Love.

Love like no other.

I met Him for the first time in a middle of a field. He studied the shovel in my hand and the old rucksack at my feet and said, “Son, what’s in the bag?” “Well,” I answered, “this here is the sum of all the rotten things I’ve done, which I’ve found and bound and am layin’ in the ground. You see, these rotten things, they keep me up nights, and they draw a cold stare from folks who know what’s inside. “Well, let’s have a look,” He said, and motioned for me to hand over the bag. I tossed it at his feet, hoping the stench inside would send Him on His way so I could attend to my business. But he untied the ropes that bound that bag and peered inside, and I felt as though He was staring into my soul. I watched his eyes travel from one piece of filth to another, but His expression never changed; it was though He’d seen it all before. He tied the bag back up and swung it over to me. Then he smiled, turned to me, and said, “yea, I think I can fix that.”

“You see,” he said, “there’s a medicine in my blood more powerful than any doctor could prescribe or any sorcerer could conjure up. One drop is enough to send that sack of ugly to never never land. What’s more,” he continued, “it’s doubles as a vaccine; it’ll keep you safe from any other bits of ugly you might run into down the road.” “Well sir,” I replied, “I’m grateful for the generous offer, but these rotten bits belong to me, and I won’t have you shedding your innocent blood over mistakes you didn’t make.” He sighed deeply; and while His disappointment was evident, I couldn’t help but take some satisfaction in rejecting His proposal. Who did He think he was, anyway? I’d never taken a handout from anyone in my life, and I wasn’t about to start now. As He turned to leave, He called out to me, “if you change your mind, then come sundown, bring that bag of yours to the old oak tree on the hill at the end of your field. I’ll be waiting for you there, son.”

I slaved all night over that hole and covered that bag with what seemed like half of the earth, but no depth could hold the stench of its filth. I piled the dirt higher and higher, but that sack of ugly always rose to the top. I beat the ground in despair and frustration until my weary hands were bloody and bruised, and I cried out to God in desperation, cursing him for an affliction that I knew was my own creation. All the pain that I’d caused and corners I cut stood before me, mocking my effort. Hopeless and helpless, I remembered the words of the man whose offer I denied: “I’ll be waiting for you, son.” I threw the bag over my shoulder and ran, stumbling along with my massive burden in tow. Pain shot through my muscles and bones; the toxic fumes lit a fire in my lungs, but I fixed my eyes on the hill and I kept running. And there He was, just as He said he would be, leaning against the old rugged tree with arms outstretched. I collapsed at His feet beneath the weight of my filth, and above my gasps for air, I heard Him calmly say, “it is finished.”

I was sold into slavery, I was bound by insecurity. I was hellbent on treachery, 'til you spread your arms and you covered me.