Mysterious Ways

Peak Moments

SENIOR CONTRIBUTING EDITOR

I have a vivid childhood memory that stands out from the rest. A Wednesday afternoon in the Southern California town where I grew up. I was riding my bike home from a piano lesson.

My Sunday school class was studying the Old Testament, and as the wheels of the bike whirred, my thoughts drifted to how God spoke to Abraham, to Moses, to Isaac, to Sarah. Could God still speak to people like me? “God,” I prayed, “could you please say something?”

Winter rains had cleared the smog so that the mountains glowed in the slanting rays of late afternoon

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