It’s been hard to show up here, because none of it feels real. I see faces, but they are all strangers.

Who drove you into these deserts of Arabia, into the clefts of foreign rocks?

What King removes His crown for grave clothes?

If we remain silent, will He not cause the stones to cry out?

Remind me of the joy that awaits.

If there was ever a time to be soft, beloved, it is now.

To dream a dream in this place, takes so much heart.

A quiet reflection, a moment to ponder.

How do I have faith in the One I have not seen?

Water into wine, then wine into water.

And while John laid on His chest, I have shared His cup.

Why must death precede new life?