A Body of Cement

I’ve never seen cement poured and spread before today. I found it fascinating.

I stood by in my color splashed, zebra stripe rain boots ready for action. Men from my church laughed at me and joked around pretending to shovel the wet gravel into my boots.

Then they put me to work.

I wielded a mini sledgehammer to tap the air pockets out of the wood rimed driveway, I hosed off the tools, and then I sank my boots into the grey quicksand spreading and pulling the cement to the edges.

As the last truck with red and white stripes left, we stood admiring the filled driveway – just as the rain started.

Before today, the thought had never crossed my mind that the Body of Christ is kind of like cement. We are messy, we come from different places, and we have to be pushed into place. Individually one piece of gravel doesn’t do much, but by sticking together with others of different shapes and sizes we can accomplish quite a job.

(Photo taken by my brother Ben Haws.)

Blood, Sweat, and Tears

His bones cracked

His skin ripped

His screams curdled

Blood. For me.

He cried for me.

He died for me

The pride of me.

Lies. Eyes. Mouth. Hands. Mind. Words. Lust. Hate. Jealousy. Judgement. Gluttony. Procrastination. Abuse. Abortion. Pouting. Whining. Taunting. Joking. Craving. Hoarding. Seething. Yelling. Sneering. Kicking. Screaming. Sniffing proud-nose-in-air. Adultery. Disobedience. Greed. Idolatry. Narcissism. Blasphemy. Laziness. Murder. Dishonor. Fornication. Pornography. Pride.

He took the pain

for my free reign.

I am bound

No more, why

Do I hang

On to what I

Should not.

My eyes, blind,

Can see right

Through myself

With a glass

From Him. The

Wine. The Bread.

Thorns stuck

Inside His head

Beaten in with

A stick. The

Sickness of sin

Turned Him in,

But did not read

Between the lines.

He wrote my story

With His glory

Intertwined with Mine.

I may thank Him before eating

My hamburger with cheese.

I’m a good person

“Thank you” & “Please.”

I never do cuss…

Out loud – but in my head.

I talk about Him…

Profaning His name.

I know I’m loved

So why not splurge?

Because with His

Blood the world purged.

Globular scarlet

Staining the ground,

Drowned out the

Sound of laughter from

Your lame pun.

His gravelly throat

Screamed, clouds covered

The sun. Blood, sweat, tears

All mingled in one.

Sweat through eyes

Blood through scalp

Tears through wounds.

Skin carved away

With 9 tails to

Roast on the spit

Of a Cross.

He wouldn’t stay

Up by Himself so they

Tacked Him up

Pinned Him down.

His palms splintered

With the wood.

They didn’t bother

To sharpen the nails,

Just tried to decide

Which end would

Drive faster through

Flesh into wood?

He thought of my

Lies.

Your puns.

Her mouth.

He pondered them all.

“Forgive them,

Daddy,

They know not what

they do.”

He took the blame

Pain, blood, nails

Tails – 9 whips

With shattered shards

Of glass woven into

His back.

He died. Of pride.

Not His, but Mine.

I killed Him, but

He’s not dead.

He went through Hell

For us to tell

The rest of the story.

He didn’t stay away

Just for three days

Then He rose with

The sun. The Son.

He died for me,

Cried for me. The pride of

Me. Now lives.

How can I not give

What He asks of me?

Myself.