Betrayal

I took my armor off

just to hold You closer.

Laid it down at my feet like trust

like surrender

like I finally believed

You wouldn’t hurt me.

My hands were open.

My chest exposed.

No walls or resistance.

Just a fragile, beating yes.

And still

I pulled the trigger.

Not all at once.

Not loudly.

But in quiet betrayals

in the small, deliberate choices

where I whispered,

“I want You…”

and then reached for something else.

Something lesser. Something hollow.

Something that could never love me back.

I kissed Your cheek with lips that tasted like deceit.

And I wonder

how many times have I called You closer

only to wound You at point-blank range?

How many times have I begged,

“Come into my heart,”

while barricading entire rooms

with the very things that nailed You to the cross?

We read the story and ache

flinch at the lashes,

the fists,

the crown pressed into skin

like thorns trying to root in bone.

We shake our heads at the crowd

how they shouted,

how they chose Barabbas,

how they watched Love bleed out

and did nothing.

But if I’m honest

if I strip it all back again

I can hear my own voice in theirs.

Crucify Him.

Not with nails

but with compromise.

With a half surrender.

With a heart divided neatly in two,

pretending it still beats as one.

I would have been there.

Not just standing in the crowd

but participating.

Choosing self over Savior

with the same steady hands

that now lift in worship.

And the most terrifying part?

You knew.

You saw every moment

I would trade You

for something fleeting

every time I would lower my guard

only to wound the One

who came close enough to be touched.

And still

You stepped forward.

Still

You let love make You vulnerable.

Still

You stretched out Your arms

not to defend Yourself

but to embrace the very ones

who would pierce them.

You took off every defense

heaven could have justified

and let us strike You fully exposed.

For me.

For this version of me

the one who says “stay”

and then wanders.

The one who reaches for Your hand

while clinging to lesser things with the other.

You knew I would fail You.

And You came anyway.

So here I am again

armor in pieces at my feet,

hands trembling,

heart split open

not just by guilt

but by the unbearable weight of grace.

Because somehow

You’re still here.

Not recoiling.

Not retreating.

Not waiting for me to get it right.

Just…

standing close.

Close enough to be hurt again.

Close enough to be chosen.

And maybe that’s the fire that finally burns

not the shame of what I’ve done,

but the reality that You stayed

knowing I would.

So this time

I don’t just drop my armor.

I drop the weapon too.