He sat on the colt,
and rode on its back in to Jerusalem,
on a road covered with a mixture of palms and clothing,
the shouts of “Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord,”
ringing in His ears and
echoing through the streets.
But He Who knows the hearts of all men
knew that many of those shouting praise,
would a few days later,
shout, “Crucify Him,”
and ask for a murderer and an insurrectionist to be released instead of Him.
And He knows that my praise too can be inconsistent,
rapidly changing into whining and complaining,
fueled by doubt and unbelief.
Calling Him, Lord, in one breath.
Having a tantrum with the next.
And still He loves
Works in me patiently.
Empowering me to do what pleases Him.
So, for His faithfulness,
His abounding grace,
His incomprehensible love,
and because He is forever worthy,
I whisper, “Halleluia. Thank You, for coming, Lord.”
”Thank for choosing to suffer and die.
And for making it possible for me to know You as Savior,
and to know God as Father. Thank You.”