“Wait a minute, are you the same guy?”
“Yeah, I’m the guy.”
“Nah, hold on a minute. You’re like the guy, but he’s usually down there begging and stuff.”
“Yeah, that was me.”
“What do you mean that was you? That can’t be you. That guy was blind. You clearly are not blind.”
“I know, but I’m that guy.”
“You’re that guy? The blind guy? The guy who was blind from birth?”
“Yeah, I’m the guy.”
“Are you for real?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m the guy. I know I’m the guy, this morning you passed me and put the shekel you usually put in my hat before taking it out again thinking I won’t notice because you think I’m blind, deaf and stupid. It’s cool, though.”
“But … but … what happened, man?”
“The man they call Jesus made mud and spread it over my eyes and told me, ‘Go to the pool of Siloam and wash yourself.’ So I went and washed, and now I can see!”
“Wait a minute, what? But … but … you’re the same guy? For real?”
“Yeah, I’m the guy.”
“Wowsers, where is this Jesus guy?”
“I don’t know, let’s have a look for him.”
(Photo by Nadine Shaabana on Unsplash)
For His Name’s Sake
Shalom
C. L. J. Dryden
Life With CD 