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“I died for you,” He said.
“Yes Lord,” I replied, raising my head in pride. “I know.”
“But do you know what that means?” He said. “Do you know what that means for your life?”
I thought of His death on the cross,
and I knew I needed His sacrifice.
I thought of His pain on the cross,
and I knew I needed His healing.
I thought of His sorrow and passion,
and I knew I needed His joy.
“I died for you,” He said.
“Yes Lord,” I replied, hanging my head in shame.
And He said, “Do you know — really know — what that means?”
“I guess not,” I replied.
“Come let me show you,” He said. And terror struck my heart.
Could I bear to behold the scene He would show?
Could I bear to see Him pierced in pain?
Could I bear to understand what He did for me?
“But I want to know,” I replied.
And then I saw His forehead
and the crown
and the thorn.
One thorn He showed me,
one thorn wounding His flesh,
and from it flowed
one drop of blood.
“Just one drop of blood?” I asked, raising my head in disappointment.
“Is that all You shed for me?” I asked, angry that I wasn’t worth more.
And He said:
“One drop of My Blood
holds all the power of sacrifice.
One drop of My Blood
holds all the power to heal.
One drop of My Blood
holds all the power to give you joy.”
“But Lord,” I replied,
“I want more than one drop.
There is so much more that You are,
and I want everything!”
“Yes,” He said. “I died for you.”
© 1992 by Terry A. Modica
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One Drop of My Blood
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