The warmth flooded me.
Someone else’s warmth.
His warmth.
Transferred to me.

It feels foreign on my skin.
Uncomfortable, unfamiliar.
For deep within,
I know it isn’t mine

The weight of it,
Though not heavy
Per say,
Sits upon me.

It’s presence, 
Clear.
Known.
Unmistakably felt.  

As I feel its light,
It’s warmth, 
Radiating within my being
Filling me…

I know.
I am taking more
Than mere heat,
More than mere comfort.

It is more,
So much more
That I take
From the King of Kings.

I pull HIS cloak,
Tightening it around me;
A deep, deep rightness to it.
A deep, deep wrongness too.

I am wearing
What is His.
His light.
His warmth.

I am enveloped in it,
His scent clinging still to it.
His essence, undiffused
Veils me about.

I cling to it, now
This precious gift;
HIS cloak.
His rightful garment. 

Drawing it more tightly still 
Around me,
I burrow within
Knowing the cloak is more;

It is more than fabric;
More than warmth;
It IS righteousness;
HIS righteousness. 

It is THE life
In which I stand.
The hope
To which I look.

And it belongs
To another.
My hope, my salvation, 
Is not in me.

My gaze remains
Fixed.
Down.
At the ground.

I do not want
To lift my gaze;
I did not want
To see.

For what he now bears
Is of far less quality. 
MY dirty, hole ridden garb,
Wretched and putrid. 

It now adorns His flesh
Cloaking His being
The Eternally Worthy One
Cloaked in sin.

My putrid attire
Taking Him to the cross
Where even that
He redeemed.

He suffered for,
Endured the shame for,
Another’s guilt.
For me.

The exchange; 
His for mine,
Mine for His;
Was hardly fair

Or right
Or just
But without hesitation 
He made the swap

So that I would 
Have the right
To stand before
His holy presence. 

He gave me
What I did not earn
What I could not earn
To wear forever;

His righteousness;
His holiness;
A borrowed righteousness
A legal declaration 

Unmerited
Undeserved 
But legally binding
Forevermore.

His cloak of righteousness
Now the garb
For an unworthy 
Sinner

The warmth of it
Against my sin
Unabated
Soothing my every fear.

Caressing the fabric,
Gently considering 
What was mine 
Forevermore

I knew.
This garment 
Forever
And intimately 

Linked me with Him.
Bound me 
In intimate 
Belonging

With the original
Wearer
The rightful 
Owner.

Hazarding a glance
Up;
I beheld Him.
The Son of Man.

Wearing what is His
Fashioned a form
Of intimate connection 
Of relational bonding.

Wearing what belongs to Him,
A show of honor
An act of devotion 
A sentimental display.

A heart’s uniting 
A bonding of two
That intimately 
And relationally links us.

Running my hands
Over the cloak once more
I look upon His face
Right into His eyes.

It is beaming.
A light of joy 
Cascading forth
At what He beholds. 

“You are beautiful,
My beloved!”
He croons
Utter joy emanating from him.

I cannot be mistaken. 
He regrets nothing
Of the exchange 
It was worth it all

His radiance
Says it all
He is pleased
That I bear 

What belongs to Him
His cloak of righteousness
His mantle of holiness
His worthiness, given to me.

He is pleased 
To make this exchange 
To give me what is His
So that I might live.

As the warmth
Of HIS cloak
Infuses me
I stand in wonder

Awe fills me
That I should wear
His cloak of righteousness
And be granted life evermore

Cold will never touch me again
Death will never defeat me
Sin will never convict me
The Adversary will never condemn me

For HIS cloak is now mine
His righteousness 
Imparted to me
Now and forevermore.

Intimacy is forever ours
His cloak
I will wear forever
With joy and pride!

What a wonder
O Son of Man
That you give
So precious a gift!