I don’t need to see the scars for my doubts, Lord,
as much as I do for my discipline.
I get so lax and lazy.
Even then, You reach to me.
I see the hands – I see the scars, I cry out with
Thomas of old, “My Lord and My God!”
And with renewed zeal, I say, “Master, what would You have me do?”
Copy and paste from past Easters. Still true for me. A look at his brokenness humbles and revives me.