I heard his whispered prayers
That no one else could hear.
He turned to look at me –
His eyes were bright and clear.
We felt our painful breathing
Together as we hung,
And knowing guilt, I knew he died
For things he had not done.
When he had disappointed them,
Refused to be their King,
They thought his death would wipe away
Their foolish reckoning.
Somehow as we hung there,
His crown shone bright to me,
And I was glad I had been brought
To hang upon that tree.
To share his death, to know a little
Of his kingly pain,
To understand, as no one did,
The land where he would reign.
Our words were brief, our breath was short,
But I, his honored guest,
Would be the first to follow him
Into our heavenly rest.
I was called to be there,
In shame and agony,
But glad I am, and safe I rest,
Since Jesus died with me.
“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
“I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
Sept. 20, 2010
For Cheryl, whose conversation prompted this poem.