The King has come. He is more than King. He is the Son of God. Everyone was to bring Him gifts – the best they had. Whether it was an art collector bringing his best Van Gogh, or a musician bringing her most intense composition, everyone was bringing the best.
What was I to bring? I had nothing. Young, poor, and what I had, I had given away in the difficult years before, so what could I possibly bring this beautiful Man? I thought long and hard, but came up with nothing. But gift or not, we are all summoned to His presence today.
His throne room is gorgeous. And crowded. And no matter where I stand, I have a perfect view of Jesus. It’s so overwhelming, being here, that for a while, I forget that I have nothing to offer Him. The angels are choosing who comes forward; and each person, after kneeling or bowing at the base of the dais, lays whatever they have upon the altar. When needed, angels remove the offerings and take them away. Some people, farmers and ranchers, bring live animals or fresh food. The animals are placed before the altar, but everything else is placed on it. These are just as accepted as gold and silver.
I am reminded that I have nothing to offer. Though shame causes me to try to stay out of sight, I can’t help but stare at Jesus. He is so beautiful. I am startled when our eyes meet, and for a split second, it is just Him and me. I watch as He motions for an angel to come over to Him, and whispers something to him. As the angels clear off the altar again, I feel a tap on my shoulder.
“He has called for you.”
“But I . . .” The angel takes my hand and walks with me. As I approach the dais, I decide to give the only gift I have to offer.
I kneel, then approach the altar. “I have only one thing to offer You. I offer You myself.”
The priests protest as I place my hands on the altar, and boost myself up onto it. “Leave her alone.” Jesus’ voice is commanding. All the priests back up, and for the first time, He stands. As He comes down the stairs, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake.
He approaches me, and staying there is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. “What are you offering Me, child?” He asks.
“I have nothing, Lord.” I whisper. “I can only give You what I do have. All I have is me. I offer You my life, Lord. It is Yours to use, or to take, as You see fit.”
“Do you realize the significance of what you are doing?” He asks. “Nothing living can be placed on this altar without the shedding of blood.”
“Yes, Lord.” I whisper. “This is all I have to offer You.”
I’m surprised when Jesus’ beautiful, kingly robe shimmers and changes into one that is similar to the priest’s robes. Then I remember. He is our High Priest. When He turns back to me, He has the dagger used for sacrifices in His hand. My eyes light up as I realize that Jesus Himself will be taking my offering. Somehow, it takes all fear away.
When He turns back to me, I lie down. “You have offered Me your life.” His hand cups my face. “I accept your offering. Your life is Mine. Because you have placed yourself on the altar, blood must be shed.” I turn my face into His hand, kissing it gently, and, taking a deep breath, nod my assent.
He holds the dagger over me horizontally, and I move my hands from my stomach, giving Him full access to my heart. He grips the hilt with His right hand and the blade with His left. Our eyes meet, and I resist the urge to close mine.
For a second, all is totally silent. Then I sit up and gasp, “No!” as He pulls the dagger across His own hand. “Blood must be shed,” He repeats so quietly that only I hear Him. His blood flows, as do my tears. He places the dagger on the altar beside me. In shock, I lie back, shaking my head in disbelief, whispering, “Please, no!”
He announces, “Life has been offered, blood has been shed. I have redeemed this life with My own blood.” He brings His gaze back to me. “Make no mistake, child. The person you were is dead. Your life has been given, and accepted. Every heart beat from now on, every breath you take, is a gift from Me.” He takes some blood from His still-bleeding hand onto His right thumb. As He anoints my forehead, He says, “Your thoughts will be conformed to My thoughts.”
He works His way down my body, anointing with His own blood as He speaks. “Your eyes will see as I do. Your ears will hear My voice. Your mouth will speak My words. Your heart will beat at My command. Your hands will perform My work. Your feet will walk My path.”
Each place He touches, tingles, and I see the blood He’s placed on my hands and feet sink into my skin, becoming a part of me. “You are khe-rehm, totally devoted to Me. My blood has become a part of you, and you will never stray far from My side.” Amazed, I take His offered hand, and come down from the altar. “This woman is Mine.” He announces.
An angel steps forward, and Jesus places my hand in the angel’s. “Take her, and dress her appropriately.”
I go with the angel, who takes me to a room off to the side of the throne room.
There is a dressing table with a mirror, a chair, and a hair brush. I sit and use the brush, then the angel pulls my hair back into a simple pony tail. He goes to a wardrobe that I hadn’t noticed before, and there is one article of clothing there. It is a simple cotton pull-over tunic, pure white and softer than silk. Of course, it fits perfectly.
When I am led back out, Jesus is back on His throne, and the offerings had resumed. I start to re-join the crowd, but the angel stops me. I am surprised when he leads me up the dais to Jesus. His eyes brighten as He sees me, and He motions me forward. I kneel, only a few feet from Him, and He asks, “Will you sit with Me?”
I sit next to Him at His feet. The temporarily halted procession begins again as before. I really enjoy sitting by Him. I am uninterested in the offerings, or the angels. Just being that close to Him produces such joy! It is really hard for me not to lean against Him, and the emotional high of the last while is wearing off. Sensing this, He places His hand on my head, and pulls me over a little, resting my head on His knee. I sigh, relaxing, as He strokes my hair.
