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.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Eyes of Faith
They told him she was dead, to not bother the Master anymore. They were right unless one looked through eyes of faith. Her father had looked with pain and fear, but belief as well. Jesus saw with that same vision, recognizing his pain and sadness, but responding to what ordinary eyes could not see. The death was then no longer.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment