I Knew Before I Heard It

The image I'll never forget, nor the sounds of agony, as I watched Him struggle up the hill to His death at Calvary.

On a wooden cross they nailed Him, a crown of thorns they made in jest. From a precious few came wailing, cheers came from the rest.

He hung between two criminals, a sign above his head. "King of the Jews," the mocking letters read.

His gaze, dare you meet it, would root you to the ground. Void was it of bitterness, no anger could be found.

He asked for drink to quench His...