He could scarce take a breath as blood and sweat rolled down from thorn embedded crown.

Short staccato breathing in between tremors that rocked the full weight of a body splayed against splintered and freshly hewn tree.

The agony.

The sorrow.

The broken body, unable to match the broken heart that it contained.

How it slowed, became slower, labored, and tried...impossibly, to continue beating for the beaten and anguished man that it had been so strong for up until today.

He did not die from external wounds. It was the broken heart that made his body finally succomb to it’s last seconds of life.

The tragedy, overwhelming. The triumph, not easily seen.

The man who came for this moment, would do just as He had said. An agony too great to bear upon a life fashioned to carry it through to the end.

A fairy tale, some say. A wretched path to travel for a faith that most dispel, or view with rabid disdain.

And yet, He knew it would come to this.

That “fairy tale” believers would continue to live their made up lives, while the truth of eternity hung on a tree.


"Choose you, this day, whom you will serve...
as for me and my house, we
will serve the Lord." Joshua 24:15

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