Easter is approaching, Lord. I know I'm a little early. But, hey, we celebrate Christmas for three months before December 25. I say, why not celebrate Your Day of Victory for more than just one Sunday out of the year!
I'm still thinking and meditating on the Garden of Gethsemane, Lord. A while back I did some research on that name, Gethsemane. It means, literally, an olive press. I got so excited when I read the description of the way olive oil was made at the time You were robed in flesh.
In the middle of large olive gardens would be large stone vats. One would be used for bruising and crushing the green olives. After they were crushed, the olives would be dumped into large wicker baskets. Nearby would be large flat rocks used to cover and press the olives in each basket. The baskets and rocks would then be stacked on top of each other in another vat. Gradually more stones would be added to slowly increase the weight and the pressure on the olives. The crushing weight of the stones would slowly force the precious oil from them one drop at a time .
And the new oil was blood red.
In my imagination I can see You kneeling and lying prostrate on those huge pressing stones as You agonized in the Garden before Your arrest.
What a picture of the agony You endured. What an image of the slow, excruciating price You paid for my sin. You suffered in that Garden and on that Cross until every drop of Your physical life was squeezed from Your body for my sin. You hung there until You released Your Spirit to separate from Your body to satisfy the Father's marvelous redemption plan.
What a price You paid for my sin, Jesus.
There is so much more to tell you about that night in the Garden at Gethsemane, Little One. So much that you can't possible comprehend it right now. So, I'll save it until eternity. Until you'll be able to fully understand, fully able to appreciate, fully able to rejoice with Me over the victory won that night.