It happened again. I cried in my sleep. Loudly, like a child, though sounding like an old woman.


Because I remember the goodness I had all my life.

I remember how it was taken from me. Cruelly wrenched from my soul.

It could only be the work of the devil, he who feels threatened by that which is good.

He who wants to “display” his own goodness but only knows how to pretend.

I worship my Jesus with love.

But the devil? He is not able.

He worships himself – standing before the assembly, looking for adoration.