01/08/2025
He stood at the edge of the bridge, wind slapping his face, heart pounding like a drum of judgment. No one knew where he was. No one knew what he’d done.
He had ruined lives. Lied. Stolen. Slept around. Aborted a child. Walked away from God years ago. His hands weren’t clean—they were stained with choices he could never undo.
He looked down and whispered, 'God, if You even exist... there's no way You could forgive me.'
But then—like thunder breaking through silence—came the memory of a cross. A man, beaten beyond recognition, hanging between two thieves. Blood pouring. Eyes filled with mercy. And words that shattered the gates of shame:
“Father, forgive them…”
Forgive? Even this? Even him?
Yes. That was the whole point.
The cross wasn’t for perfect people—it was for the guilty. The blood wasn’t shed for those who had it all together—it was poured out for those falling apart. That blood still flows. That mercy still speaks.
And that night, he didn’t jump.
He fell—onto grace.
He cried—into forgiveness.
He walked away—not because he was strong, but because the cross had carried what he couldn’t.
Whatever you've done—Jesus already took the blame. His cross is not a monument of judgment, but a doorway to mercy. There’s no sin too big, no past too dark. The blood still speaks. And it says... You. Are. Forgiven.
Come to the cross. There is Room for you, JESUS LOVES YOU.
Pls Share
