My story has twists and turns I can’t change,
Scars on my heart written by slashes of pain.
Some of those markings arrived by my own hand,
But some of them were granted by betrayal of friends.
I could sit in my sorrow and wallow in despair,
Justifying bad behavior in the name of unfair.
But pause comes from knowing that I’m not alone,
There is another who understands the heartaches I own.
A man who walked before me on life’s path of emotion,
Offers me healing within His dying devotion.
His message and mission grant me ears now to hear,
And leave me with words that conquer all fear.
I share what is written by writing His story,
To tell you about the time suffering met glory.
I show you the walk of the last days of Christ,
His journey a gift meant to change your whole life.
The end begins with His final nod to Galilee,
And the healed of Samaria pave paths to Jericho’s tree.
His traveling stories find the last words of God’s will,
As He walks toward the destiny of death on a hill.
From new friend to old friend, He visits His last,
Granting unaware hearts a goodbye for the past.
A foreshadowed funeral in a sacrifice of perfume
Brings the anger of a traitor that will lead to the tomb.
This upside-down road has been dusty and long,
A three-year journey meant to undo the strong.
The festival is looming, thoughts of feast in their heads,
The twelve turn their faces toward unleavened bread.
They follow the donkey and beam smiles at the crowd,
As their King’s sorrow falls heavy in tears to the ground.
The palms wave before Him as law teachers scheme,
Preparing stones to cry out from a silent man’s dreams.
His actions made worry in hearts weighted with rules,
For this Savoir’s chisel left them no tools.
Everyone’s watching, they know a riot won’t do.
There must be some way to secretly silence His truth.
But that’s not His focus as the days run by fast.
With only hours to make an impression that lasts.
The chances of a victory dwindle down to just one,
As He walks toward the meeting of Father and Son.
That temple needs cleaning, ugh, there’s so much to do,
The teaching and preaching and telling of truths.
Authority questioned, intentions not what they seemed,
Answers are granted but none of them gleaned.
The leaves of the fig show the false presentation,
Reminders of failures wither the hearts of a nation.
Watch the growth for the words that won’t pass away,
Watch to be counted worthy and pray.
Now, two go to prep the large room for the guest,
To clear out the upstairs for a meal and for rest.
Final arrangements are made for the Passover seats
And a family of brothers gathers to eat.
The first course, a servant on one humble knee,
Pushes through protest to wash all their feet.
Bread and wine served with warnings and a side of betrayal,
A denial predicted as they reclined from the table.
Judas will go and do what he must do,
Setting in motion the events prophesied true.
The story grows solemn as they start to ask why,
But still don’t understand that their Lord will soon die.
