"Yet the absence of the imagination had itself to be imagined. The great pond, the plain sense of it, without reflections, leaves, Mud, water like dirty glass, expressing silence" Wallace Stevens
It's Saturday.
Just twenty-four hours ago, experienced great agony and died a great death. You humbled yourself. You
allowed yourself to be humiliated. You lowered yourself. You looked death in the face and embraced the horror. The cross is an image of horror, of suffering, of pain, and of death. It's Saturday and soon that image will change.
It's Saturday.
Thirty-nine days ago, I began a journey to the cross with you. I opened myself up. I wanted to learn to put complete trust in you. I wanted to see you in a new unimagined way. I have. I began this season with the hope that by the end I would be able to pray, "I shall gratefully accept everything, Lord, that pleases you. Let your will be done." It's Saturday and while I have encountered you in unimaginable ways, I still feel the struggle to pray the prayer without hesitation.
It's Saturday.
I thank you Lord for it is Saturday.
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