It is good to be reminded.. :)

*****

“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

       John 3:16

            I watched in horror as he stumbled and struggled up the dry, dusty road, using the last of his waning strength to carry his wooden cross. He clung to it desperately, lovingly, embracing it as if it was a lovely thing rather than his death sentence. Rich, red blood dripped down his face, dribbling onto his bloodstained tunic. His flesh was mangled, torn, bloodied; patches of his skin was ripped off in various places, exposing the soft, vulnerable flesh beneath. His face was beaten up so badly, he was hardly recognisable. Huge gashes adorned his body like great, fat leeches, spilling blood onto the ground. I could hear him fighting to draw air into his tortured body; the painful wheezing and gasping were cutting my heart to pieces.

            The soldiers were laughing, half-drunk with wine and adrenaline. Each lash of the whip earned more crazed guffaws as they cajoled and roared with glee. They leaned onto each other for support as they gasped with laughter while he tumbled to the ground, gasping with pain. A spark of anger jumped to life within me and I tried to make my way to him but the uprising crowd prevented me from moving forward. Still figures at the opposite side of the road caught my eye. I stopped pushing and stared curiously as their faces jogged a memory.

            I watched from afar as a girl caught hold of a man. I recognized the man immediately. He was one of the condemned’s followers. He was the one who swore that he would never disown his Lord, not even if he had to follow his Lord to death.

The girl looked closely at the man. “You also were with Jesus of Galilee!” she exclaimed, tugging on the man’s arm menancingly.

“No, no! I don’t know what you are talking about!” he replied vehemently and pushed her off him. I frowned.

What was he doing? Did he forget his promise to Jesus?

Another seized hold of him in a tight grip and insisted, “You also are one of them!”

He struggled desperately to free himself as he cried out in panic, “Man, I am not!” A wave of disgust washed over me.

How could he do this?

Those standing nearby exclaimed loudly, “Surely you are one of them, for you are a Galilean!”

He began to call down curses on himself, and he swore to them, “I don’t know this man you’re talking about!”

The rooster crowed.

“Then Peter remembered the word Jesus had spoken: Before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times.”     

           Matthew 26:75

I watched in disgust as his face lit up despairingly in remembrance and then crumpled in agony. He fell to the ground in great sorrow and regret, the rocks scraping the palm of his hands; drawing blood.

“Hypocrite,” I hissed and turned my back to the broken disciple.

            I shifted my eyes back to him. He was on the ground, struggling pitifully to get up and continue his journey to the hill of Calvary. Men from the crowd began to mock him. They yelled and cursed in angry voices, belittling him. I heard their curses.

Their mockery.

Fury began to burn in me. I began to push with all my might against the unforgiving crowd, trying to reach him, to protect him from their abuse. I watched in near hysteria as they began to pick up stones and rocks to fling it angrily at him with deadly accuracy.

“No!” I cried, the word coming out strangled as tears choked me.

The crowd ignored me. They just kept yelling, cursing, mocking, laughing, kicking, abusing, and spitting on their king.

Were they blind? Couldn’t they see who he really is?

Fools!

He rose agonizingly to his feet, silent, taking up his cross once again. I cried tears of frustration. He could save himself. Just one word and I know that the angels would come and rescue him from this terrible thing.

Why didn’t he say something?

“He was lead like a sheep to the slaughter, and as a lamb before the shearer is silent, so he did not open his mouth.”                                                                            

      Acts 8:32b

The crowd and soldiers kept up their mockery all the way to Calvary. I let myself be steered by the pressing crowd, wanting to see what would happen next.

The weeping and wailing of women were thick in the air that day. Great misery hung like a black cloud over Calvary. I looked on, numb with grief as the soldiers kicked him around. They dragged him roughly over to the cross he carried all the way to Calvary.

Then, the cruel punishment began.

A soldier picked up the hammer. It was a hideous thing. The head was large and heavy, crudely shaped by akward hands. The handle was uneven and worn down with frequent use. Blackish crusts of old blood covered the hammer; they obviously do not care to clean it after every use.

The soldiers jabbed at each other in glee as they watched the nail aimed at its appointed place in his soft flesh.

I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my face as the first strike of the hammer came rushing down, eager to meet its nail.

His agonized wail pierced the air.

Another loud thud and he cried out again. I covered my ears with trembling hands.

“No, no,” I whispered insistantly, “Stop, stop…”

The sounds of hammer against nail continued and his cries of agony became louder.

