"Beautiful Wounds"

I waited in line for my turn. There were other people waiting there with me, those had been in the crash with me. I could vaguely hear crying and the pastor leading my friends and family in my favorite song, Blessed be Your Name, in a memorial. I knew they were heartbroken but I also know that time heals.

I look up as I hear my name. Jumping up, I pass through the gate smiled upon by the man who called my name.

It is so much brighter and glorious then I ever imagined! It was so beautiful, it was breath taking. Walking in wonder I see people that I know, family that I’ve never met but somehow I know them. Those who have left great legacies greet me, welcoming me to this holy place. Greeting them happily I search for one person. I wonder down streets paved with gold, pass tall building of rare stones But I look only for one person.

There He is, bent over, working on something. I can see the strength in his arms and shoulders from working with wood and caring for sheep. But there is gentleness about him holds his project.

His is facing away from me and I see for the first time his back. It is scared and torn and bruised. I slowly, quietly, approach him. Lashings cover his entire body. Deep scars from a beating of whips and Cat-o-tales, bruises from where he was struck by a rod, scratches from where he had to push him self up to breathe.

In every wound I see a sin that I have done. That bruise paid for the time I lied to my dad. The strip on his shoulder covered the stolen CD. The large scar where the Roman Cat-o-tails ripped out his flesh paid for the time I snuck out and partied.

He turns and looks at me over his shoulder and I see a great sadness in his eyes. I know that I didn’t have to sin, that I had his Spirit inside of me, but I chose to disobey instead. I fall to my knees, unable to stand in his presence and look upon the Lamb of God. Tears come to my eyes as I see what my sin has done.

I hear him turn and I see on his feet two circular scars where he had to push on the nail just to breathe. My eyes travel and I see a long gash in his side, the gash the spear entered his body, piecing his broken heart. Two calloused hands of a carpenter reach down and cradle my face, turning it upward towards him. Using his thumbs he wipes away my tears and I see many small holes where the soldiers pounded the crown of thorns onto his head. Reaching over to his place of work, he sets a delicate wooden crown on my head.

“It is Finished”

I lift my eyes to his and see great love in his eyes, love so perfect, only now can I understand it. He pulls me up into his arms whispering all the while, My child, my sister, my bride, my servant, my church.

I look down at the hands that are holding me. I softly trace the two perfect scars in each of his wrists where the nails held him to the cross that day so many years ago on Calvary’s mount so I could be here in this moment with him.

He pulls back to look at me and smiles. I look at him and see perfection in his many, many beautiful wounds.

~ The Young Dreamer