" This cannot be,” I murmured. I wept and shuddered, convulsing in joy yet still not daring to believe. In his Father’s eyes, my Father’s eyes, I heard the song of light singing over me; I still cannot begin to describe what I was experiencing, except that it was a seeing that was also hearing. In the song flowed Abba’s unsearchable care, all around me, in me, cradling me gently as a womb—all of me, every fearful, shame-riddled, guilt-ridden, war-torn fragment. All was known and accepted, embraced within and without—even, impossibly, delighted in. I felt a comfort and love more tender and beautiful than I ever dreamed could be possible. Moving quietly, St. John, ever in tune with the Holy Spirit, left the room. He was giving me space to know, or as he would say, time for my imagination to expand until it was worthy of its theme. I rolled onto my back with my eyes closed, marveling, when I felt Jesus’s presence. I could feel him—Jesus—in me. I groaned as I realized that it had been a thousand years since I felt—or allowed myself to feel. Then "

― C. Baxter Kruger , Patmos: Three Days, Two Men, One Extraordinary Conversation