You loved.

I never deserved you, nor your love, but you gave it anyway. Knowing I was a sinner, a hypocrite, a liar, a theif, a deceiver. You knew I wouldn't always trust Your ways. Or that I might even stray from You. You knew I wasn't perfect and that I would never be. You knew I would critisize Your children when I had no right to. You knew I might ignore You. Or curse your name. Or that that I might not even ask you to be with or near me. That I might not let You acquire my heart. Or consume me in Your awe. You were taking a risk on my response to Your love. You knew I might not surrender everything I have and everything I am to You. But You gave. You gave Your miraculous life for my worthless one. You gave Your only son for me. You gave Your love knowing I didn't have to take it and that I might not want it. You bled and You were tortured, you were made fun of and spat upon, You were emotionally and physically abused, You were stabbed and You were whipped, You walked miles and bore the cross, for me. Knowing You would die, You loved.