I Saw the Blood - THE VISION
I saw the form of a man. His face was not discernable. I can't tell you the color of His hair or eyes and I can't describe His features. I saw His form and I knew it was Jesus. The crown of thorns on His head was a recognizable part of the form. This identified Him to me and I gasped as I realized I was looking at Him. Jesus the Christ, the Son of God.
There was a multitude of rowdy people. They were standing everywhere and the noisiness of their voices filled the air. All eyes were fastened on the Man. He was standing there in silence and blood was already flowing freely from His scalp where the thorns were imbedded. He was pulled roughly and fastened to a whipping post, as a soldier stood ready to begin the flogging. I heard the first crack of the whip and then I saw it, blood and flesh tore loose from His back. When I saw the blood, it looked florescent. I could see it showering on the people. With each lash, more flesh and florescent colored blood splattered the crowd. I counted the lashes of the whip. Thirty-nine times it rose and fell on His back. The whip caused deep furrows where the flesh had been ripped away. I wanted to turn away to hide my face. I didn't want to see Him suffer anymore but my eyes remained fastened on Him.
The next moment I saw the cross being placed on His shredded and bleeding back. He was weak and the weight of the cross pushed Him forward. He was stooped over trying to bear the load. I couldn't discern if He was stooped over from the weight of the load or if weakness had Him bowed to the ground. Steadily the florescent stream of blood flowed and fell on the ground from His wounds. He was making footprints in His own blood. The raging crowd walked behind Him, trampling His blood under their feet. The streets were being painted a deep crimson red.
Then I saw Him. He was hanging there. The soldiers had lifted Him high. When they raised the cross. Blood flowed from His hands and His feet and I saw a stream running off the base of the cross at ground level. The ground lapped it up and swallowed it but the florescent stain remained there. He was stained, covered, painted from the top of His head to the soles of His feet with His own blood. As I gazed at Him, He hung His head.
As I looked into the crowd I could see traces and splotches of florescent red. It was on faces of some who had cried out against Him. Feet were stained that had trampled His precious blood in the streets. Innocent babies and children were speckled with His blood and the family and loved ones who huddled near His feet had traces of red on them.
When the vision was over I was weak and completely spent. I sobbed for a long time as I contemplated the agony He went through for me, for you, for whosoever will. I remember seeing the splattered blood on the crowd and realize some of them were saved by the very blood they demanded to see.
Recently I did a study on the Crucifixion of Christ. While realizing the suffering and the great trauma the body of the victim endures, I saw this vision of the Blood of Jesus as He went through the agonizing and degrading process of death by crucifixion. I can tell you this without reservation, my life is forever changed. Whenever I hear the death and resurrection story of Christ, because I SAW THE BLOOD, I will never be the same again. I will never again associate Easter with a white and fluffy, pink nosed rabbit and hidden pastel colored eggs, but my mind will flash to recollections of a perfect LAMB covered in It's own BLOOD, colored dark florescent red.
Sometimes I still sob as I remember the cross, His suffering and what it purchased. Forever, I am changed by the BLOOD.
Donna M. Davis
I saw the form of a man. His face was not discernable. I can't tell you the color of His hair or eyes and I can't describe His features. I saw His form and I knew it was Jesus. The crown of thorns on His head was a recognizable part of the form. This identified Him to me and I gasped as I realized I was looking at Him. Jesus the Christ, the Son of God.
There was a multitude of rowdy people. They were standing everywhere and the noisiness of their voices filled the air. All eyes were fastened on the Man. He was standing there in silence and blood was already flowing freely from His scalp where the thorns were imbedded. He was pulled roughly and fastened to a whipping post, as a soldier stood ready to begin the flogging. I heard the first crack of the whip and then I saw it, blood and flesh tore loose from His back. When I saw the blood, it looked florescent. I could see it showering on the people. With each lash, more flesh and florescent colored blood splattered the crowd. I counted the lashes of the whip. Thirty-nine times it rose and fell on His back. The whip caused deep furrows where the flesh had been ripped away. I wanted to turn away to hide my face. I didn't want to see Him suffer anymore but my eyes remained fastened on Him.
The next moment I saw the cross being placed on His shredded and bleeding back. He was weak and the weight of the cross pushed Him forward. He was stooped over trying to bear the load. I couldn't discern if He was stooped over from the weight of the load or if weakness had Him bowed to the ground. Steadily the florescent stream of blood flowed and fell on the ground from His wounds. He was making footprints in His own blood. The raging crowd walked behind Him, trampling His blood under their feet. The streets were being painted a deep crimson red.
Then I saw Him. He was hanging there. The soldiers had lifted Him high. When they raised the cross. Blood flowed from His hands and His feet and I saw a stream running off the base of the cross at ground level. The ground lapped it up and swallowed it but the florescent stain remained there. He was stained, covered, painted from the top of His head to the soles of His feet with His own blood. As I gazed at Him, He hung His head.
As I looked into the crowd I could see traces and splotches of florescent red. It was on faces of some who had cried out against Him. Feet were stained that had trampled His precious blood in the streets. Innocent babies and children were speckled with His blood and the family and loved ones who huddled near His feet had traces of red on them.
When the vision was over I was weak and completely spent. I sobbed for a long time as I contemplated the agony He went through for me, for you, for whosoever will. I remember seeing the splattered blood on the crowd and realize some of them were saved by the very blood they demanded to see.
Recently I did a study on the Crucifixion of Christ. While realizing the suffering and the great trauma the body of the victim endures, I saw this vision of the Blood of Jesus as He went through the agonizing and degrading process of death by crucifixion. I can tell you this without reservation, my life is forever changed. Whenever I hear the death and resurrection story of Christ, because I SAW THE BLOOD, I will never be the same again. I will never again associate Easter with a white and fluffy, pink nosed rabbit and hidden pastel colored eggs, but my mind will flash to recollections of a perfect LAMB covered in It's own BLOOD, colored dark florescent red.
Sometimes I still sob as I remember the cross, His suffering and what it purchased. Forever, I am changed by the BLOOD.
Donna M. Davis
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