Treading on Beauty

I had considered the Cross of Christ many times before, looking upon the Savior hanging there, dying there, bleeding there, for me. I had considered the wrath of God the Father that Jesus endured in my place. I had wept there, with Mary and John, at the foot of the Cross many times before. I had rejoiced there, knowing that because of that death, His death, the death of the Creator of the world, I had been forgiven, changed, transformed, brought to life. What I had never considered is that the blood that cleanses, that washes hearts whiter than snow, fell to the ground there beneath the Cross. Oh, that I might linger there beneath the Cross, on that precious blood. Oh, that I would tread on such beauty. Let me linger there, near the Cross, treading on the beauty spilled there, kneeling on the beauty that was shed for me.