“A-Abba! Ab-ba!” he sobbed repeatedly, his voice broken and choked with tears as they nailed his feet without even batting an eyelash.

“Stop!” I screamed desperately.

But they deliberately ignored me.

I weeped with sorrow as they raised him up for all to see. I burned with rage at those who had condemned him. He didn’t deserve this. He was without sin. He did no harm!

Those fools!

How dare they mock him! How dare they abuse him! How dare they crucify him!

Imbeciles!

I gritted my teeth in fury, lowering my head so no one could see my anger and tears. In my head I continued to rage against those who had played a part in this injustice to him. I itched to hit something to rid myself of such fury.

You idiots!

I clenched my fists tightly and suddenly, I realised I was holding something. Confused, I raised the object to my face. When I saw it, I felt as if the wind was knocked out of me. I stared at it in horror, a bitter vile rising up from my stomach.

It was a hammer. Its handle smooth with frequent use; its head was large, heavy and crudely shaped by akward hands. Fresh blood dripped down it, staining my white fingers. Numbly, I shifted my eyes to my other hand, also gripping something tightly. Slowly, I opened my clenched fist, dreading what was in it.

A hard, rough rock met my eyes. A memory flashed.

…they began to pick up stones and rocks to fling it angrily at him…

“No,” I whispered, “It can’t be.”

I dropped the hammer and rock, disbelief taking over. A small, sharp pain stung in my palms as the hammer and rock rubbed against them as they fell to the ground with a silent thud. I brought them up to my face, looking in horror at the bloodied scrapes adorning my palms. Another memory flashed.

…He fell to the ground in great sorrow and regret, the rocks scraping the palm of his hands; drawing blood…

The ghastly truth began to dawn on me. I was the one who condemned him.

Denied him.

Mocked him.

Nailed him on that cross.

It was I. He died because of me. I was the cause. I was the guilty one. I made it happen.

I killed him.

“You have no power over me except what was given you from above…” the words came quietly on the breeze, the voice full of authority and calmness.

What?

I fell to my knees in overwhelming grief and shock.

He let himself be crucified? Humiliated? Tortured beyond words? How can that be?

I raised my eyes in a desperate question. Aghast, I whispered hoarsely, “Why, why did you do it?”

He looked at me, his eyes filled with love.

“Because I love you,” the words struck me to the core of my being.

“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 23:46

My sin, my wrongdoing placed him upon that cross. I deserved to die his death. But he sacrificed himself for me. He died so that I might live.

As they lowered his lifeless body from the cross, I weeped. As they wrapped his broken body, I weeped. As they buried him, I weeped.

For three days, I weeped.

And then, I weeped no more.

“The Son of Man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men, be crucified and on the third day be raised again.”

                                                Luke 24:7

The tomb is empty. He is alive.

*****

I’m forgiven, because You were forsaken

I’m accepted, You were condemned

I’m alive and well, Your Spirit lives within me

Because You died and rose again

Amazing love, how can it be?

That You, my King, would die for me

Amazing love, I know it’s true

It’s my joy to honour you

In all I do, I honour you

I hope you understand this story and the message behind it. Jesus, God’s only Son, died so that we might live. You and I. He died so that we could have a relationship with Him. The privilege of drawing close to Him. He is God and we are but mere humans. Yet, He loves you and I so much that I can’t even start to comprehend how much He loves us. Won’t you give Him the chance to draw close to you?

All my love,

Stef

One Last Call

            My dad honked impatiently at the car ahead, frustrated because he was late for work. He hardly noticed what the voice was saying on the radio. Cars around us honked at each other in selfish chaos, each driver rushing off to be somewhere, to do something, to send or fetch someone. People scolded each other in their own private cars, none hearing what the other was saying. Rude faces and ruder signs were thrown carelessly, tempers were short and the word “patience” no longer held a meaning.

Love thy neighbour? Nope, none of those signs here.

I saw men and women screaming away into their hands-free, oblivous to the world around them. I saw children bouncing up and down in the backseat of cars, yelling at each other. There were also many pensive, brooding faces, life’s burdens weighing down on their shoulders. I saw tired expressions, faces aged with worry and depression. All of them, lost in their own thoughts, in their own worlds, in themselves.

I sighed deeply as I turned up the radio nonchantly. As I listened to the breaking voice on the radio, calmly reading out the latest news on the recent earthquake, a terrifiying grip twisted my heart. The monotonity of the voice cannot conceal the underlying tone of panic.

I looked up.

No one seemed to notice the way the sky darkened menancingly.

But I did.

