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There is a rock in the middle of the Aegean Sea where nothing grows and nothing moves except wind and gulls. No trees. No rivers. Just black volcanic stone baking under a sun that does not care who you used to be. An old man lives there. Alone. He was young once — young enough to walk beside a carpenter's son through dust roads in Galilee, young enough to watch that same man die on a Roman cross and somehow, three days later, stand in front of him again, breathing. He was young enough to believe that the worst thing that could ever happen to him had already happened, and that nothing after resurrection could frighten him again. He was wrong. Because one day, on that black rock, in the middle of nowhere the Roman Empire cared about, this old man is going to fall on his face before something so overwhelming he cannot stand. His body will collapse before his mind can process what his eyes are seeing. And in that moment — the moment he is certain he is about to die — he is going to hear two words. The same two words. The exact same two words that have been spoken, again and again, across two thousand years of terrified human beings. We will get to him. But not yet. Here's what you need to understand first. This is not a story about a number some pastor counted on a spreadsheet. This is not a phrase you cross-stitch onto a pillow and hang in a hallway. This is not a Bible trivia fact you memorize for Sunday school and forget by Tuesday. This is about the two words God says, over and over, to a person standing at the very edge of collapse — about what happens in the exact second before your whole life falls apart. You have felt that second. You know the one. The phone ringing at an hour phones should not ring. The silence after a doctor stops talking. The moment your body knows something your mind has not caught up to yet.

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