He is my sprig of violets, only Him. I know He is there even when I refuse to believe it, and I know He has not forgotten me. He is that balm that has healed wounds that no one could see or heal; He has given me back my smile and my will to live, He has given me the strength to fight and to get up.
He died for me even before I was born, and still bleeds the wounds of the nails that burned His hands and feet, tempting Him to abandon me to my fate and come down from the rod that would be his throne, stripping Himself of the pain that was His Crown… But He did not.
When I think of Him, on a day like today, I can almost feel the open, hot, throbbing wounds on His back from the lashes; I can almost smell the cold sweat of the pain that accompanied Him to the Cross; I can almost feel His Heart bursting with exhaustion, suffering and uncertainty.
It breaks my heart to think about it, knowing that none of us deserved for Him to do all that to save us, but He still did it. Because He loves us; and when darkness grips my soul, and cold and fear seize my muscles, thinking that there is no way out, that there is no way, His Passion infuses me with the warmth and strength I need; it gives me courage and when I fall to my knees crying out for something that gives me a sense to fight and to try to change things, something that tells me that everything is worth it, I can read with fire in my chest “I AM WITH YOU”. And I don’t need anything else. Those three words are fire, Love and strength; those three words are precious and miraculous, something out of themselves, out of time and context; they are three words that instill courage and hope, making everything tremble like His cry on the Cross, but without making a sound except for those of us who want to hear it. Those three words are as inexplicable a certainty as the smell of a sprig of violets in spring.