“I Killed My Daddy’s King,” and Other Thoughts on the Cross

Once, in the hectic days of chess parenting, I saw a plump little golden haired girl play chess with her father, while her siblings played in the tournament.

Oh, how they fell, how rapidly–his knights and bishops and rooks and even his Queen.

And then, we heard her shriek of delight, “I killed my Daddy’s King.”

And the large good-natured man sat smiling.

* * *

Ah, chess with little Teresa. All gain for Teresa, all loss for her Dad, and yet the loss was gain for the joy he felt in her joy.

* * *

The Cross!

Why did that Great Heart pay everything so we could have everything? Why didn’t someone stop him?

From high on the hill in Golgotha, grace runs downhill.  To me.

* * *

 Sometimes, I despair of my heart. What sort of heart is this?

A heart of thoughts, a heart of words, a heart of ink!

I withdraw to my own private citadel, with my books and my poetry to protect me. And the walls of the citadel are high, and I am at peace.

* * *

But I was not only called to write.

On that dreadful last night, His last words: “Love one another.”

Ah, but that takes a red heart, a blazing sunrise heart like his own.

But I have a cool heart. It’s an autumn heart, warm and golden sometimes, but most at home in silence, in mists and mellow fruitfulness. In words, in poetry, in thinking, in writing. In dreams. An introvert’s heart.

And what can I do? Who, oh Lord, can change their heart?

* * *

Calvary can. Christ can.

The release of the Spirit which He bought with his death can.

Let your beautiful Spirit cascade over and through my heart, oh Lord, changing this heart of ink to a heart of flesh.

I do not know how to love.

Holy Spirit, teach me.