I laughed and mocked as He walked that day,
up a hill to redeem my soul.
I joined the crowd to spit and jeer, 
and I watched His sorrow grow.
I drove every nail deep in His hands
with every sin in my heart.
My rebellion shoved the thorns in His head,
and my strife tore His robe apart.
I used my hatred to give Him a bitter drink,
and I glared down on Him with pride.
I thought of past disappointments,
and with my anger, I pierced His side.
I denied His power and ignored His worth
and stood waiting for His life to end.
I watched the last drop of His blood fall,
not knowing my grief would begin.
I looked around to find His accusers,
but no one was there but me.
I looked at my hands; they were stained with blood,
and then I began to see.
Conviction slowly entered my heart,
and I dropped all my weapons of choice:
the pride, the anger, the hatred, the lust,
and then I heard His voice.
"Forgive her Father, I died for her.
I paid the price for her soul,
I bore her sickness and all of her pain,
and now I have made her whole."
He looked down on me with loving eyes.
He saw my present, my future, my past.
He knew I needed a Savior,
and my soul had found Him at last.
I looked around to find His accusers,
but no one was there but me.


By Fran Peck.