heart that breaks.  And yet, I know He is King and it must be this way.  I cannot rescue Him for He is the One who rescues me.

My Savior, Jesus, My King. How I worship You and honor You! I fall here at the foot of Your cross and I cry out to You with thanksgiving.  Thank You for taking the punishment that was mine.  Thank You for carrying this overwhelming burden for me.  It would have suffocated me the moment I tried to carry it.

And thank You for loving me in such a way I can’t possibly fathom but only humbly accept and cherish, treasuring it in my heart and holding it as close as my own breath.

One day, Jesus, I will run to You as I’ve imagined in my dreams, and I will throw my arms around You to thank You. Perhaps I will give You such a bear hug like I’ve never hugged anyone before.  Perhaps I will kiss Your cheek, hoping to remove the sting of betrayal from Judas, replacing it with deep adoration as joyful tears soak both of our faces.  Or perhaps I’ll collapse before You and fall apart, sobbing at Your feet because there is no way I can ever thank You or love You enough.

I imagine at that moment You’ll help me to stand and You’ll take me in your arms and hold me, letting me cry and whispering in my ear words I can’t hear or even imagine just yet. Oh, the sound of your voice so near and the warmth of your arms.  I know I will be loved more deeply than ever before, the shadow of the cross behind You and light reflecting from You as You lead me into eternity in Your arms.  Those arms that hurt for me, that hurt for all of Your children, so long ago.  You wanted to hold us, and the cross was the only way.

The cross was the only way. And so today I kneel here in my heart at the foot of the cross, tears falling freely again, as I see You there, suffering for me. I bow my head and from my torn heart I cry until it splits open even deeper, widening the depths of my heart to love You even more.

Thank you, Jesus.

“It was now about the sixth hour, and darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour, for the sun stopped shining. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two.  Jesus called out with a loud voice, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” When he had said this, he breathed his last.” (Luke 23: 44-46 NIV.)

“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6:21 NIV.)

I originally wrote this post a few years ago. I can’t add or change anything. I still feel the exact same way – Thank you, Jesus. Thank you.

 

A Ride with God

Are you waiting in line for the ride of a lifetime? I’m excited for you! (This is a shorter version of an older post. If you’d like to read the post in its entirety, click here. )

There’s nothing like waiting in line with some of your favorite friends for three hours to hop on an amusement park ride that will last approximately ninety seconds. You’re sporting your favorite sunglasses with a wad of money crammed in your front pocket, and you made sure to wear your comfortable sandals because you knew you were going to be standing in line for a long, long time.

It’s a great thing, really, and you don’t mind the long line because you’re with friends and you know you’re waiting for something thrilling, something that will probably take your breath away.

You’re not ignoring your friends, focusing solely on the twists of the ride or the screams of those ahead of you. And you’re not standing there with your arms crossed and a scowl on your face because the waiting is just killing you.

That’s what it’s like when you and I focus on what God is going to do for us and where He’s leading us instead of just being with Him and enjoying His presence.

Maybe we can spend the time in line reliving some favorite memories with Him, remembering one of His many rescues in our lives. Perhaps we can talk with Him about the ride, expressing our joy and anticipation, remembering to thank Him in advance; knowing He’s the Creator of the ride and it’s not only going to take our breath away but will leave us leaning in closer to Him as the air comes back fuller, deeper.

And when it’s our turn to hop on the ride and buckle our seat belts, we wouldn’t even think about not scooting over to make room for God to sit with us. We wouldn’t even think of not sharing this ride with Him, not wanting Him to be a part of it, of leaving Him to stand on the platform while we ride alone or with someone else.

We want God to be right there with us as we climb higher and higher and as the twists and turns leave us breathless. We want Him to be right there, holding our hand when the thrill shifts to fright. We want to laugh with Him and experience the view with Him.

Really, we can’t imagine riding this ride without Him.

“You will show me the way of life, granting me the joy of your presence and the pleasures of living with you forever.” (Psalm 16:11 NLT.)

