Thank You for My Cross

Since my last talk I've popped in and out of the hospital. Results negative.

     One trying episode could be likened to a medieval torture chamber.

     The docs can really put the screw on you. They rammed an instrument down my throat. Was it made of iron — it felt like it?

     Dilated and twisted this way and that way.     

     Excruciating!    

     They had numbed my throat with drugs and frozen my voice.     

     I couldn’t utter a sound.    

     Two nurses held my hands fast so I couldn’t raise them to my throat. At one point I was sure the pressure of that instrument being twisted about was going to break my front teeth. 

     The pain reached a zenith, and went on and on.    

     "I can't stand this," I thought.    

     Then I thought of you, Jesus and Calvary.     

     So I started to scream — inside.    

     Not a sound.    

     But I was frantically screaming your name inside, JESUS. JESUS. JESUS.   

     I clenched my hands, and discovered latter I was clenching the hands of the nurse, with all my strength.      

     They didn’t say a word. Bless them.     

     JESUS. JESUS. JESUS. 

     No one new I was screaming, except you. And I thought, this is intimate. This shared closeness with Jesus; all alone together in this wild storm of pain.     

     You said, also without sound, "Hold on, I am with you."     

     It finally came to an end; that rough spot, close to you.    

     It was happy to look back upon because of you Jesus.   

     Thank you for my cross.  

     I carried it, with your help and I thank you.