On a lonely hill He was. Crucified and killed. In between two thieves He hung, no place suitable for a king. Soldiers mocked and spit. People scoffed, “If He is the king, why does He not save himself?” His friends cried in agony, all the while wondering if that was still their Christ. He was barely recognizable. Why one may ponder, did He trudge up that hill, the lonely hill? To save my sins-the sins of the world. It was His true purpose, His destiny. He came to die-He was born so He could die. There on the cross He hung, every sin bearing on His shoulders. The spiritual torment far worse then the physical. His own father turned His back. This was not the end though. For in order for the ultimate sacrifice, He had to conquer death-and that He did. Three days later He arose! My sins to forgive, my soul to save. How I love my Lord! I pray I will never take for granted the amazing gift He has given me.
