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My perspective was forever transformed by walking in Jesus's footsteps. Standing in the Garden of Gethsemane, where "Jesus went out as usual to the Mount of Olives, and his disciples followed him" (Luke 22:39), I tried to envision that fateful night. I traced His path down the hill from the Garden and up to Caiaphas's house (now The Church of Saint Peter in Gallicantu, crowned fittingly with a rooster). The ancient steps Jesus climbed during His arrest remain preserved, now protected from wear - silent witnesses to history's pivotal moment. Ever had your world collapse around you? Jesus did. In the garden that Thursday night, we find Him in what Scripture calls "deep distress and trouble" (Mark 14:33). The weight of what was coming pressed so heavily that "his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground" (Luke 22:44). In Gethsemane, that olive grove heavy with destiny, Jesus demonstrated the ultimate act of submission. "Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done" (Luke 22:42). While He poured out His soul in prayer, His closest friends couldn't keep their eyes open. "Could you not keep watch with me for one hour?" (Matthew 26:40) He asked them, His words tinged with disappointment. The night unraveled quickly after that. As prophesied, Jesus was "betrayed into the hands of sinners" (Matthew 26:45). They led Him down from the Garden and up those stone steps to Caiaphas's house - steps that still exist today, bearing silent testimony to that sacred journey. These aren't mere tourist attractions; they're the very path where "he was led like a lamb to the slaughter" (Isaiah 53:7). The darkness deepened literally and figuratively. They imprisoned Jesus in a pit beneath Caiaphas's house - a stark fulfillment of Psalm 88:6: "You have put me in the lowest pit, in the darkest depths." The Light of the World (John 8:12) was plunged into physical darkness. Meanwhile, Peter, who had boldly declared "Even if I have to die with you, I will never disown you" (Matthew 26:35), crumbled under pressure. Three times he denied knowing Jesus, just as prophesied, before the rooster's cry pierced the dawn (Luke 22:60-62). The profound irony wasn't lost - this happened within view of the Temple, where "the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom" (Mark 15:38) the next day. Every step Jesus took that night was deliberate, fulfilling prophecies written centuries before: "He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth" (Isaiah 53:7). When life feels overwhelming, remember this night. Remember the garden where Jesus prayed, "Not my will, but yours be done." Remember the pit where Light itself sat in darkness. Remember those ancient steps where love walked willingly toward sacrifice. This isn't just historical narrative - it's the night when "God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God" (2 Corinthians 5:21). The Roman centurion's simple declaration still echoes through time: "Surely this man was the Son of God!" (Mark 15:39). Sometimes the most profound truths need no elaboration. My Father in Heaven, as I walk through my own Gethsemane moments, I think of Your Son kneeling among ancient olive trees, His sweat falling like drops of blood (Luke 22:44). Lord, how often have I, like the disciples, failed to stay awake in my spiritual walk? How many times have my eyes grown heavy when You needed me most? Jesus, Your words echo through time: "My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death" (Matthew 26:38). Yet even in Your deepest anguish, You showed me what perfect surrender looks like. "Abba, Father, everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will" (Mark 14:36). When my own cups of suffering feel too bitter to drink, help me remember Your garden prayer. I see You there, returning three times to find Your closest friends sleeping, Your heart heavy with loneliness. Like Peter, I too have declared, "Even if I have to die with you, I will never disown you" (Matthew 26:35), only to falter when darkness falls. But You knew this would happen - You told Peter that before the rooster crowed, he would deny You three times (Luke 22:34). Still, Your love never wavered. Father, when Judas approached with his kiss of betrayal (Luke 22:47), You didn't run. When they seized You in the darkness, You reminded us that "this has all taken place that the writings of the prophets might be fulfilled" (Matthew 26:56). Those ancient stone steps to Caiaphas's house - still standing today - witnessed Your quiet strength as You walked toward Your destiny, fulfilling Isaiah's prophecy: "He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth" (Isaiah 53:7). Lord, in my own moments of betrayal and suffering, when I must drink from bitter cups, help me remember Your garden. Let me find strength in Your submission, courage in Your sacrifice, and hope in Your ultimate victory. For though the night in Gethsemane was dark, it led to the brightest morning in history. Like You, let me say with complete trust, "Not my will, but Yours be done."