 

 

When a Blessing Hurts

Has someone ever blessed you with a slow cooker full of food when you were in need? Or maybe you received an envelope with your name scribbled on it, the handwriting unrecognizable and a little money tucked inside?

Perhaps the man behind you in line at the store paid for some of your groceries, those you were embarrassed to admit exceeded the amount of money in your checking account. Or maybe someone offered to babysit your child when you needed a moment to catch your breath or give you a ride when your car was on the fritz.

What did you do with that blessing? Were you thankful?

Or did you cringe at the idea of accepting their gift? Did it settle in your stomach like a bunch of rocks? You didn’t want to take it. You just couldn’t accept it, but…

You’d been crying out to God for help, and there it was. Perhaps it wasn’t the way you expected Him to help. And overall, you felt terrible and wondered how a gift, a blessing could actually hurt.

Blessings hurt when they don’t fit our standards of what we’re comfortable receiving. When Pride shows up on the scene demanding he’s in charge.

Think of it this way: Someone gives you a beautiful painting, a one-of-a-kind masterpiece. Pride walks in with a scowl on his face, picks up a can of orange paint, and splatters it across the painting. Then he reaches for another can…

If you let him, Pride will ruin the blessing.

And a blessing like that is a gift. It has nothing to do with your worth. It’s a gift to you from your Heavenly Father (and the lovely vessel He chose to use). It wasn’t something you earned. It wasn’t something you had to repay. It wasn’t something to hurry up and get rid of like a hot potato in your hand because Pride was as comfortable as wearing a sweater in the middle of a hot summer day. (Did I mention the sweater was one from grade school?)

Let Pride squirm in his tight and itchy sweater. Let him sulk, get mad, and try to make you feel guilty.

Elbow Pride out of your way and don’t waste your time trying to argue with him. His older brother, Stubborn, has taught him a thing or two, and he won’t give up so easily. Save your breath.

Besides, you’ve got more important things to do. You can start by thanking the person God used to bless you (perhaps you saw a glimpse of your Father in that person’s eyes – a double blessing for you!).

You can praise God for His hand in your life, for the way He chose to help you. (It was a surprise, wasn’t it?)

And then you can start praying God will bless that person in ways you never could, in ways you can’t even imagine.

You can also pray He will use you like that someday.  What an honor, a humbling experience to be used by God Almighty to shine His light on someone who’s been crying out to Him.

“Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall.” (Proverbs 16:18 NIV.)

“And God will generously provide all you need. Then you will always have everything you need and plenty left over to share with others.” (2 Corinthians 9:8 NLT.)

At the Foot of the Cross Where My Heart is Torn in Two

I went to the foot of the cross during a prayer meeting at church a few years ago. I knelt there, rested my hand on the wood, and bowed my head.  I knew it wasn’t the actual cross Jesus was crucified on, but I imagined it was:

I imagined Jesus looking down at me as He suffered, His blood running down and flowing over the rough, splintered wood before reaching my fingertips. I sobbed, imagining His face swollen and beaten, His eyes mere slits. But He was able to see me as I knelt there, my heart tearing in two.  I hated the idea of His suffering and at the same time I was so deeply thankful because I knew He was saving me in a way I never could.

As He hung there struggling to breathe, agonizing in ways I could never imagine, I wondered if my being at the foot of the cross, perhaps, brought Him a small moment of comfort. Perhaps He saw me here in this moment two thousand years earlier, surrendering my heart to Him, my King, the Lover of my Soul; my heart was torn in two, wide open for Him to enter in.

I gave Him then, as I do today, all of my brokenness and my torn heart because I love Him with all that I am, all that I have to give.

My God. My God.  How I adore and honor Your Son!  How I want to take Him in my arms and hold Him and take away His suffering as a mother does for her child and ease the agony of my own heart that breaks.  And yet, I know He is King and it must be this way.  I cannot rescue Him for He is the One who rescues me.

My Savior, Jesus, My King. How I worship You and honor You! I fall here at the foot of Your cross and I cry out to You with thanksgiving.  Thank You for taking the punishment that was mine.  Thank You for carrying this overwhelming burden for me.  It would have suffocated me the moment I tried to carry it.

