Monday Rewrite Every morning those ancient words call me back, back to that crossroads. That place of quiet glory, that place of reminders and rediscovery, of the old way that is fresh each time. That place of the son of man, that place of raw truth and relentless love, too much to cope with for too long. That quiet place, of resting and letting go, if only for a sliver of time, while so many other things, so many voices… clamour for attention, cry out for vital time and energy. Turbulence gusting at my mind and soul. Sometimes I heed the call to pause and wait, sometimes I rush by and miss it. A moment for rooting all I know, all I fear, all I must do, all that worries me… into the hands of the quiet king.
‘Rest. Wait at the crossroads and ask for the good way.’
…the son of man often withdrew to quiet places…
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