My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Not A Visit
So impressed were they by what he had done. God, they said, had visited his people. It was, however, no visit. He was here to stay. We can all tolerate visits. Whether they are from people we are delighted to see or those whose coming we may have dreaded. Be they good or bad, visits end. This was something else and when they realized that, you might wonder what they then thought.
Labels:
God,
realization,
scripture,
visits
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