606
Tell him: Jesus, I cannot see a single perfect flower in my garden, all are blighted. It seems that all have lost their colour and their scent. Poor me! Face downwards in the muck, on the ground: that’s my place.
—That’s the way, humble yourself. He will conquer in you, and you will attain the victory.
This point in another language
Document printed from https://escriva.org/en/forja/606/ (04/19/2024)