To find a miracle, just look at the mirror reflexion to realize that life is beautiful.
I stumbled upon the Bible of my high school days this afternoon and took a moment to examine it. The copy is ominously thick and self-indulgent, worn down from angst filled examination of my high school doubts. I dropped it upon my desk with a self-righteous thud.
Opening its pages, I had the sense that many a highlighter met their fate on these words and I was intrigued to notice that even some obscure passages among the Minor Prophets were colored with great enthusiasm, leading me to question what I knew then that I don’t now. Moving further along, I noticed that the pages weren’t just elaborately highlighted. No, no, no apparently that wouldn’t have sufficed. Rather it appeared as though my twelve-year-old self also had the spiritual gift of making radically obvious comments in the margins. Next to the opening to one of Paul’s letters I’d eloquently penned “this is…
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