Burden | Care | Comfort | Communion | Fellowship With God | Hope

It was during the war in Kracow, Poland. The basement of the cathedral in town had been turned into a hospital for the wounded. There in the poor light lay hundreds of soldiers: wounded, mangled, cold and hungry. As they lay there, there was a regular stream of cursing and other epitaths from the men decrying their fate, anguished with pain. Curses and profanity rose regularly from the prostrate forms. One doctor was available to tend the wounded, and he did his best, attending to one after another of those whom he could help. The evening shadows lengthened as he was finishing his task. One more soldier lay in a corner, covered with some rags to keep him warm. As the doctor approached, even in the dimming light, it was apparent that he was too late. The man was dead. But as the doctor drew a little closer, he noticed something different about his hands, asking a nurse for a candle, he…

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