I look at my blood stained skin, the thorns dipped in red. Suddenly they are not just my thorns, they are Christ's. I have crowned Him in these thorns that I willingly walked into. He suffered, bled His own blood, skin peirced by the thorns that weren't His own. His glory forsaken, to be crowned in my sin. His eyes, tear stained, know my pain. I can see Him on the road. Just waiting for me to ask, to ask to be untangled from the vines that grab.
I can see Him, yet I stand mute in my thorns. Why do I stand, just stand? Stained and bleeding, torn to shreds and yet I choose to stand.