I labored at busy pace

before I fell flat on my face.

I cried in self-pity and shame.

But as tears subsided,

my eyes (once misguided),

convinced me that I was to blame.

Yes, as my tears dried up,

I saw them both close up -

those scars that went deep in His feet.

I couldn't erase

all the pain in His face -

so how I wished I could retreat.

I'd weasel away

from the viewing that day -

the scars in His feet that still fail -

to tell the whole story

of Christ in His glory

who lovingly took each dull nail.

Accepting the whipping,

the pain and blood dripping -

He watches my new life begin.

So there I had stayed,

because Jesus had paid -

His life that He gave for my sin.

I'm eating a diet

of thoughts.  It is quiet -

except for my own weeping sound.

I cannot compete

with His pierced dusty feet

as I lie here flat on the ground.

For Jesus, the Master,

has given much faster -

a life that I've always longed for.

So more than my pain

is the lot of my gain

as I wait, reverently, Heaven's door.

©2015 louis gander