They told me Calvary was a story from long ago—wooden cross, bleeding saviour, crying crowd. But what they didn’t tell me is this: Calvary is not just history. It’s alive. I saw it in my heart one night. A hill. A cross. And from its foot, a river flowing red, endless, and alive. People kept coming. Broken boys. Guilty girls. Silent men. Weary mothers. They stepped into the stream, and something happened. Their weight fell, the shame disappeared, and joy lit up their faces. I stood far away, afr