And thank You for loving me in such a way I can’t possibly fathom but only humbly accept and cherish, treasuring it in my heart and holding it as close as my own breath.

One day, Jesus, I will run to You as I’ve imagined in my dreams, and I will throw my arms around You to thank You. Perhaps I will give You such a bear hug like I’ve never hugged anyone before.  Perhaps I will kiss Your cheek, hoping to remove the sting of betrayal from Judas, replacing it with deep adoration as joyful tears soak both of our faces.  Or perhaps I’ll collapse before You and fall apart, sobbing at Your feet because there is no way I can ever thank You or love You enough.

I imagine in that moment You’ll help me to stand and You’ll take me in your arms and hold me, letting me cry and whispering in my ear words I can’t hear or even imagine just yet. Oh, the sound of your voice so near and the warmth of your arms.  I know I will be loved more deeply than ever before, the shadow of the cross behind You and light reflecting from You as You lead me into eternity in Your arms.  Those arms that hurt for me, that hurt for all of Your children, so long ago.  You wanted to hold us, and the cross was the only way.

The cross was the only way. And so today I kneel here in my heart at the foot of the cross, tears falling freely again, as I see You there, suffering for me. I bow my head and from my torn heart I cry until it splits open even deeper, widening the depths of my heart to love You even more.

Thank you, Jesus.

“It was now about the sixth hour, and darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour, for the sun stopped shining. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two.  Jesus called out with a loud voice, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” When he had said this, he breathed his last.” (Luke 23: 44-46 NIV.)

“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6:21 NIV.)

While You’re Waiting

I used to go fishing with my brother and our Grandpa when I was a little girl with scabby knees and a wad of bubbled gum stuffed in my cheek. Grandpa wore his floppy fishing hat, shorts, and socks reaching just under his knees.  I learned patience by watching him fish.

He would sit for hours, pursing his lips as if to whistle a song but not really making a sound, afraid to scare off the fish. He’d shake his head at us when we got impatient, running through the grass around the pond and casting lines; practically chasing the fish we saw swimming in the shallow water. He just sat on the dock with a smile and waited.

I try to smile when I’m waiting, but it’s especially hard when negative thoughts bombard me from every angle.

You’re a failure.

It’s not going to happen.

You will never make a difference.

Just give up.

You’re pathetic.

You’ll never get ahead.

It’s always going to be this bad.

You can’t even do that right.

While I was praying this morning and playing some worship music with my eyes closed, I imagined my Grandpa sitting on the dock fishing. He was patient, watching the bobber riding on those tiny ripples and waiting for the fish to bite while thousands of mosquitoes swarmed around him.  But he didn’t pay any attention to them because they couldn’t touch him.  It was like he had a bubble of protection around him.

That bubble, I realized this morning, is praise.

Satan is going to come at us like a thousand annoying mosquitoes while we wait. He’s going to incessantly buzz in our ears and hide lies in that noise.  He’s going to distract us and torment us and do his very best to get us to not only call it quits on this particular day but toss our pole in the water and walk away for good.

My dear friends, don’t give up. Waiting is definitely hard work.  God knows, and He understands.

Besides the work of waiting, you may not even get what you’ve been waiting for. There were plenty of times we went fishing and never caught a single fish, but Grandpa still smiled on the walk back home.  He had learned to enjoy the wait and the time he spent with his grandkids.

While you and I are waiting, we can learn to enjoy the wait and the time with God. Maybe He’s giving us this “down time” to get ready to reel in that whopper of a fish.  Or maybe He just wants us to learn to praise Him when things aren’t going the way we think they should.

Regardless, you can thank Him while you’re waiting and staring at the bobber when the fish don’t bite but instead when you catch a glimpse of Heaven mirrored in the water like a thousand diamonds, realizing the reflection is not only coming from the sun but from within you.

You see, God never leaves you to wait alone. The Holy Spirit is waiting with you. And He will teach you a new song to sing while you’re waiting, one that won’t scare off what you’re waiting for but will protect you from those irritating mosquitoes.

“I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God.” (Psalm 40:1,3a NIV.)