I stumbled over the splintered wood—
such a barbaric means of torture and death.
I clucked my tongue at the bruised and bleeding, the innocent one,
though probably not
if tried and sentenced, justice done.
But the quaking earth somehow quaked my soul,
and when I knew the bleeding one as the bleeding Son,
my eyes cleared;
my callous heart grew light along with my eyes,
I saw His “It is finished” as my new beginning. And
it became all about the cross.