While perusing my files this morning, I noticed a dated exchange of emails with a friend. At the time, he was traveling in South America, which sparked a memory of one of my travels. My true tale included quantifiable experiences (actual, earthly, physical—whatever you want to call it) and intangible experiences, too (spiritual, divine, and incomprehensible). A humorous misunderstanding followed when my friend assumed that my story was cut and pasted from a novel. When I clarified that the incident happened to me, and I’d written it, he suggested I write a book.
That’s the back story—this was my email response:
“My Mom has said many times that I should write a book about the strange things that have happened to me. But I rarely tell people about them because they must seem like fiction. Many things people just can’t relate to. I used to think God was making me be a…
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