I read about how Pilate’s wife “suffered much because of him in a dream.” And of the crowd picking Barabbas and Pilate washing his hands “of this man’s blood” and the crazed crowd shouting “Crucify.”
But it’s the words they spoke next, words that were so much more true than that bloodthirsty crowd knew, that stab my soul.
Mama said there’d be days like this. And God said there’d be mercy to match. But how do you take it in hand and pick it off mercy’s tree?
There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even an animal. —C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves Milky was…
Therefore I should give unceasing thanks to God, for He has often been forgiving of my carelessness and stupidity. —From Saint Patrick’s Confession, Number 46 I can’t celebrate St. Patrick’s Day without thinking of Croagh Patrick and I can’t think of Croagh Patrick without thinking of the June afternoon that I climbed Ireland’s holy mountain. “Croagh” —pronounced…