What do you think of when you hear the word love?
A caring embrace, words whispered to you alone?
He will leave you, alone and in silence.
A vase full of red roses with a note attached?
The roses will wither and the note will get thrown out.
When I hear the word love
I see a bloodied, dying man,
Three nails and a tree.
I hear my Father whispering “This is for you.”
I see the nearly dead man weighed down with my sin, with my pride,
Leaving me clean and new, without a scar or mark.
I hear myself asking the man why he died, why he suffered for what he didn’t deserve.
I feel his hand on my shoulder as he says softly, “Because I love you.”