Thoughts on Salvation

It's strange. The greater an event, the harder it becomes to write about. You want to capture it--to summarize, to let others feel what you felt and see what you saw, but the words evade you.
The day that God conquered my soul is one such day. The day He, by His sovereign power, snatched me from the kingdom of darkness to place me in the kingdom of His Son. I have tried time and again to recapture the glory of that moment. But I fail every time,
So, where plain speech fails me, I turn to prose. I think, perhaps, at last, I have captured a faint glimpse of what God wrought in me that day. But to truly see what He did, I must look at what I was.

I was lost, dead and blind, drowned in sin and the shame it bears. I fled from grace, shifting the blame, hating His love, scorning the cross. I rebelled against His laws, I loved all that He loathes, and hated all He held dear. I found the darkness sweet and strong, a hiding place for evil deeds, and there I sought cold solitude. Fears plagued my heart and I dove deeper, drowning in damnation, clasping at hellfire.  My heart had found its place, settled down in dark self-worship.
Christ called my name in blackest pit. I drew back in fear, cowering in my soul's night. I saw the pierced hand extended, but had no power nor will to take it. I tried to hide, but light poured in. Deadly light, revealing light. My sins laid bare, my soul exposed, I saw my death waiting at the door. Strong hands lifted me--I fought weakly in fear, yet upwards I rose, up to the light.
There, in the light, there stood a cross, darkly stained with blackened blood. A thorny crown lay at my feet, three nails resting on the stones, an ancient hammer in my hand. Then I saw what I had done. Blindly, raging in the dark, I had beaten, pierced and killed Him, crucified the Holy One. Then I saw Him standing there, the risen Christ.
I looked in His eyes and understood. That cross had been reserved for me, the nails smithied for my hands and feet. Yet willingly, He'd born the blame, taken lash, wound, and death, drinking the deathly cup of wrath, the cup waiting for my lips. I saw the scars, the shadow of pain--my knees gave way and down I fell. At his feet, I lay in awe, drowned in my guilt, aghast at His love.
"Forgive, my Lord, forgive!" I cried, "Redeem this devil's child!" But down, He reached, and took my hand; raised me to my feet; named me "beloved", "child of God"--Could I believe my ears? He who I'd killed had died for me. He took my black heart, washed it clean, bore my hell and gave me heaven.
And in His love, I live and breathe. To do His will is liberty, to see His face is glory.
Call me what you will--fanatic, crazed, religious fool--'tis nothing! He was called all that and worse. Give me your scorn, I fear no man, for perfect love has cast out fear. Hate me--He too was hated by men. How can hate harm me when I know such love? Accuse me--no charge shall stand. I am redeemed, I am annointed, purged by Christ's blood, forever holy.