There was no dancing around it: I had found Jesus in a hole in the wall. His Grace shone at me through the tiny tunnel of crumbling concrete. I kept fingering that unlikely home of His yearning for the tip of me to reach and caress him, an embrace I hadn’t known I needed my whole life.
Tears ran down my face, for the effort was in vain, no matter how hard I pushed my finger against the hole, twirling and grazing it against the cutting brick, bloodying the connecting skin at the base. And the harder I pushed the more I obscured the light. Αnd I feared Ι was losing him again in this sinful place full of loud music and fake friends.
the Budafoki amended 
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