The Love That Wore a Crown of Thorns
Easter Love Story..
I used to think love was fragile —
A spark here, a whisper there,
Something you chase but never catch.
The world told me love was a transaction,
A deal made under borrowed stars,
A feeling that flickers when the storms come.
And maybe I believed them for a while
Until Love Himself found me.
Not in a storybook.
Not in the promises that broke.
But on a battered hill called Calvary,
Where Love didn’t speak in flowers,
But in blood.
Where Love didn’t sing in easy words,
But in the tearing of flesh,
The breaking of body,
The pouring out of heart.
It was there I saw Him —
The Carpenter with splinters in His hands
And fire in His eyes.
A King crowned, not with gold, but with thorns.
He did not ride a stallion.
He stumbled under the weight of the cross —
The weight of my shame, my doubts, my fears.
And still, He stayed.
“It is finished,” He whispered,
but what I heard was,
You are forgiven.
You are chosen.
You are mine.
Three days!!!
Three dark, breathless days.
Hope buried in a borrowed grave.
The world silent.
My heart silent.
But Love is not easily silenced.
On the third day,
when the morning broke through trembling skies,
Love rose.
Grave clothes lay forgotten.
The stone rolled away — not for Him, but for me.
An open door where death once stood.
He called my name again
Not with a whisper this time,
but with a song that split the darkness.
Come forth, beloved.
Come live.
No fairytale ever spoke of this kind of love.
No sonnet ever captured the weight of it.
No worldly love could compare to the One who conquered death just to hold me close.
And just when my heart dared to believe,
just when I reached back trembling,
I heard His voice, not from afar, but so close,
whispering, thundering:
Before you ever spoke My name, I knew yours.
Before you reached for Me, I had already carved you into My hands.
They told you love had conditions.
They told you love could be lost.
But I am not like them.
I am not the world’s kind of love.
I am Love Himself.
When they mocked Me, I stayed.
When they beat Me, I stayed.
When nails tore through My flesh, I stayed
because I wanted you.
I drank the bitter cup so you could drink joy.
I bore the weight so you could walk free.
I counted every tear you would cry.
I tasted every sorrow you would carry.
And still, I said,
"Let it be Me instead."
When the tomb swallowed Me, I carried your brokenness inside it.
When the stone sealed the grave, I shattered its power.
At the whisper of the Father's voice, I rose —
and in My rising,
so did you.
You were the joy set before Me. (Hebrews 12:2)
The reason I endured the cross.
The reason Love bled and Love conquered.
This love —
It does not shift with seasons.
It does not wither in winter.
It does not ask for perfection,
only surrender.
When you doubt, remember:
My scars still tell the story.
Not scars of defeat —
Scars of victory.
Scars of relentless, resurrected love.
I am not the love that leaves.
I am not the love that lies.
I am not the love that forgets.
I am Love.
And I chose you.
I still choose you.
So here I stand,
heart wide open, hands lifted high,
whispering back to the One who never stopped loving:
I am Yours.
Forever and always.
If it touches your heart, don’t keep it to yourself.
💬 Share your thoughts in the comments.
❤️ Like, save, and send it to someone who needs a reminder:
Love never dies.
Happy Resurrection.
Happy Homecoming.
Happy Forever.