will be made well

Been awhile since I pointed the spotlight on an important minor. But that while is now over. Consider: Acts16:22+

Go on, consider. I'm waiting.

The jailer. I imagine this as a large man in the mound of flesh sense. All his life, given no image other than that of a mound of flesh. And he takes his duties seriously, hoping seriously that emergencies like escaped prisoners fleeing willy nilly never actually become nilly.

Imagine a riotous crowd flooding towards his humble jail. Imagine them knocking knocking KNOCKING. Imagine the sudden onrush as the door succumbs to their madness, and the voices and the loudness and the probable torches and the demanding of safety for the imprisoned.

Imagine after this little episode of terror and sweat that he settles himself down, settles his nerves, settles his eyes into darkness. Before the shaking and the sudden rumblings and the noise and the what's that noise it could only be the doors and the chains and here comes the willy and the nilly and the worst imaginings imagine his worst imaginings coming to bear on the same night as the terror and the sweat and then end of all ends they will come and they will imprison ME and I will be among those I have until now mistreated and I cannot bear the shame of becoming what they always said I was all along this mound of flesh and where's my sword and I can't believe this is happening and then

and then

And then what happens to all who at the end of their lines, at the end of their ropes, at the end with nothing left to cling to see something completely aberrant, completely not what they expected -- that suddeness, that being different, that not of this world.

Sirs, what must I do to be saved?

You've already answered that, friend. That's what the whole being before your knees in terror and sweat at the end of all ends and looking for the One who makes your worst imaginings to be nothing as you imagined is all about. Being at the end and looking for the only beginning.