Nails.

Thorns.

Blood.

Mocking cries.

Splintered wood.

Tears of a mother.

Kiss of a friend turned betrayer.

A desperate prayer in the Garden.

The cry of our Maker surrendering His spirit for a world He so tenderly loves.

And I … I try so hard to wrap my mind around it … my broken lips whispering desperately to understand the full meaning of it –

Me, this sinful mess, rebel heart, proud mocker, selfish child – died for, purchased, redeemed by the Holy One.

How could a death so ugly, so tragic be so beautiful and so perfect a plan? How could one of the most terrifying means of ancient torture now be our most treasured and sacred icon? How could I be allowed to live when the One who never sinned be slain like an animal?

My mind flinches from such awful pain and suffering … I’d rather not dwell on the horrifying details … I’d like to just grin and wish a “Happy Easter” and blithely go on my way. But I must remember. I must. Remembering only brings the truest gratitude … and humbly brings me to the most wondrous place of worship.

Wildest praise must escape my lips for a Resurrection Sunday that flames with the brilliant colors of the most beautiful ending in history. I must sing and dance and laugh and praise because of this conquering Savior. I live to the fullest because He does.

The story must be repeated for all time, because it is the Greatest Story ever told – the one that all creation was waiting for – the one that gives all of life its meaning – the one that makes my heart weep … and rejoice … and marvel … and wonder.

He my Lover. Who bought my soul at the most unfathomable price. He who did what no other ever did or could do. He whom I owe my life to … this is the One who transforms all pain to beauty, all sorrow to joy, all anger to peace, all injustice to perfect redemption.

Let all the earth rejoice … for He lives … and my soul dances in Him.