Writing it the profession of marytrs. I realized that today, on my way to work. Sacrifice is our prayer, words are our mana in the desert. But what is valuable about my life that sacrificing it would mean anything? What have I sacrificed for that which I profess to love? Time and money? They are meaningless things to me. They only limit what I can and cannot do. What things of me have I sacrificed? What am I willing to sacrifice? Could I give up my only son? Could I turn my back on my people? I offer up those things which I wish to lose, and I give you nothing that you want. It is not something I wish to give up that I must sacrifice. I do not even know what it is, for I have tried not to listen. It is too fearful. And yet I must, for I hold the knife, and I hold the ropes, and the wood is upon the altar. Lord, where is the sacrifice? I cannot hear your voice, and I am afraid. I cannot lift my hands, for I am afraid.