[Click the image to review]
Description: Picture a God who crafted galaxies with His words, yet counts the hairs on your head. A God who, seeing His children lost in darkness, didn’t simply send instructions or a map home—He sent His heart, His very self, wrapped in human flesh (John 1:1, 3 and 14). He didn’t volunteer the life of an angel, holy though such a being might be (Hebrews 1:5-8). He didn't delegate the sacrifice to the most exalted of His celestial court. No—He came Himself, for nothing less than His own presence would do (Philippians 2:5-8). This is a love that echoed through centuries of prophecy, wept tears of blood in a garden, and wrote its signature in scarlet across rough-hewn timber.
Fellow believers, pause here. Remember with me. Let your mind travel back to that hill called Golgotha. Hear the hammer striking nails. See the crown of thorns pressed into sacred flesh. Watch as darkness covers the land while the Creator of light suffers. Feel the earth tremble as its Maker gasps, “It is finished.” Let holy awe wash over you anew as you contemplate this price—the King of Glory, stripped and beaten, the Author of Life, dying in agony, the Ancient of Days, becoming curse for us (1 John 1:1-3; 2 Corinthians 5:21).
Yahweh's love doesn’t calculate the cost or measure the return on investment. When the price for His children’s freedom was everything, He considered it a bargain. Like a master artist who would shatter His finest masterpiece to save His beloved child, God shattered His own heart at Golgotha, pouring out divine blood to purchase human souls. This isn’t the distant love of a cosmic administrator or the cold affection of an absentee deity—this is the fierce, tender, relentless love of a Deity who would rather die than live without His children.