My hero is a king and a creator and the shepherd who lays down his life for the sheep.
My hero can make stars and suns; he commands the wind, stores the hail and stretches out the sky like a great piece of cloth. He can turn water to blood or to wine; he can heal with a touch, banish demons with a word and burn without consuming. When he was born, the entire sky lit up with the light of a mighty star.
My hero can save nations from slavery, part seas, and create worlds. He has scarred hands strong enough to form mountains or break down temples, gentle enough to wipe away a tear or hold a child. He commands legions of angels and rules everything that is and was and ever will be; he loves the tiniest sparrow. He sets fire to sacrifices dowsed in water. He sends horses and chariots of blazing flame to save his people. He leads his army with a two-edged sword made from his words.
My hero has been born and lived and died and lived again. He has created everything that exists, conquered the devil, raised the dead, healed the sick, fed the starving multitudes, walked on water and calmed storms. He has ridden an untamed donkey through shouting crowds waving palm leaves and clothes. He has challenged the learned and loved the ignorant. He has bled. He has wept. He loves.
My hero saved my life and the lives of my loved ones. He has given me courage and life. He is both the reason why I can get up every morning and the reason why I would want to. He means everything to me.
My hero is coming on a snorting white horse to get me one day.
My hero is older than time, but today marks the 2014th year since His birth. Happy birthday, Sir.
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For the Daily Prompt.