HIS PERSECTIVE
God at work in the worst of events. I am sitting at the table looking at the bowling-pin lamp Richie made as a schoolboy. It reminds me of the phone call more than fifteen years ago when my mother told me that Mrs. rosser had been murdered. “The police want to talk to Richie?” she said. And we knew it was likely he had done it. After my mother’s call I stepped out of the house and started walking, bewildered and angry. After all our efforts and prayers, how could it have turned out this way? I seethed inside, trying to sort it out but not succeeding. I walked along a stretch of the Illinois rairie ath, an old railroad right of way banked above fields and creeks. I moved briskly, my body working pleasurably and effectively, but my mind in turmoil. Finally, I burst out to God, “How could you do this! Just when Richie was responding, he was pulled out…
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