I contemplate on Christ’s painful walk toward a hill called Golgotha as I do my Saturday morning hike on this place called Limeridge. My hill is zero compared to the hill of Calvary. He was carrying a cross, I am carrying a cellphone. My tennis shoes are comfortable; He was most likely barefoot. I’m listening to music; He was hearing a mob’s cry “crucify Him!”
Just then, by the wayside, I see a purple flower resembling a crown. I move closer and I notice the sharp spikes protruding around the base of the flower. The thicket is made up of prickly leaves and stems, that, with one testing touch tells me to leave it alone. I walk away thinking of the crown of thorns placed on His head, and the inscription on the cross giving Him a title as King. I look back and see the flower resplendent in purple, the color of royalty—bold, beautiful, and triumphant.