We went into the wilderness without Him. I don’t know what I was thinking. We all knew there were people dying in the wilderness every day. Their hollow and broken cries echoed up the deep ravines and dry riverbeds, bouncing against the stone hewn walls of the ancient fortress that sat just at the foot of the great northern mountains.
In the thin places of morning, right before dawn, between dreams and waking He walks into the room. He brushes our skin and our hearts with His healing warmth. “This is my beloved, this is my friend.” His heartbeat pulsates through the skin of this world to make this reality known. He wants us to know what He feels and what He thinks, yet He also knows the magnitude of such intimacy is more we can hold because we are but man. So He graciously gives it to us in glances, in touches, in whispers and in laughter.
Once there was a village, a quite small village compared to most, and it sat at the bottom of a great mountain. In this village lived many children, of all ages, who had lived their entire lives in this village and were delighted to always live here. Every day they danced through the gardens, played with their sheep and sang songs together in the village square.Far above them, at the top of the mountain, hidden by towering trees, was a castle and in this castle the King lived.
The wounds were deep and gushing blood. Agony was beginning to blind the strength of my sight; in my weakness the sword slipped from my sweaty palms. I fell to my knees on the trampled battlefield…