 I cannot tell you how many times at night I would picture myself there at the pool of Bethesda on a blanket, perhaps lying next to the man with paralysis on his straw mat. And I would wait alongside him, waiting for Jesus to walk into those covered colonnades. And I would see him, and I would, in my mind's eye, cry out, Oh, Jesus, Jesus, don't pass me by. Here I am. Heal me.