Sweat.
Like great drops of Blood.
"Not my will, but Yours be done."
He
denied.
Himself.
He denied.
His comfort.
He denied.
His fear.
He denied.
His own life.
And took up the Cross.
For me.
For you.
"Not my will, but Yours be done."

I am His.
And He calls me to the Cross.
To deny myself.
For His will.
"Not my will, but Yours be done."
Shall I follow?
Or stay comfortable?
Shall I choose the Way of the Cross?
And count all else as loss?

Not my will.
But His.
Be done.