Crimson. Dark and flowing.
From His brow it slows trickles down. Sometimes bright but often with interlaced with darker shades of red as it streaks across His face. His arms and legs, bound and nailed, bleed this same color. This dried up, caked on, flowing ~ red.
It’s what’s paid my price. It’s what sets me free. It’s what leads me on. It’s what brings me peace.
His precious blood.
It’s like a free flowing river that doesn’t stop. The tides rise high and low with seasons, yet it’s constant. Movement. Not gushing, a trickle is just enough to cleanse you. I might want to jump right in and be clean, with reckless abandon I fall in. Yet it’s the smallest of crevices that need to be reached, that come clean, in the slow moving, drip by drip, drops of blood….
This post is part of Five Minute Friday’s, a five minute weekly reflection on a word prompt. No edits, no do overs, just write. As Lisa writes, “No extreme editing; no worrying about perfect grammar, font, or punctuation. Unscripted. Unedited. Real.”