a really really good writing on the story of the fathers love for the prodigal son.
koped frm sean's livejournal.
The Father's Love Part I - The Prodigal Son
A parable of Jesus, Luke Chapter 15.
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The boy was sitting down in a makeshift shed of staves and straw, his knees curled up to his chest. Filth caked his body, which was wrapped in tattered cloths held together with a string tied around his waist. It was barely able to keep out the cold that pounded his body mercilessly at night sending him into uncontrollable shivering fits, Fits that grew worse when it rained.
His arms and legs were covered with rashes and sores that festered in the dirt, providing the opportunistic flies that buzzed around him with a quick meal or two... His hair was unkempt, and hung matted down his neck and face coated with slime and dung from the pen, which the owner of the house kept pigs... as well as him.
the "little pig boy"... they had called him.
He glanced to his left, towards the herd of pigs which he was ordered to look after.. the swine lay in their pools of muck like kings, rolled themselves here and about with an an expression of contentment that was almost human. There they also feasted on the bean pods that he had heaped on the trough for them. The smacking and crunching sound that came from their feeding produced an angry growl in the pit of his stomach; He had not eaten anything for days already... He could steal some of the beans that the pigs ate, but he knew that doing that would only provoke the wrath of the man he worked for; who was already calling him a lazy man and threatening always to throw him back into the gutters he came from. Thus he could only make do by slaking his thirst from the rain that fell, or sharing the muddy water that the pigs drank from,
He sighed, and pushed away thoughts of food from his mind... with a stick he found somewhere in his hand, he prodded it aimlessly into the soil in from of him. Falling deep into thought, his mind wandered far from where he sat.
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He scanned the horizon before him... The sun beat down on his scalp and made the air shimmer and ripple... Still he sat there, fixing his eyes on the long road that led to his town. The Old man had done that everyday without fail for the past months... stooped and resting on his walking stick, he rose every morning to to walk slowly to the town's gates. there he would sit by the wayside... searching the road with squinting eyes and waiting till dusk had come, muttering prayers under his breath. Occasionally he would ask strangers passing by for news and happenings from the towns and cities beyond, And everytime they had not volunteered any news that helped. He could barely hide the bitter disappointment he felt.
The townspeople that went by their daily tasks would shake their heads each time they saw the old man, Some casting looks of Sympathy, some sniggering privately at what they perceived as foolishness. But most would utter oaths and curses at the one who had caused the old man to come day by day to the same spot in futile waiting...
A few months ago, His younger son had come storming into his house, As he rose to greet him with a kiss, the boy had turned away from him and declared that he was going to leave the town, that he had grown sick of the place and wanted to seek his future elsewhere. He then demanded to have his share of the family inheritance. That had left him speechless for a moment, for customarily the inheritance was to be divided among his sons only when he died. He had tried to entreat his boy, tried to find out why he wanted his inheritance so prematurely, tried to make him stay. But his son would have it no other way... He wanted his share immediately, he wouldn't wait till the time was right..
It was as if his son had said to him:
"Drop dead now old man, i want my share now for i cannot wait for you to die!".
He could not understand why his son wanted to do that, He loved the boy, even though he was not the eldest and would not receive a bigger share of his legacy. He doted on his sons and always gave them everything that they wanted and needed from their birth. He made sure that they were never in lack. His 2 sons were his pride and joy, and he was always envied by the town who called him blessed because he had two strong sons to carry his name. They were what the scriptures had said; the "Olive shoots around his table". Since when did he become so estranged?
but that youngest son had come and had demanded from him... and He could only watch helplessly as his son packed his share in his luggage and walked out of town down the long road that day, never once turning back. His eldest son had watched the whole spectacle with scorn written on his face, shaking out the dust from his sandals and spitting on the ground when his younger brother left. But there the old man sat, still watching, still waiting ever since that day.
Evening came, Servants from his house had come looking for him with a message entreating him to return... The day had not been fruitful, His son had not returned... Unwillingly, he tore his gaze away from the road and turned back into town, looking back over his shoulder again and again until they entered the gates..
