The floodgates of writing have been opened once again. This time, the floodgate comes from Light rather than painful desperation.

While writing the last entry, I heard a new word in my head (But was it new to me? I’ll never know…) and I looked it up to find out if it’s real (because I sometimes make up words). Thankfully, this word is real.


noun:  trans·fix·ion  \ tran(t)s-ˈfik-shən \

:a piercing of a part of the body (as by a suture, nail, or other device) in order to fix it in position

I was stuck on the definition for quite some time. I was “hearing” this word as a description for a particular character in my previous entry but all I could see when I read the definition was Jesus hanging on the cross.

This is a medical definition and I’m bombarded by images of the power of sutures, nails, and staples. The tasks they perform and the lives they save. I’m overwhelmed with images of nails hanging pictures of loved ones or life-changing phrases, of nails and staples holding housing frames together and keeping floorboards down. I’m captivated by the power that rests in the tiny nails that hold butterflies in hypnotizing positions while we marvel at the intricacies of their miraculous design, and by the magnificent bolts that hold the skeletal remains of ancient goliaths that once roamed earth. We’re surrounded and immersed in transfixion, by piercings holding things together and freezing a moment in time.

The transfixion of Jesus: pierced by nails in order to fix Him in position on the cross. The symbolism of this fixed position has me mesmerized, transfixed. Arms open welcoming His fate. Arms open welcoming the humanity He died to save. Nails holding his feet firmly planted as He goes against human understanding and against every other god. His transfixion was for all.

The beauty of Jesus’ transfixion creates a transfixion of my soul, holding me constant and steady in His Light.