Saturday, April 7, 2012

An Easter Repost

*I wrote this a couple of years ago on my blog, but it still resonates with me every Easter. The internal struggle that I feel and wrestle with... to remember, to revere, to truly desire to embrace my Lords suffering for me and yet the impossibility to do so in a way that gives me peace. Thank you my precious Lord, yet again, for your sacrifice...*

Tears fall on the dark wood floor. My shoulders, they feel so heavy. The weight is unbearable, how I ache to put it down.

This burden of my sin. It cuts deep knowing that after all that He did for me, I still so easily fail Him. His death means freedom from eternal punishment, His resurrection means hope, new life and yet, I still weep.

I know that He is my everything, my all and all and I long to please Him.

Oh Father, how I long to please you.

I wander aimlessly around lost in my thoughts these last couple of days in the aftermath of the Easter weekend.

I reflect at how Jesus still seems to get brushed to the side no matter how much I vow to put Him front and center. I promise every year it will be different. I add new traditions, I am intentional, but in all its planned purpose, it still lacks.

Can we really ever be reverent enough, can we really ever dwell on His holiness, His sacrifice in a way that will satisfy our innermost desire to embrace His suffering and death to the point that somehow we will have given it justice.


I am human. I am selfish. I will always be at a loss.
Each day as I lay here at His feet, I again realize that it's daily.

Deny, Deny, Deny.

I will deny my flesh. I NEED to deny my flesh.

My humanness is a mess, always such a mess. He is perfect, blameless and He loves...Oh, how my Saviour loves.

I shield my eyes from the mess, the gory, brutal mess of my first love hanging there on that cross. His blood it drips and spills, pours out for me and I feel hot tears fresh on my face. I watch them drip on the floor and marvel at how broken I am yet again.

You bring me to my knees, your love for my wretched soul. I come knowing that I am not worthy, you alone are my ransom. Bought and paid for with the blood stained tree, the spikes encased in flesh, the bruised, battered body and the salty, tear stained face.

Its clear.
My pride, my selfishness, my laziness, my impatience, my anger, my lack of self control, it's all here.

I am led to the cross. In all its ugliness there is beauty too great to put into words. A beauty that takes my breath away.

He thinks I am worthy enough, he has seen something worth saving that I don't see.

I am humbled, my soul stirs deep and I count the cost.

I belong to you.

I belong to you.


Anonymous said...

I came across your blog while googling "Paul Washer". I appreciated this post. Do you still blog here?

Tim from Canada

The Passionate Housewife said...

Hello Tim from Canada!

I am truly sorry I am only responding to your comment now. That is what happens when you only check your blog email every few months lol. My blog has been very much neglected the past year or two? Although writing is something I do love to do. If my dear husband has his way I will probably be writing again soon. Thanks for your encouragement.

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