And as he did he told himself;
He return tomorrow.
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The Father's Love Part II
A parable of Jesus, Taken from Luke 15. Dramatizations entirely my own.
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The stick in his hand dug into the mud... His mind wandered...
Having stayed his whole life with his father he had grown tired of a life he considered as dreary, in a place he considered as a backwater town. Despite all the luxuries he had enjoyed since he was a little boy he still felt that the town that he lived in was small, boring and insignificant. Having never even gone beyond the stones that marked its boundaries.
At home he would listen to all the stories that passing travellers told; of cities with huge walls taller and longer than the eye can see, of how gold was as common as dust and the women beautiful beyond belief and just as easy. He would often invite merchants and traders to his house, Lapping up with relish the tales they spun; of exotic lands ruled by peoples of darker skins who wore the furs of terrible beasts on their bodies, where one can pluck precious stones out of the rocks as easily as plucking ripe fruit off a tree.
Blinded by these tales of fantasy, lust and riches. He began to despise what he had; a comfortable home, a prospering family business... and a Father who loved him.
"One day, I'll get out of here..." he had often said to himself.
The first few months in the new city had been marvellous, his heart brimming with promise and adventure. It had been almost all that he had heard about; Huge walls and buildings, incredible numbers of people of all sorts, plying goods and treasures, some of which he had never seen before. An abundance of rich foods, luxurious lodgings, fine wine and even beautiful bodies was to be had and enjoyed; He had never seen so many prostitutes in his life! Congregating in the pleasure districts openly displaying themselves... Young and lithe ones, plump ones, olds ones and even young men and beautiful looking boys. It seemed that everything could be sold and bought... as long as the price was right.
He had been free with his money, and Gossip soon spread, faster than fire that a rich man had come to town, his coffers full of coin... Friends came easily, with wide smiles and sparkling eyes they had come to him, and he was always invited to the most outrageous parties everyday, where they ran riot in all manners of debauchery. Bingeing on food, alcohol, pleasure girls and narcotics... Once or twice during these nights he had thought about home, about his old father that had pleaded and held on to him on the day he left. But these thoughts evaporated as soon as one of his new friends urged him to drink and be merry, making toasts to "everlasting friendship"...
And then the famine had come, fields were left fallow and dry... dying crops and livestock sent the prices of goods skyrocketing. Food became scarce, and people lost their jobs. The young man realised that his wallet had depleted, his money spent down to just a few coins in but a few months of riotous living. He had accumulated debt from all the tabs he picked up in the taverns and parties, Unsavoury characters had come knocking on his door more than a few times demanding settlement, the last group had been quite graphic with their threats. All the friends he had lent money to were nowhere to be found, seemingly melted into shadows, and the rest of his friends kept their doors locked, refusing to see him as he knocked on them, wanting to lend a few coins to tide him over...
He tried to convince himself that the famine will be over soon, Assuaging his fears by telling himself that he would get a job and earn his own keep, he tried to be positive.
But the Famine did not end, and he soon found himself thrown out of his apartment, having been unable to pay the rent. Every friend he had made had turned him away with looks of disgust, refusing to lend him anything. The Loansharks fell upon him in the alleys, they surrounded and beat him up for the bad debts, breaking a few ribs and taking away from him anything of value he had left.
Beaten and bruised in the dark alley... he realised for the first time, that he was now alone, starving, and penniless in a foreign land, far far away from home.
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It was The beginning of another day, the old man had risen early before the rising of the sun, his mind intent on a single purpose; to go to the gate of the town and wait.
Dressing himself, He grimaced at the stiffness of his limbs as he tried to shrug himself into his robes. "you are getting old..." a voice spoke in his head, and he sighed as he looked into his reflection in the water basin under the lamp light; his face was furrowed with wrinkles, framed by a long white beard shot with gray. His skin looking like splotchy, crumpled parchment. He felt the weight of his years on his shoulders as he grasped for his walking stick, trying to find strength in his athritic fingers to grip it.
