Energy books

It was to him a terrible
sight. Never, not even at his mother's grave, had he seen his father's
tears. It was more than he could endure. He put his face down beside his
father's on the pillow.
"Dad, I understand," he whispered. "I know now what God is like. He is
like you, dad. He gave himself for us, as you, dad, have given yourself
all these years for me."
He was sobbing, but very quietly.
"Forgive me, dad; I'm not crying. I'm just thinking about God and you.
Oh, dad, you are both wonderful! Wonderful!"
"Barry, my boy, tell them. Don't worry yourself about them. Just tell
them about God. He is responsible for them, not you."
"Oh, I will, dad; I promise you I will. I've been all wrong, but I'll
tell them. I'll tell them."
"Thank God, my boy," said his father, with a deep sigh. "Now I'm tired.
Say 'Our Father.'"
Together they whispered those greatest of words in human speech, those
words that have bound heaven to earth in yearning and in hope for these
two thousand years.


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