I'm thankful for the nails,
Hideous nails that pierced my precious Savior's hands, the nails that I don't like to think about because my mind wants to hold this gruesome reality at a distance, the nails that are pretty when woven into song, but in fact were cold and ugly. And then wondering--if He was thankful for the nails, if as they tore his flesh He could be thankful knowing the salvation He purchased with His death. Then wondering why I struggle to thankful for the little pinpricks of inconvenience that I think are too much to bare.
I'm thankful for the thorns,
Thorns that crowned His sacred head. He should have had gold. But gold was not precious enough. The throne He left behind, the heavenly crown He set aside. Leaving perfection, He traded paradise for pain, heaven for humility. And the Rose of Sharon embraced the thorns, accepting the mockery.
I'm thankful for the betrayal.
While my heart wrenches at the thought of my Dearest Friend betrayed by a kiss, while my eyes read the account and beg the outcome be somehow different. I cannot hear the story without my ears pleading to block out the truth, finding in the description my own betrayal.
I’m thankful for the resurrection.
His victory over death secures my hope. By His life, I have eternal life. When death was defeated, so was my sin. In the resurection, I find my purpose. I serve a risen Savior!