Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Red (10/01/09)
TITLE: And The Color Was
By Leah Mix
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Red, that was the color of our family’s car back in the 1950’s. I can’t tell you the make or the model, but I do remember o well the day my Dad yelled loudly, “Who wrote their name on the car with white paint?” Now, there were only three of us girls who could write their name at that time, so as with Achan’s family in the Bible, the lot fell on us. Fearful of the punishment, I don’t remember raising my hand.
What really wouldn’t have taken a rocket scientist or a CSI agent to figure out was whose name was on the car? After a short deliberation, the lot fell on me.
I had written my name and address on our red car with white house paint. To this day I can’t tell you how I came into possession of white house paint or the brush, but I do remember being proud of being able to accomplish the feat of writing my words so well. To a five or six year old, knowing your full name and where you live is an accomplishment even today. But the palette I chose was not appropriate and a punishment had to be meted out.
Red was the color of the blood that flowed from my finger that day.
Back in my growing up years, corporal punishment was not only heard of; it was expected. If I did something that deserved punishment, you could bet it would come. But my mom was very unconventional. Her punishment started with getting your own lilac switch. (Some of you are smiling in remembrance and some of you are gasping, I can hear it.) She did not go to the yard herself; no, with 7 children she was too busy for that. If you were the offender, you got to go and pick the one you wanted her to use on you. Cruel wasn’t it? All the time you were out there, you would be thinking, small, medium or large. Which one would hurt the least. I chose a thin one, thinking baby ones can’t hurt that much. Did I have some learning to do! But I am a fast learner, and that was the only time I was sent to the bush.
Unfortunately or fortunately, however you see it, I cut my finger on the knife while sawing the tree. Bleeding, but still carrying the switch, I went back to the house knowing they’d expect the crime to be paid for. As my mom bandaged my finger, they decided I had suffered enough and paid for my crime with the shedding of my blood. I think it was also the last time anyone was sent for a switch, but she kept a supply on hand, just in case, because she knew our human natures.
Red, was the blood shed for me one day. A life time of crimes had been committed. I’d sinned against a holy God; the lot had fallen on me. I couldn’t pay for my own sins, but a price must still be paid.
Who could go to the tree for me? Whose blood could be shed in my place? Whose body would be cut instead of mine? And as His body was bandaged, His Father declared, “It is finished, her crimes are paid for. Never again will blood be required. It was Jesus, my Lord, and my Savior, whose red blood flowed for me that dreadful day at Calvary.
Written in red, is the love story to you and to me, in God’s Word, from beginning to end. Each of us deserved the punishment for our sins, but Jesus, God’s sacrificial Lamb paid the debt we could not pay. And I am here to tell you, that is why I love Him with all of my heart.
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