I often wonder what He thought, and what it must have been like?

    Thirty-three years old, and just getting started in life, and yet?

He found himself on that long walk toward Jerusalem … to carry That Cross

    The one being made, Made Just For Him.

 

Was He weary?

Was He already tired, on that long walk?

 

At thirty-three, was he already exhausted from more than three years,

    days and daze, spent trudging around God’s holy land, teaching God’s unholy people?

 

What must it have been like, for Him, in the days before that first Palm Sunday,

    as He continued that long walk toward Jerusalem?

 

The crowds would be loud. The palms would wave their splayed leaves,

    And the songs of innocent children would fill the air:

 

“Hosanna to the Son of David,” they all would sing, on that first Palm Sunday.

 

But not yet. The music couldn’t start just yet.

    He wasn’t there, yet.

 

The Guest of Honor hadn’t arrived. 

Still a few more days.

Still a million steps to trudge, up the path to that appointment with that Cross.

 

No need for Him to hurry toward ‘the fullness of time.’

 

No need to rush toward The Cross Made Just For Him.

    

For now, a walk would be sufficient.

Resolute as any sure thing.

A few more miles to travel; a few more days to wait.

 

The Giver of All Life. 

Possessor of that Infinite Gift.

 

Still a young man, and yet, beyond the age of eternity.

 

The sound of His sandals on sand.

The sound of that long walk … toward Jerusalem.

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