In Spanish, the word “Oro” has two meanings. It is a noun, meaning “gold”, and a conjugated form of the verb “orar”, meaning, “I pray”. Gold. I pray. Seems fitting, yet starkly ironic. I spend hours on Facebook, my phone, and Skype. Hours communicating with my friends, family, and classmates. But little, if any time at all, communicating with my Savior. With a Savior that went to the Cross because He wanted to talk to me.
The price which you pay for something determines its value. He was beaten beyond the point of recognition, His back no longer covered with flesh but a bloodied pulp that resembled the carcass of a slaughtered cow. He gave up His identity of God, and took on a new one…
That is the price He paid. Because He loved me, because He wanted to talk to me, the Living, Holy, Creator God,
BECAME A SACRIFICE.
I think the Spanish got it wrong. This gift He gave me, this gift of prayer, the ability to talk to my Savior whenever, about whatever, is worth more than gold.
Time I started acting like it.