I swallowed hard as my insides grew cold. An overwhelming feeling of dread seized me and my heart quickened to a frightening staccato.

The sky looked as if an army of clouds were crowding in it. At first all I could hear were honking and engines revving up but suddenly, a disturbing silence fell. Not one car moved an inch. I glanced around in great surprise and to my curiousity, I saw pedestrians frozen in place, staring straight ahead. But there was something else. They looked as if they were listening hard.

I strained my ears to hear…something.

I was not aware of what it was I was trying to hear.

But when I heard it, I knew.

It was the thundrous roar of a massive tsunami tidal wave heading for us at a deadly speed.

As suddenly as silence fell, chaos erupted. Women started screaming, men turned white and trembled with fear while children followed suit, not really knowing the fatality of the situation they were in.

People wrenched car doors open and hurled themselves out, racing away from the killer wave as fast as they could. But it was futile. In a few minutes, the wave would leave nothing but death and destruction in the place where we were. Time decided to be kind and it somehow seemed prolonged. Each minute felt like ten and my mind functioned with surprising clarity.

Turning to my father, I saw his pale, rigid countenance relax and a sense of deep peace came over his features. I smiled the brightest smile I could manage in spite of my grief that our lives will be torn from us out of the blue. All my loves, dreams, hopes, and ambitions were to be dashed into pieces in one sweeping tragedy.

I watched as my father calmly reached for his mobile phone. However, I could see the sligt tremor in his hand. Turning his face towards me, he smiled lovingly and carressed my cheek as he dialled my mother’s mobile number.

His words gave my strength.

“I have always loved you from the day I knew you had been formed. I have always been very proud of you, all the time, anywhere, everywhere, and in anything. I love you so much,” his voice faltered as he spoke the last sentence, a tear rolling down his aged face.

“I love you too, dad. Thank you for everything. I’m sorry if I have ever hurt you,” I said quietly, as tears formed in my eyes.

He smiled and said gently, “It doesn’t matter. As long as we love each other and we both know it.”

His words struck me to the heart and I froze a moment, a face flashing before my eyes. My father took my hand in his and held it tightly while he spoke to my mother with a strained voice full of love, grief and longing.

I stared at my mobile phone, my heart feeling as if it were about to burst. Tears threatened to overflow and I could hardly speak.

But I did not care.

“Dad, tell mom I love her always.”

I picked up my mobile phone to make one last call.

Dialling the all too familiar number, I waited anxiously and watched as the wave ascended higher and higher, moving nearer towards us.

***

He grumbled as he stuck a hand out from underneath his blanket to feel for his ringing mobile phone that he had chucked somewhere beneath his bed. It was too early in the morning to be awake and he had had a late night out. His head ached as he finally grabbed his mobile and answered it grumpily.

“Hello?” he muttered in irritation.

“Alan, it’s me,” a familiar voice said shakily, the static making it hard for him to hear her.

“Oh, hi. What’s up? And what’s all that noise?” he frowned as he started to feel deep in his gut that something was not quite right.

He sat up in his bed in concern.

“Alan, I love you,” she blurted out before she dissolved into tears.

“What?” he murmured in shock. Why is she saying this? Why is she crying?

“I started loving you since the moment I met you,” she sobbed unsteadily, “I love you Alan. I love you so much.”

“Sweetie,” he started desperately, using his nickname for her, “what’s going on?”

“I have no time, Alan,”she said, her voice full of unspoken grief, “I just wanted to let you know that I love you. I have to go now.”

“Sweetie, wait,” he exclaimed in panic. What in the world was happening? Why was he feeling so desperate?

“I love you, Alan,” she said quietly, her voice strangely calm. The tears had subsided.

The background noise was eerily deafening but somehow he could hear her.

“Goodb-”

The line went dead before she could finish saying her last word.

He stared at his now silent mobile in fear. A cold hand was creeping over his heart.

In a burst of dread, he bolted out of his bed, mobile gripped tightly in his trembling hand. Stumbling over a pile of clothes on his bedroom floor, he scrambled to the door and wrenched it open, flying down the stairs to the kitchen so he could watch the latest news on television.

Punching the ‘on’ button on the remote, he stood frozen in front of the television. He watched with growing horror as images of destruction and death was displayed on screen.

That was her first and last confession, he realized with terrible misery.

Her one last call.

He did not notice when his mobile phone slipped and fell to the floor with a loud clatter, a huge crack forming on the screen.

It was like his life, broken and scarred, never to be the same again.

She never knew, he loved her too.