Sitting upright on his cold bed, looking at the razor blade he traded a meal for, his thoughts were frantically racing.  Facing over two decades in a cold concrete cell was challenging his thoughts, his courage, his hope.  Was warm blood dripping onto the cold floor a solution?

Was it the way out of a living hell?

Suddenly, there was a shift in the dreary atmosphere.  Almost like a gentle breeze blowing across the lonely room.  Hope.  Purpose.  Life!

A touch from Holy Spirit - a loving touch that without a single utterance, spoke to his wounded heart.

Too many years of feeling filthy, dirty, and rotten to the very core had left Giles in a place of abandonment.  He had abandoned himself, and slowly buried his own life in a grave full of shame and guilt.  Yet today was different.  Today as he held the sharp blade between his trembling fingers, he paused for a moment - just long enough to quietly utter "Jesus" from his quivering lips...