How glorious the gift of having our debt of sins paid for us when we accept our Lord Jesus as our Savior

I drove over to the woodwork store.
I had a need for two pieces of lumber;
One four by four by ten foot, not much more,
The another again, four by four, but, maybe half the length of the other.

When the carpenter cut the pieces, he began to weep,
And, bewildered, I asked, “Is there something in your eye?”
“Only dust from the pile where, these pieces I keep.”
The two were imperfect, and as he handed them to me, they were not dry.

“Don’t worry if they are damp, their purpose was served.
They are yours to answer your need.”
Grateful, I tried to pay the price that I thought was deserved,
Refusing, he said, “The price has been paid, of your debt you are freed.”

From that place, amazed at his generosity,
I drove to the hardware store for the next items.
I ended up across the hilly city,
To find the right material with which to bind them.

The gentleman, too weary for his age,
Brought down a spindle of weathered twine,
It was thick and rough, and, without a measure to gauge,
He pulled several arm lengths, before judging the length was fine.

“Sir” I said, as he worked his shears to cut the end,
“I think that material is a bit long, and appears too old.”
He looked at me, eyes deep, terribly saddened,
“Have no fear, son, this binding will certainly hold.”

“Well, if you say so.” I spoke, wondering at some stains on the piece.
“Might I suggest you use a figure eight wrap to bind the two?”
I nodded, hearing a distinct tremble in his deep voice.
Pushing my remittance away, he told me “The price was paid for you.”

“How strange,” I thought, as my mind wandered
While driving down a roughly paved road.
There was a stable down this path, I had heard,
Where the final items may be bought, finishing my load.

The rocky road ended at an old dilapidated inn,
Where I saw, from all appearances,
What must have been the stable at the far end.
A chill ran up my back from the familiarity of circumstances.

Inside, exiting a distant stall,
A young man looked up with a smile,
Then, seeing me, he staggered, about to fall.
I reached to catch him, but missed by a mile.

I missed, though he slumped but inches away,
Confused, certain I could not have missed his form,
I too found the need to kneel on the hay,
A position strange in my busy life’s norm.

Trying to get my business over and done,
I caught my breath, and started to ask,
But was stopped short, as he, standing again in the filtered sun,
Whispered, “I know what you need to finish your task.”

“How could you know? Do I know you?”
Ignoring me, he looked back, for a moment,
Toward the stall, saddened by what he must do.
“There is so little space between glory and torment”.

I stared at him, his words ringing in my ears.
Then he went over to an old, rusted anvil,
Gathered some large objects, facing me, his eyes filled with tears.
“Here. These should allow you to finish your deal.”

As he slowly walked them to the light,
I could hear the distinct sound of a baby’s laugh.
I saw his burden was heavy, his jaws tight;
“Joseph, hurry, come see” from the stall, brought from him a sobbing cough.

“One moment, Mary, I have business to handle here.”
There he stood, holding three rusted spikes, in his carpenter hands.
I then knew; tried to refuse; he said “He will remove your fear”.
So I took them, I took them, understanding the plan, I ran.

I glanced back once to see the glow
From the stable, feeling the rust imbed my skin,
Thinking, while running from the scene, “no need, I know,
To pay, for the debt was already paid with the removal of my sin.”