|Photo Credit: Gerd Altmann
Long, brutal day of mockery, beating, and cruel cross,
Crown of thorns, nails driven into his hands and feet,
How to bear the terrifying darkness of our Master’s death?
I was not ready, nor could I fathom despair so thick,
Surely it will choke out my very life.
I ask you, Where go we from here?
But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was
bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace
was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.
Copyright © Reflections from Dorothy’s Ridge 2016. All rights reserved