Stamped

I open the giant heavy oak door. It squeaks as I push it behind me to walk into of familiar faces. A few family members, several of my closest friends, individuals I have adopted as family, and acquaintances  They are all clustered together staring and whispering. I'm dressed in a professional dress suit, everything pressed perfectly. My hair is done just right, not to say "Look at me!" or "I don't care". My heels clicked as I walked confidently down the aisle, inside I was a thousand degrees and my stomach churned and was stabbing with pain. But they knew. They knew it was all a masquerade. I sat down behind the large oak table; all of their eyes pouring into the back of my head. The gavel pounded and so it began. One after another of those I love walked up to be questioned and to testify all they had witnessed and perceived. I tried not to squirm as they retold their perspective of the memories that had been haunting my dreams. Another story, another replayed conversation... the stabbing pain in my stomach had escalated. All I wanted to do was sink down into my chair and cry. Recess was called as my fate was decided. I retreated to a quiet secluded spot where I was finally able to sit, hold my stomach, and cry. This was interrupted by a man who had been sitting silently in the court room. He knelt down beside me and explained things. He helped me to my feet and led me back to my chair. The room was filled with whispering again. The man walked up to the judge and spoke softly so that no one else could hear. I tried read their lips but I couldn't see. It seemed as though they were talking for ages. The room became restless. I was trembling trying to hold back tears but unable. My eyes blurred but still on the judge and this man. The judge stamped a sheet of paper then slide it into a manila folder and handed it to the man. He walked over to me and opened the folder. The stamp covered the sheet full of the all the notes condemning me as guilty. I sat with tears streaming down my face so rapidly that I began to hiccup. The judge declared my sentence: not guilty. I heard the crowd gasp and their conversations blurred into murmurs as my mind spun. When the man had knelt beside me during the recess he told me every detail of my crime. The details I had never told anyone. He knew my motivations, desires, yearnings. He knew it all. I was horrified when he went up to the judge and spoke with him for so long. I knew he was telling the judge and that would be the end of me. I deserved death. Yet I was deemed not guilty... The red stamp on my files simply read: Redeemed.

And you, who were dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made alive together with Him, having forgiven us all our trespasses, by canceling the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands. This he set aside, nailing it to the cross. Colossians 2:13-14