First Sunday white linens,drape over tables, holding elements that symbolize his REMAINS.
“This is his body that was broken for you.”
“And this was the blood shed for the remission of your sins.”
“Do this in remembrance of me.”
Closing my eyes, images of nail-pierced-holes in flesh, thorn-sunk- wounds-in-temples–the pool of my Saviors’ scarlet drops soak deep into a wooden cross.
Hope burns, with a new vision of me seated close by his side. Banquet table prepared lavishly,filled to the brim with exquisite foods and anticipated guests.
His Spirit, deposited within, swells inside my soul. Tears stream down, assuring my heart again that he is mine and I am his.