He made his way out of the house, hunched over and Slowly walking, each step felt heavy and his knees hurt in the early morning cold. As he passed the town's well, the women were already gathered there drawing water for their families. Many of them saw him and bowed their heads in respect for the elderly man, who barely noticed them as he passed by... But as soon as he did, the hushed whispers began, women gossiping amongst themselves..
"There he is again, like he does every morning"
murmur, murmur....
"Poor man, to have his unfillial son do that to him!"
Whisper, whisper....
"Why does he do thus every day? For all we know that son of his might already be dead!"
The old man's head shot up as he somehow heard that sentence spoken. The women, sensing the impending trouble quickly became silent and dispersed, lest they incur his wrath... The old man turned around to regard the dipersing crowd of women with sadness filling his eyes, a lump formed in his throat as he forced back his tears; he would not let any of them see him cry...
But they had spoken his innermost thoughts, thoughts that he had feared the most:
That his son, his beloved son, Might be dead already. That he was really simply waiting in vain.
How he missed his son! How Could these women not understand how much he loved him?
How much he longed to embrace his son, and smell the fragrance of his hair as he kissed him... Of how much he wished that his son was sleeping soundly still in his house, instead of wandering out far away from home...
Call it an old man's stubborness if they will, But he straightened a bit more, grabbed his walking stick with more strength and continued walking towards the city gate... He had decided, that he would not let go of even then tiniest sliver of hope. If his son was out there, if there even was a chance that his son was alive, then he would wait everyday outside the gate for him.
He would wait.
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The Father's Love Part III - the prodigal's thoughts.
A parable of Jesus, from Luke Chapter 15; Dramatizations entirely my own.
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So the young, once rich man had become a beggar on the streets of the city.
Without a single penny left, his once fine clothes had become ruined, tattered and dust stained as he drifted around the city, begging for money, food and looking for any work that can be done and being paid barely enough, if he was lucky he would eat scraps and bones; fighting with stray dogs and other beggars over leftovers thrown away in the refuse heaps of houses whose occupants still seemed well off even during the famine. At night he would sleep on the streets or whichever semblance of shelter he could find.
cold, alone and desperate.
Eventually he arrived at a gentile farmstead on the outskirts of the city, where he met the owner and began his usual practice of asking for food, money and work.
The owner probably sneered at his grovelling, and was intent on sending him away with a stout cudgel, but the young man had begged with tears and pleaded earnestly not to be sent away, that he had not eaten anything in days, and that he would do anything, any task. only in exchange for food and shelter.
Finally the owner looked him over, and told him that he had no work for the likes of him, Except one;
to be his swineherd, and look after a herd of pigs he kept on the farm, And his shelter would be at the pig pen, where the pigs slept. As for food, he would have to forage for his own.
The Young man's face fell: He was a jew, and pigs were the most unclean animals to his race and religion! He was taught of all these since young, and to even be near a pig was revolting to his sensibilities. He looked at the pigs in the fields eating, playing and sleeping in their own defecation. He felt bile rise up in his throat, he wanted to vomit but he had nothing in his belly to throw up.
The Owner stared at him with an expression that told him: "Take it or get out of my farm.", Finality seeped into him. Stripped of all his final shreds of dignity and having no other choice, He agreed.
How far has he fallen? He wondered. From being a rich young man full of promise, to becoming a worthless beggar doing what even the lowliest of servants at home would refuse to do... Even the lowliest of servants who had once waited on him hand and foot...
In his father's house.
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He was jerked back into awareness by a sharp pain in his toe, and realised that one of the piglets had strayed and came wandering to where he sat. There it had plopped down near his feet and proceeded to suckle his toe, mistaking it for its mother's teat!
With a shout and a swipe from his stick the young man sent the piglet squealing away. He had enough. This was Rock bottom. And something in him snapped.
"How many of my father’s hired servants have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger!"
He said to himself. Remembering the abundance of family, and how his father would regularly and generously give the servants and their families extra food above their monthly allowances.
