Friday: When Love Didn’t Run
It’s Friday.
The sky grew dark, and the veil tore.
The innocent hung where the guilty should’ve stood.
And the earth groaned under the weight of the cross.
But make no mistake—
this was not the day love lost.
This was the day love proved itself.
Jesus didn’t get dragged up that hill.
He walked there.
Every step dripping with mercy.
Every breath pulling in my shame,
only to exhale forgiveness.
He wore the thorns I crafted with my rebellion.
He stretched His arms wide—
not because they forced Him,
but because He chose me.
And I feel it today.
The weight of it.
Not the guilt kind,
but the glory kind.
The kind that makes me fall to my knees
and whisper through tears,
“You did this for me?”
He didn’t curse.
He didn’t call angels.
He stayed – in the pain, in the mockery, in the crushing—
until it was finished.
Friday wasn’t pretty.
It was holy.
And today, I don’t rush past it.
I don’t skip to Sunday.
I sit at the foot of the cross.
And I let the blood speak –
not of condemnation,
But of a love so wild,
so undeserved,
so unstoppable…
It broke hell’s hold on me.
Friday was dark, but the light never left.
