A beautiful thing it can be to see my foot prints in unread sands, in places angels might dread and eagles fear…. ah that, where the Love of God leads… you got to hold on though, to that invisible Hand that made the sands….
(From conversations with my friend Eva who can teach a camel a lesson or two about the desert).
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Alone, all the way. No likes or approval. Not a single friend that deadly Friday. After all the miracles and love, everything died. No visitors in your cell, no long last hugs except the 40 lashes. Your last Song, a lone cry, “Father forgive them they know not what they do.”
Sometimes I feel You more than other days, days of alone. Then I thankyou for these times, here we are closest to the ‘disgrace of the Cross’. Here there is no applause, no data of glory. Just the loneliness. Here I meet You best, my Saviour, Friend. Here alone.