Extra Food! His stomach rumbled again...
There is only one other place he could go to now; Back home.
"I will arise and go to my father"
But what would his Father say? What would the town say? when they see him crawling back, having squandered everything he was given. He knew he had gravely offended his father, and was almost certain that he was already disowned. And rightly so! For he was the one who had rejected his father and his family and the first place! How could anyone do something like he did and still expect his father to still call him a son?
no, he would not expect to be a son. He would have to appear contrite and repentant, He would, beat his chest, tear his hair, fall at his father's feet, kiss his ankles and say to him:
“Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you, and I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Make me like one of your hired servants."
He rehearsed that line over and over in his mind. Yes, He would do just that, He would grovel, beg, plead again like he had done so many times the past months. If he could not be a son, then he would be a lowly servant, at least he would not suffer any more hunger, at least he would have clothes and shelter.
At Least he would not have to beg and feed pigs.
With his decision set he stood up and made his way out of the farm as stealthily as he could. And staggered down the main road that led the way home.
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Musings in retrospect:
How many times people go through life wanting the good things but never accepting that There is Someone who will give unconditionally and without charge?
I remember when i used to believe that God looks at my faults, and that i needed to make a show of repentance before him, i needed to appear chastened and downcast, i needed to tell God that i was a dirty and unworthy sinner and beg for his mercy... I used to believe that when i did that, God would be suitably appeased and give me a chance, a chance that would last until the next sin i commited.
So much condemnation, insecurity... one would spend the first 20 minutes in a half hour worship session in that "semblance" of repentance, searching your heart; naming your sins one by one and beg for forgiveness. In that mentality one begins to find himself increasingly estranged from God, less prone to believing The God is Good, Unable to come before God to ask for healing and blessings and starting to question and justify every blessing that occasionally happens.
Like a yoke that hangs heavy down one's shoulders.
The burden was never ours to carry. None in history who ever lived could. All have failed Except for ONE.
Come then, and look intently at the ONE man who bore that burden and did the ONE final Right Thing with it. and there we Find our rest from Him.
Look At Jesus, And His One Finished Work on the Cross that Paid the price every one of my failures; In Full and with interest and unlimited funds left over.
Look at the Father, And his ONE Decision to To Save You Once for all by sending His Son to come into this World.
On His Body the Father He Named our every sin, And Did not Hold back His punishment.
On our Lives the Father Named His Every Blessing, And Poured out His Love with no holding back.
The Father Heard His Son beg to be excused from His wrath, But He did Not Alter His course
Today The Father Will come, heaven and angels running to us to meet even every need or plea.
How can anyone exhaust or explain fully how much We Loved by our Father God???
But I'm getting ahead of myself, for the story isn't done yet. =)
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The Father's Love Part IV - The Old man
A Parable of Jesus, From Luke Chapter 15. Dramatizations entirely my own.
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It was midday, the Sun hung on its perch. Its stifling heat made the air shimmer and sent mirage ripples gliding down the horizon, playing the occasional trick on the eyes...
The old man felt the strain on brows that had remained pinched in a squint for a few hours now, his eyes, slightly dulled with age had already mistook the mirages for travellers on more than a few occasions... It was never easy, and always disappointing when the thrilling surge of hope was quickly replaced by a stabbing discouragement which came with the realization that the image before him was only heat and air.
His Son had not yet returned...
Yet He saw his son's face everywhere, and he remembered every detail of him; the colour of his hair and eyes, the way he smelt and the way he would smile... It never changed! The old man marvelled as he remembered that his son smiled exactly the same way he did as a child.
He thought about the way his son walked; a slight gait that made his shoulder sway more to the left, the way his arms would swing slightly and how his head would be slightly cocked.
In that solo reverie, he would remember the past... the happier times when his sons were growing up:
He remembered bringing his boys to the synagogue on sabbath morning. He watched their faces light up in wonder as the rabbi recounted again to the children the stories of their ancestors, of how God had saved them out of egypt by parting the sea, how God tested Father Abraham by commanding him to sacrifice his beloved son Issac. It would always move him profoundly Whenever he heard the Rabbi recount that particular scripture, for he knew that it was such a hard command to obey, as he gazed at his young son he wondered if he could ever do the same...
