I kneel down, right down in the grassy margin between the church’s foundation and the sidewalk, the sounds of a hundred people scratching their way along the asphalt street ten feet away fading from my ears. Putting my forehead on the grass, I feel the dew cool on my skin.
“If You want to, Lord, You can make me free.”
There is no reply. I am not surprised. Who am I, that my Lord would make such an exception?
My freedom lies elsewhere.
Feel free to join me in the NEW Five Minute Friday at Kate Motaung’s place. (General details here.) You can find a bunch of folks who have managed to sit still long enough to scavenge something from the unruly hoard of thoughts. No judging allowed.