Blood of Christ

I wonder how many times she repeats the truth during the service.

“This is His body, broken for you.”

I wonder what he feared the most, scripture pages inadvertently turning in his trembling hands.

“This is His body, broken for you.”

I wonder if she realizes. Realizes the power she holds as a daughter of the Almighty.

“This is His body, broken for you.”

I wonder if he knows. Knows how much He cares.

“This is His body, broken for you.”

I wonder if she knows I heard. Heard her voice catch as she shared her heart.

“This is His body, broken for you.”

I wonder if he saw them, the tears I tried to hide.

“This is His body, broken for you.”

I wonder why. Why He chose to die.

“This is His body, broken for you.”

I know how. Know how much He loves us.

“Blood of Christ, shed for you.”

The malnourished baby in Guatemala.

“Blood of Christ, shed for you.”

The orphan in Rwanda.

“Blood of Christ, shed for you.”

The factory worker in China.

“Blood of Christ, shed for you.”

The artist in France.

“Blood of Christ, shed for you.”

The football player in the States.

“Blood of Christ, shed for you.”

The blog reader touching a computer.

“Blood of Christ, shed for you.”

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