BRIEF
CALLING
Franklin — I'm not writing to ask you for anything. I wrote this because I believe you have been seen, all along, more clearly than the crowds ever saw you. Sit with it. If you take nothing else, take this: how God sees you.
— and then, turn the page.
The Brief — your life, as Heaven reads it.
A cigarette,
still burning.
The instant before the prodigal's knees hit the floor —
the mercy that came before he ever cleaned up.
“I was sick and tired of being sick and tired.”
He left that room and flew, for fifty years, straight into the storm.
“The storm is coming.”
— his own words, before a watching church
To the flood, the field, the war zone — and he stayed.
What if the instruments could see it three days before it formed?
Before the name,
before the crowds —
I saw a boy who came home.
I have always seen you.
A taste — the seal, the shelf, the letter, the door, the storm, the gaze. The turn is across; the small book opens to the full screen and folds back. Your eye sets the rest.