He had no rights
No right to a soft bed, and a well-laid table.
No right to a home of His own, a place where His own pleasure might be sought.
No right to choose pleasant, congenial companions, those who could understand Him and sympathize with Him.
No right to shrink away from filth and sin, to pull His garments closer around Him and turn aside to walk in cleaner paths.
No right to be understood and appreciated; no, not by those upon whom He had poured out a double portion of His love.
No right even never to be forsaken by His Father, the One who meant more than all to Him.
His only right was silently to endure shame, spitting, blows; to take His place as a sinner at the dock; to bear my sins in anguish on the cross.
He had no rights. And I?
A right to the “comforts” of life? No, but a right to the love of God for my pillow.
A right to physical safety? No, but a right to the security of being in His will.
A right to love and sympathy from those around me? No, but a right to the friendship of the One who understands me better than I do myself.
A right to be a leader among men? No, but the right to be led by the One to whom I have given my all, led as is a little child, with its hand in the hand of its father.
A right to a home, and dear ones? No, not necessarily, but a right to dwell in the heart of God.
A right to myself? No, but oh, I have a right to Christ.
All that He takes I will give. All that He gives I will take.
He, my only right! He, the one right before which all other rights fade into nothingness.
I have full right to Him.
Oh, may He have full right to me!