Good Friday
There was a crowd in the streets, and a tumult.
Something was happening. I didn’t care.
I was coming home from work on the farm.
I was going to be late; my wife wanted me there.
Soldiers pulled me from the crowd.
For a moment, I wondered what I’d done.
Then I looked into the press, and I saw Him.
And I knew, I wasn’t the one.
They wanted me to help with the cross.
I didn’t want to; I wanted to be off home.
But the Romans had their way; they always do.
I took the cross; He wasn’t alone.
I was reluctant, I was afraid.
And yet there was something about Him that awed me.
When we reached Golgotha, the Romans let me go.
And yet, I couldn’t go—something held me.
They drove the bitter spikes into His hands.
I tried to tell myself that I didn’t care.
Yet I was compelled to Him by something irresistible,
Though I’d rather have been anywhere else but there.
I saw His pain; His blood; His Passion.
And something inside me came to peace.
This was no ending, but our beginning.
For who would have dreamed that by His pain, we’d find release?
The Upstairs Archives 
The last line is stellar. Really enjoyed this.
😀 Thanks!