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How completely stupid is despair. It doesn’t understand nor learn and it has no desire to. What boring company I sometimes keep. But it’s the one who does understand and has learned that it was in despair’s midst, resurrection lifted its head.

What one may regard as the end, another might recognize as preparation. Will I sit in quarantine and think it a garden of doom?

Where the women sat weeping, new Life had already taken form. The Garden of Gethsemane was no longer marred by the Tomb but the place where flowers grew. Where death laid down its head, surrender had already taken its stand.

Will I allow my eyes of disbelief to be drawn into the dark beyond the stone that had been laid, or will I have courage to allow the thorns of the roses to draw my own blood and pass on the beauty?

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