There once was a boy who longed to see God clearly.
He knew if the veil and noise of this life could be lifted for just a moment he could just get a glimpse of his maker, and would love him, and change the world for him.
But God didn’t afford him that candy; it would spoil the meal of meat and potatoes god had for him. He was one of the few who would be fed a tougher pill, because God knew he was one of the few that could endure it. And by this burning desire of his he would administer the deepest medicine to others.
God would never, in this life, show himself clearly to this boy, because this boy’s power was in the desire he had to see his invisible God. He marched through every day with the faith and hope that if only he sought out his God every day, then he would eventually see him clearly, like fog swept away from the sun.
And as he walked through town, and spoke to his friends and lifted the fallen and played cards with old, childless women and befriended the socially awkward. . . one thing was strong in the minds of almost everyone after he left them.
The words that always trailed him were something to the effect of, “If ever I have seen God clearly in this life of wishy-washy, multiplistic men, It is in the life and voice of that young man. Like God spread apart the clouds, came down, and showed a bit of himself to us.”