He remembered laying his hands on their heads as he pronounced the sabbath blessing over them, believing God to Bless them, Shine His face on them, To keep them in Shalom...
He remembered celebrating the feast days and festivals with them... On those days the town would have a fair, atrracting crowds that gathered as well as peddlers selling various wares and foodstuff. During the festivites the elder one would run to join his friends but his youngest would wail and complain that he couldn't see anything that was going on... then he would carry him onto his shoulders amidst squeals of delight, and join in the Music and dancing, just him and his son above his shoulders, much to the mirth of the townspeople who saw them both.
He remembered how his son would always try to race him to the house, he would always slow down at the last minute and let his son win. In the mornings his son would beg to join him In the fields where he supervised the workers, walking behind him and trying to imitate the adults and the way they walked, even the way they talked! He and his servants had laughed so hard at that...
Every one of those happy days they spent together...
Looking down the road again he noted the travellers and matched their profiles to his son's... for a moment He could almost swear that he saw his child running down the road towards him again, like how he looked like as a young child, loudly calling him with hair flopping wildly in the wind! Blinking his eyes again the vision melted away... there was nothing there but the endless stretch of road...
and he wondered if he was starting to hallucinate, or if he had finally succumbed to delusion just like some of the very old and infirm. That dull pain in His chest made him realise that the longing for a loved one could actually make one's heart ache for real...
Maybe his son was really never coming back.
Looking up into the sky, he beheld the blue expanse above him and could hold back no longer. The sobs came out from him in shuddering spasms, weary legs gave way as he sank to his knees on the ground, tears that were long held back slid freely down his weathered face... Letting go of his staff his lifted his hand imploringly heavenward, He opened his mouth but only anguished groans came as his breath choked on his sobs. He moved his lips in silent desperate prayer, hoping with every fibre that the Almighty One above would hear and answer...
"Help me Adonai.... let your servant's son be safe, shine Your face on him and bring him home...."
He whispered again and again as his head bent to the ground, his face touching the dirt as he wept like a child, his hands grabbing the loose soil and clumps of grass. And like that he wept for what seemed an eternity.
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The young man had lost track of how long he had walked, he no longer bothered to count the milestones along the road that told him how far he had left... His legs wobbled and wanted to give up, his hands possesively clutched around a small bag of his last morsel of bread and water that a passing traveller had kindly given to him. Breath came in laboured gasps and His bare feet were in blisters because of the burning hot road, and cut by the small sharp stones by the wayside.
He was a sorry sight; dirty, tired and battered
He had not realised that he was now walking in familiar territory... He had unknowingly passed the border stone that marked his home, and he was now standing at the edge, beside the stretch of fields that belonged to his family.
And all the time in his mind he was unsure and apprehensive, of the reception he would receive when he reached home...
Hopefully, they would not stone him.
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When the old man finally came to himself, he heaved a big sigh and gathered himself together to sit up on the ground. He wiped his face with a sleeve and looked up.
right there at the edge of the fields stood a figure of a man.
The old man blinked and rubbed at his eyes, squinted to ascertain that it was not a mirage and looked again.
It was not a mirage... Right there a man was stumbling down the road towards town.
And The sight of the man caused his heart to pound.
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This entry has really been enjoyable to write, in fact, i'm actually not writing a story. rather i'm merely interpreting a story that Jesus spoke to reveal God the Father to us. And it's amazing as i read the passage of scripture and it comes alive with all the sights, sounds, smell and colour. Truly the Word is Alive.
Of course, no matter how much one can write about a man loving his own son, one can never hope to achieve the same clarity and sublimity that accurately describes the Love that our Father God has for us, Because the Creator greatly supercedes the Created. And then one realises that no matter how deeply one can feel and put himself in the longsuffering father's shoes, The Reality of God's Love as reflected by Jesus when He spoke the parable is infinitely Greater.