What was I to bring? I had nothing. Young, poor, and what I had, I had given away in the difficult years before, so what could I possibly bring this beautiful Man? I thought long and hard, but came up with nothing. But gift or not, we are all summoned to His presence today.
His throne room is gorgeous. And crowded. And no matter where I stand, I have a perfect view of Jesus. It’s so overwhelming, being here, that for a while, I forget that I have nothing to offer Him. The angels are choosing who comes forward; and each person, after kneeling or bowing at the base of the dais, lays whatever they have upon the altar. When needed, angels remove the offerings and take them away. Some people, farmers and ranchers, bring live animals or fresh food. The animals are placed before the altar, but everything else is placed on it. These are just as accepted as gold and silver.
I am reminded that I have nothing to offer. Though shame causes me to try to stay out of sight, I can’t help but stare at Jesus. He is so beautiful. I am startled when our eyes meet, and for a split second, it is just Him and me. I watch as He motions for an angel to come over to Him, and whispers something to him. As the angels clear off the altar again, I feel a tap on my shoulder.
“He has called for you.”
“But I . . .” The angel takes my hand and walks with me. As I approach the dais, I decide to give the only gift I have to offer.
I kneel, then approach the altar. “I have only one thing to offer You. I offer You myself.”
The priests protest as I place my hands on the altar, and boost myself up onto it. “Leave her alone.” Jesus’ voice is commanding. All the priests back up, and for the first time, He stands. As He comes down the stairs, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake.
He approaches me, and staying there is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. “What are you offering Me, child?” He asks.
“I have nothing, Lord.” I whisper. “I can only give You what I do have. All I have is me. I offer You my life, Lord. It is Yours to use, or to take, as You see fit.”
“Do you realize the significance of what you are doing?” He asks. “Nothing living can be placed on this altar without the shedding of blood.”
“Yes, Lord.” I whisper. “This is all I have to offer You.”
I’m surprised when Jesus’ beautiful, kingly robe shimmers and changes into one that is similar to the priest’s robes. Then I remember. He is our High Priest. When He turns back to me, He has the dagger used for sacrifices in His hand. My eyes light up as I realize that Jesus Himself will be taking my offering. Somehow, it takes all fear away.
When He turns back to me, I lie down. “You have offered Me your life.” His hand cups my face. “I accept your offering. Your life is Mine. Because you have placed yourself on the altar, blood must be shed.” I turn my face into His hand, kissing it gently, and, taking a deep breath, nod my assent.
He holds the dagger over me horizontally, and I move my hands from my stomach, giving Him full access to my heart. He grips the hilt with His right hand and the blade with His left. Our eyes meet, and I resist the urge to close mine.
For a second, all is totally silent. Then I sit up and gasp, “No!” as He pulls the dagger across His own hand. “Blood must be shed,” He repeats so quietly that only I hear Him. His blood flows, as do my tears. He places the dagger on the altar beside me. In shock, I lie back, shaking my head in disbelief, whispering, “Please, no!”
He announces, “Life has been offered, blood has been shed. I have redeemed this life with My own blood.” He brings His gaze back to me. “Make no mistake, child. The person you were is dead. Your life has been given, and accepted. Every heart beat from now on, every breath you take, is a gift from Me.” He takes some blood from His still-bleeding hand onto His right thumb. As He anoints my forehead, He says, “Your thoughts will be conformed to My thoughts.”
He works His way down my body, anointing with His own blood as He speaks. “Your eyes will see as I do. Your ears will hear My voice. Your mouth will speak My words. Your heart will beat at My command. Your hands will perform My work. Your feet will walk My path.”
Each place He touches, tingles, and I see the blood He’s placed on my hands and feet sink into my skin, becoming a part of me. “You are khe-rehm, totally devoted to Me. My blood has become a part of you, and you will never stray far from My side.” Amazed, I take His offered hand, and come down from the altar. “This woman is Mine.” He announces.
An angel steps forward, and Jesus places my hand in the angel’s. “Take her, and dress her appropriately.”
I go with the angel, who takes me to a room off to the side of the throne room.
There is a dressing table with a mirror, a chair, and a hair brush. I sit and use the brush, then the angel pulls my hair back into a simple pony tail. He goes to a wardrobe that I hadn’t noticed before, and there is one article of clothing there. It is a simple cotton pull-over tunic, pure white and softer than silk. Of course, it fits perfectly.
When I am led back out, Jesus is back on His throne, and the offerings had resumed. I start to re-join the crowd, but the angel stops me. I am surprised when he leads me up the dais to Jesus. His eyes brighten as He sees me, and He motions me forward. I kneel, only a few feet from Him, and He asks, “Will you sit with Me?”
I sit next to Him at His feet. The temporarily halted procession begins again as before. I really enjoy sitting by Him. I am uninterested in the offerings, or the angels. Just being that close to Him produces such joy! It is really hard for me not to lean against Him, and the emotional high of the last while is wearing off. Sensing this, He places His hand on my head, and pulls me over a little, resting my head on His knee. I sigh, relaxing, as He strokes my hair.