Kind heart, you are like a child who has not grown up. Kind heart, do you feel that you are lonely? The inner garden is desolate and overgrown with weeds. You close your own heart. Why? Why? Why? You always have to ask yourself this question over and over again, tears falling from your fingertips. You say: "Abba, Moses shepherded sheep in Midian for forty years. God finally called him back and regarded him as the Son of Man. You drove me away from you for thirteen years, and you never wanted me to come back. Did I do anything wrong to make you treat me like this? You have always been a book in my heart. "The Bible opened my eyes to tears and joy." You held his hand and asked softly, "Abba, what did I do wrong? Why did you do this to me?" He didn't give you the answer you wanted when he was fifteen, seventeen, or thirty. You said again: "Abba, it's because my face is like hers, with upturned and narrow red phoenix eyes, a charming style, peach blossom eyes, watery, passionate and free, destined to be unwilling to be content, eyes that seduce the soul, but also the heart." He stretched out his hand and slapped your face hard, and the blood from the corner of your mouth quietly dripped down.