Jesus paid it all, all to him I owe.

Each compartment of my heart was filled with nauseating vomit.

With pain and heartache at each memory.

With shame and guilt.

And most of all, with condemnation.

And in the midst of an overwhelming spirit of despair, I saw a hand.

The hand wasn't to pull me out.

The hand wasn't to pat my back or rock me gently or stop my tears.

His hand was there to scoop it out.

With a single cup, one memory at a time, He replaced my evident sickness with grace.

One by one, He was scooping my pain.

He was putting His hands into the mess I had not dared to touch.

And I was so thankful as He heaved each cup full of my filth over the edge.

I watched in awe as He rid my heart of shame.

With each empty cup, I felt the burden lift.

I turned to watch as another sickening memory was lifted from my heart.

But as I watched Him throw it out, I realized where He was dumping it.

The contents of my burdened heart, the disgusting, filthy vomit of my life, was falling onto His son.

And he lay there with the weight and filth of my transgressions raining down on him.

I ran to his side. I anointed him with all my best oils and perfumes and tried as best I could to wash my disgustingness off his undeserving body.

And instead, he embraced me.

He rejoiced with me that my heart could be pure again.

White as snow.

Clean and lovely.