Crimson Raindrop

I thought I might - every so often - share an article/story from my anthology, Smatterings of an Analytical Loner. Some of the writings are fairly recent, while others years old, but most have been left as-is. Today's entry was just a random selection from my book. Enjoy.


Crimson Raindrop

A raindrop descended from the sky, aiming for the parched earth below. Its route was fast halted though, as it hit an immoveable object with force. Spraying into tiny fragments, the drop managed to retain some shape as gravity pulled it to a roughly hewn edge.

The surface was made of dense fibers that the raindrop soaked into, leaving a streak of cool wetness behind. Journeying down, the droplet ran along the rigid lines, searching for the earth to drink it in.

But instead of soil, the drop of water was gradually brought to a standstill. It then spread upon a gentler plane - one that was warm. Life was beating through this hand. Though that life was quickly fading, poured out before the eyes that watched.

Mingling with the crimson flow, the raindrop turned from crystal to ruby as it was once again propelled forward. It rolled down the creased palm, drawing on a strange mixture of anguish and love.

Suddenly the droplet eased over a harsh, cold barrier - a nail, driven through the very flesh that held so much pain. It was a cruel contrast to the forgiveness granted...a tool to bring a bitter end.

The raindrop moved on, once again soothing the skin of the suffering One. It gave fresh life to the pores caked with grime and blood, absorbing the colors that would forever stain its luminous form.

And then...it fell. Another ride down, down to the earth, passing the shape of a Man undeserving of the torture given him. Finally the droplet completed the flight as it splashed onto the dehydrated clay.

No one noticed the faint sparkle before it soaked into the earth, never to be seen again. All attention was on the cross that bore love personified - their Savior come at last, to die at the hands of men.

The scene was never the same after that. Though the shadow of the cross was soon replaced, and though the witnesses moved on, the history remained. If one looked closely, they might find the bloodstains still, proof of the distinction between an everlasting love and an everlasting hate.

Three days later, the sorrow of a hostile end would vanish. But for a tiny droplet of water, the world had looked very different for a brief moment. It would never be the same again. For a brief moment with the Son of God would leave anyone changed forever.

A single raindrop had embarked on a journey not many could take. And it had ended in a way least expected. But to be covered in Christ’s blood was not a blemish on oneself. It was the most precious gift of all.