Simply put, God Loves me Much more than i can ever think/believe He Does.
The Man in the parable Loved His Own Son
God in Reality gave His Most Beloved Son to Love me: Once an Outsider.
The Father in the story once had a relationship with his son
I had no relationship with Father God to Begin with, but now i'm a Son.
The Son in the parable was naturally born into the Family
I was dead in my spirit before i was born again into His Kingdom.
Of course, i also intepret this parable to typify the different kinds of Christians today... But I think when Jesus told the story then, there were no Christians yet.
God So Love the World, He Gave His Only Son.
God So Loved me, He Gave me Jesus.
This Kind of Love is not humanly possible, no one will choose a stranger over a loved one. I'm still learning, Still constantly amazed.
Our heavenly Abba.
And when the story unfolds itself, we discover that it was not really about a prodigal son.
"For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the LORD, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope." Jeremiah 29:11
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The Father's Love Part V - The Father Runs.
A Parable of Jesus, from Luke Chapter 15. Dramatizations entirely my own.
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It was no mirage this time, no illusion created by the ripples of heat
Sillhoutted against the burning sun was that familiar form... The gait, although marred by the weary stoop of the shoulders and the weak stumbling of tired feet was not hidden from the eyes of that one person who had memorised it in his heart over and over again.
It was Unmistakeable! It was the gait of his son!
It was the one whom he Loved all along, the one whom he missed, prayed and cried for all these long months... the one whom he had feared was dead but would never bring himself to admit it.
The old Father stood shakily to his feet, eyes wide, mouth agape and hands trembling in a moment of stunned silence as Waves after waves of emotions washed over him, overwhelming him; surprise, relief, happiness, joy... meshed up emotions that overlapped and mixed together... tumbling up and around within him until one single emotion rose up and grew till it took over his entire conciousness:
Compassion.
Compassion filled the Old Father's heart as he saw his son struggling to walk in the distance. Compassion that welled up so strongly he could scarcely endure to contain, Tears began to roll down again. He could barely breathe... it was as if his body threatened to burst from all the tension in him; Compassion within him demanded a release.
Just then, His son in the distance suddenly tripped over, and fell rolling down into the dust.
And like a river that broke loose from the dam, Compassion broke loose from the old man in an explosion of action. Casting off all reservations of dignified behavior, the old man grabbed the tails of his long robe and tucked them into his belt.. Casting away his staff and looking determinedly ahead towards his son he would wait not a second longer.
one step, two steps the old man leapt off down the dusty road; legs pumping, arms flailing, hair and white beard flying in a dead run towards his beloved one.
He would not stop until he had his son in his arms again.
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He strained to push himself off the hard and dusty ground he fell on. His knees had buckled and given way as he tripped, sending him tumbling off to the side, his head hurt and he felt giddy. He cursed under his breath, he had not been paying attention to the rock that jutted out in front of him, instead his mind was filled with thoughts of apprehension.
"Would father accept me back? would he even look at me?"
He was afraid, he had always been afraid ever since he took that first step towards home... doubtful, worried.
Still He rehearsed his line of penitence over and over in his mind.
"Make me like one of your hired servants!"
Yes, that would do, he imagined the scene again and again; he would kneel down and grovel, display that excessive amount of repentance required... and maybe his father would deign to look at him from the corner of his eye and send him to the servant's quarters... where there would at least be food, shelter and clothing.
But amidst those thoughts there was a tinge of sadness within... as a servant, he would never receive any affection from his father again. there would be no more hugs, no more kisses of greeting. maybe he would be made to do the most menial of tasks, as the lowliest of all the servants, he would have to spend the rest of his life with his head bowed. and rightfully so! He was after all, the one that had rejected him in the first place, who had disgraced his father and family when he had spent his entire fortune on debauchery... such punishment could only be deserving.
Trying as he might to prepare himself, nothing could prepare him for what he was about to see next.
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