Stations of the Cross are placed around the auditorium. Her favorite station is in front of the stage; a rugged wooden cross, standing seven feet tall, is there for anyone to nail their troubles, concerns, or pleas for forgiveness to. The act of driving a rusty square nail into a thin piece of paper and wood makes her weep. She knows this is not enough. Her body should be the one broken and nailed to the cross. Her sins are many. She is unworthy of mercy and grace. Love is hard for her to accept, even at the foot of the cross.
One day a new station appears. The woman is confused. Her station journey always ends at the foot of the cross with acknowledgement that the act of giving everything to Him is something she has never truly done. The station table holds a crystal bowl with strips of ripped white cloth. The significance of the rags lies in the Resurrection says the sign. Hallelujah! Instructions to tie a tattered rag around wrists in celebration of His defeat of death and His coverage of all sin are in bold letters.
She hesitates.
Her whole being trembles.
Shame floods her limbs.
Guilt weighs on her heart.
“I have not worn His return before.”
Water arises and wells in her eyes.
“I can’t wear this and not give it all away.”
Fear chokes her. Soon shadows dance in the candlelight.
Demon voices taunt her, “You are unworthy of such love.”
Could she reveal her true self to Him and be loved, really?
Would He accept the voices and embrace her unconditionally?
The voices grow louder.
She looks at the rags through a wall of tears. Fighting against fiends, she reaches for a rag. The sound of hammering echo throughout the auditorium as others nail their own issues to the cross. No one sees her struggle.
“Can I display His return?”
Inside, she wrestles with darkness, lies, truth, and acceptance as she takes the tattered cloth.
A shredded piece of fabric, a symbolic gesture, seems simple. She is not.
Letting the cloth touch her arm silences the voices. but does not quell her inability to let Him love her completely.
“Help me,” she cries out, “I want to lay it all down. The pain is too much. Lies and deeds make me hollow. Help me.”
Frayed. Unraveled. She empties herself.
*originally posted on aichsjourney.wordpress.com 
Six Steps Since 