A Vision

Even though I am sure that I have recognized God’s voice in my spirit many times, I am not generally given to flights of fancy, visions, nor supernatural utterances. However, many years ago I was kneeling at a long altar where, at the climax of a four-day renewal conference, dozens of us attendees were receiving the Eucharist. I detected the fragrance of roses in the air, and when my gaze landed upon the large crucifix, I spied the source: someone had draped garlands of those sweet blossoms around Jesus’s shoulders. I was entranced, since He is sometimes referred to as the Rose of Sharon. Then a most unusual sight greeted me: as I stared up at his lifeless form, each rosebud seemed to turn into a drop of blood which dripped, dripped, dripped down his torso. In my spirit I screamed to him, “My Lord, how could you subject yourself to this torture?” And I heard him reply, “Because my Father asked me to.”
When I don’t understand why I must go through grueling times, when I suffer seemingly senseless trials, I remember that day, the situation becomes tolerable, and the burden lightens.