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The window is nothing special at all. It is just an ordinary window offering a view to that which lies outside its parameter. In the room behind the window a man is watching. His eyes filled with expectation and excitement as he looks through the crystal clear glass. Waiting for the moment.
The air is cool and the night dark. Only a few stars is patiently shining down from on high. The business of the day is coming to an end; at last Bethlehem is coming to rest. Piercing through the quietness of the night the first cries of a new born baby is heard. In celebration to this moment the stars decide to welcome him with all their sparkling splendour as they ignite the black velvet night sky for all the world to see.
The eyes watching from the window fills with overwhelming joy. The most beautiful singing signals that the moment has come, the waiting is over.
The boy is growing up and all of Galilee sees that his wisdom is beyond his age. From town to shore his presence is known. Soon the time comes and in accordance with his tradition, the boy becomes a man.
The eyes watching at the window fills with immence pride, well pleased with what he sees.
Jerusalem shows the man's footprints upon her hills. She echoes his voice throughout her valleys, calling the crowds to embrace his presence.
Suddenly the quietness of the evening transforms itself into the garden of turmoil and the twelve is asleep. The flames of the fire torches map the route to purpose beyond imagination. The crowds spit their accusations in his face. Whips cut through his flesh, but the man stays silent. The people has spoken and as the thorns press into his scull, they nail him to the tree. The man speaks, "My Father, my Father?"
The eyes watching at the window is filled with unspeakable torment. The Father cannot bear to watch anymore. In helpless agony and sorrow He turns His face away, but through my tears I see the formless and unrecognisable body on the tree graduate from man to Messiah, for me.
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