The door was never locked. I was. Not by iron, not by chains, not by anyone stronger than You. By me. By every "No." I carried. You called my name before I knew my own hunger. Before my first prayer, before my first tear, before my first victory over sin. You already knew where the nails would land. Who moved first? You. Who loved first? You. Who stayed? You. An empty chair at a forgotten table. Not because no one came. Because Someone waited. Waiting. Still waiting. Not growing impatient. Not looking away. Waiting. I brought dust, fear, excuses, broken promises, another tomorrow. You answered bread, mercy, truth, a cross, an empty tomb. Look at My hands. Look again. They are not proof that Rome was strong. They are proof that love refused to quit. The grave kept rehearsing its only song: "Stay." Morning interrupted. One word from Heaven turned funerals into footsteps. I cannot repay grace. I cannot improve Calvary. I cannot add one drop to the blood that said, "It is finished." So I come empty. Again. The empty chair... is empty because You stood to welcome me. The empty tomb... is empty because You walked to find me. My hands are empty because Yours are full of mercy. No ladder. No bargain. No earning. Only Christ. Only the Lamb. Only the risen King. Only Jesus. Only Jesus. Only Jesus. And somehow, that is more than everything.
