I come to the door of the house, carrying my jar of ointment, still wondering what possessed me to come. As I bribe the doorkeeper -- who knows me -- to let me in, I wonder what He will do when I touch His feet. If He should kick at me, it is only what I deserve, but if He does before I can anoint Him, what then? What then? No answer comes. And now I am already inside, burning under the hostile gaze of everyone in the room. Oh, God, it is a regular dinner party! They all know, they all accuse, they all wonder how I gained entrance. Even the maidservants stare.
(...)
- “So, just to be perfectly clear, Lord, are you asking me to serve you as a...?”
Please, read the entire amazing story on Quantitative Metathesys.
Amazing-- no, more: stunning. I've been stuck for a while, reading her pages, and mostly the one containing the above words.
Sure, I'll pray for you.
(Italian-speaking people may click here)
