One More Day

I held the silver in my hand —

small moons clinking in the dark,

the price of a heart that loved me

when I didn’t know

how to love it back.

My hands trembled like olive branches

as I reached for Him —

not to hold,

but to give away.

I thought

maybe He would fight back.

Prove Himself.

Win.

A kiss that would echo

through centuries.

And He just

looked at me —

not with anger,

not even with sadness,

but with something deeper.

A knowing.

As they took Him,

I tried to undo it.

I gave it all back—

those cold, little moons

that had once felt

like control.

Now all I have is guilt —

a heavy thing.

It does not let me breathe.

It does not let me sleep.

It tells me: This is who you are now.

It taunts me.

Relentlessly.

How do I silence the chaos,

banish the storm —

raging and pulling,

callous at my heart,

pounding in my ears?

If only I had waited —

just one more day.

Maybe I would have seen the sun rise.

Maybe I would have seen

Him

rise.

---

What if he had stayed?

Waited, just a little longer?

Maybe — just maybe — 

he might have seen

the empty tomb.

He might have heard

Jesus call his name,

whisper to the wind:

"Judas, I still love you."

So maybe the real question now

isn’t what Judas did—

but what I do

when I fail Him.

Do I run?

Do I hide?

Do I believe the lie

that I’m too far to be forgiven?

Or do I wait—

just one more day—

and dare to believe

that love still calls my name?