Melt

I have excessive amounts of pride. Sometimes it seems to ooze out of my pores, there's so much of it. The thought occured to me yesterday, in a fit of choking frustration, that the tremendous lengths Jesus went to to win our freedom were neccesary, or my heart would never be softened.
It is the heart of Jesus that wept for Jerusalem, spent hours in the heat, in the sun, in the rain, on the dusty paths, just so He could gather His flock, teach His children (and His betrayers), long to reach the lost because we were worth it.
It is the gashes carved out of his back by Roman floggers, the gentle hands that used to hold a universe together and touch and heal a lepers skin, now torn sinew from sinew by blunt nails and a heavy cross because it was worth it.
It is the King who achieved His victory, who is simultaneously not ashamed to call me "brother" even in the face of the honest frankness that I am not worth anything alone, but worth everything in Him.
He melts my prideful, frozen heart and reminds me, "Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains [just one grain; it never becomes more but lives] by itself alone. But if it dies, it produces many others and yields a rich harvest."