Jesus didn't flee the sinners for higher ground; he dwelt amongst them to save their souls. He is still here.
Have you ever felt that a person in your day was sent to you by God to help you just when you needed it, to guide you or carry you? People say that God no longer acts, but when we open our eyes we can see him everywhere. This book is about that presence in our lives. It is about what it sometimes could be.
An excerpt:
He stood in the abandoned house as the sun rose, staring out its attic window, in awe of its orange brilliance on the horizon. Every time, he thought. Every day it is so beautiful. He looked around at the bookshelves lining the attic walls and a long unused birdcage that sat in the corner of the room. He remembered seeing it when it had been in use; such a beautiful space; such a wonderful man who owned it in that man's time. Focus, he thought. The day is young but it will go quickly. He mentally made a checklist of everything on his person, three shirts on his back, three pair of pants, multiple socks and a set of gloves. A bag stuffed with money was tucked inside his shirts and a heavy coin purse hung to his side. The book, he thought and went to the musty bookshelves. He traced his fingers along their bindings, stirring a thick layer of dust before he found the tomb he desired, pulled it from the shelf and blew the dust off. Yes, he thought and placed it in his large pant pocket. Oh, and I almost forgot. He took several steps across the room to where the birdcage rested. Beside it was a bottle with a letter in it. You will do. He stuffed it in the pocket of his other pant leg.
Have you ever felt that a person in your day was sent to you by God to help you just when you needed it, to guide you or carry you? People say that God no longer acts, but when we open our eyes we can see him everywhere. This book is about that presence in our lives. It is about what it sometimes could be.
An excerpt:
He stood in the abandoned house as the sun rose, staring out its attic window, in awe of its orange brilliance on the horizon. Every time, he thought. Every day it is so beautiful. He looked around at the bookshelves lining the attic walls and a long unused birdcage that sat in the corner of the room. He remembered seeing it when it had been in use; such a beautiful space; such a wonderful man who owned it in that man's time. Focus, he thought. The day is young but it will go quickly. He mentally made a checklist of everything on his person, three shirts on his back, three pair of pants, multiple socks and a set of gloves. A bag stuffed with money was tucked inside his shirts and a heavy coin purse hung to his side. The book, he thought and went to the musty bookshelves. He traced his fingers along their bindings, stirring a thick layer of dust before he found the tomb he desired, pulled it from the shelf and blew the dust off. Yes, he thought and placed it in his large pant pocket. Oh, and I almost forgot. He took several steps across the room to where the birdcage rested. Beside it was a bottle with a letter in it. You will do. He stuffed it in the pocket of his other pant leg.
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