In Search of The Diamond: An Inspiring Christian Mystery

By Kraig A Christensen

In Search Of The Diamond is a Fictional, Christian mystery. This book is full

of Biblical principles and practical experiences, plus insights on how to achieve

your full potential, i.e. your Royal position before God and man. Eph. 2:5-6

He raised us up tog

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trilogy Christian Publishing
• Release date: Oct 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781640883260

Book preview

In Search

of the

Diamond

An Inspiring Christian Mystery

Kraig A. Christensen

Contents

THE WRITER’S STORY 5

IN SEARCH OF THE DIAMOND 7

CHAPTER TWO 29

CHAPTER THREE 33

CHAPTER FOUR 45

CHAPTER FIVE 63

CHAPTER SIX 77

A PRAYER BY THE WRITER 85

A PRAYER BY THE KING 86

A PRAYER BY GERALD MOSHURE 87

A PRAYER BY THE RIDER 88

A PRAYER BY LADY POMPA’ 89

IN SEARCH OF THE DIAMOND 91

CHAPTER TWO 123

CHAPTER THREE 183

CHAPTER FOUR 197

THOUGHTS TO PONDER 209

IN SEARCH OF THE DIAMOND 229

CHAPTER TWO 237

CHAPTER THREE 241

CHAPTER FOUR 251

CHAPTER FIVE 257

CHAPTER SIX 281

CHAPTER SEVEN 293

THE ARRIVAL FOR THE BEGINNING 331

THE WRITER’S STORY

My writing experience has been unique. It started with Holy Spirit asking me if I wanted to write. I responded with a timid yes. So, I turned to the computer and began to type what I was hearing Him say. At times I would interject portions into the book, generated by my mind. He, Holy Spirit, promptly instructed me to erase ‘my’ portions. That is not to say the book is flawless because I am flawed. In typing this book, understand I had no idea of the plot, outcome of the book, or His intentions of writing it. I trust this book will help you find insights and revelations to live a life pleasing to God. I was born in Eugene Oregon, 1945. I grew up in Triangle Lake, Or., a little community West of Eugene. I married at the age of 21 to Shirley Kephart. We have two children and two grandchildren and one great-grandchild. After struggling in grade school and high school, I went to work in the lumber mills. The job was okay, until my knees repeatedly needed surgery. With government assistance I was fortunate to attend Lane Community College, receiving a Bachelor’s Degree in drafting. After graduation, I started my new occupation as a mechanical draftsman, during which I also pastored several churches. As a full-time pastor for thirty-six years I was privileged to acquire a Master’s Degree in Church Growth from Southwestern University, Oklahoma City, Ok. In 2015, at the age of 70, I retired and passed the ministry on to my daughter and son-in-law. Having no intention of moving from the Willamette Valley, we sold our house and moved to Bend, Ore. This certainly was not our choice, but God had other plans. We purchased a piece of property with a 1972 manufactured home and were fortunate to replace it with a new home. My primary focus, through all my ministry, has been to help people live a life pleasing to God. In our present world, this is a challenge for everyone. With God’s help, through counseling, preaching, writing and doing my best to live what I preach, I have had the privilege of helping others in their endeavor to please God.I hope this book enriches your life, if so, please share your thoughts with others. Together, we can make a difference in our world. Give all the glory to God!

IN SEARCH OF THE DIAMOND

The Search

Standing at the counter of a well-known jewelry store, an elderly lady apparently ponders the possibility of purchasing a diamond. Her appearance suggests money is no issue. I cannot take my eyes off her. I’m (Gerald) trying to give the appearance of one shopping for a watch. She is such a beautiful person. What an attractive woman. She is dressed elegantly, yet modestly. Her stance is with poise and proper expressions of grandeur. She is not an ordinary person. I find nothing out of order or distasteful.

Suddenly, I am arrested by the obvious captivation her presence demands. There is an irresistible urge to draw closer to her.

The young attendant approaches, inquiring if she is in need of any help. With a decidedly refined English accent she replies, Yes, I would like to purchase a one-carat, perfect diamond.

Stunned by her unusual request, he inquires, May I ask why a one-carat, perfect diamond?

Oh, she quietly responds, It is a mystery to me. I do know I am searching for a particular diamond.

The young man offers, We have several stunning diamonds. Would you like to see what we have to offer?

Only if it is exactly one-carat, perfect in color, cut and clarity. By the way, I want it to be numbered on the side also, answering him firmly and decisively.

Amazing request, I don’t believe we have a diamond in the store that qualifies.

Well, here is my phone number and if you acquire a diamond with these particular specifications, please give me a call.

Oh, we are not likely to acquire one without a special order.

That’s unfortunate. I prefer selecting one from among several to make sure it has the right number etched on the side.

That’s just not possible ma’am. I’m sorry we cannot help you.

Would you be so kind as to ask the store owner if I could have a minute of his time?

Certainly, he replies, thinking to himself, it won’t do any good.

The store owner approaches the elderly lady with a sincere heart to serve. Excitedly, he notices she is a woman of means. Reaching out to shake hands, he begins, Good afternoon Mrs....

Interrupting him, she humbly replies, Pompa’, Mrs. Pompa’.

Lovely to have you with us, Mrs. Pompa’. How can I help you?

I am searching for a perfect, one-carat diamond and I would like the opportunity to choose from among an assortment of several diamonds.

I would love to help you. I simply do not keep stones of that caliber in our store.

I understand. If possible, could you order several stones that I may have the opportunity to choose from among them, sending the rest back?

I would love to help you. Our policy is fifty percent down on all special orders.

I am willing to pay cash, but I must see the diamonds first, making sure the right one is among them. You see, it is not only the perfection of the diamond I am concerned about but also the number engraved on the side.

The store owner hesitantly informs her, The diamond cutter determines the number, and it comes with a certificate confirming the number etched on the diamond. We do not determine it.

I understand, but I do have a certain number in mind, and that is the only one I will purchase.

I would like to help you, but unless you are willing to place a nonrefundable down payment, I just can’t.

Thank you very much for your assistance. I will try other stores until I find someone who can help me. You see, money is not the issue, but I must find the right one. She excuses herself, making her way to the door. Being driven by curiosity, the store owner calls out, If you don’t mind me asking, ma’am, who is the diamond for?

With an it’s not necessary for you to know grin on her face she turns and replies, I don’t know. I just know it must be the right one, a perfect diamond.

Thinking to himself, this woman is impossible.

While overhearing the encounter, I can’t help but believe this elderly, stately mannered lady is on a mission. She emanates a presence of deep convictions and is obviously driven by vision. Who is she? What is motivating her? Most of all, I wonder who the diamond is for?

As she leaves the store, I can see the clerk and the owner snickering about her request. Between them, there are moments of laughter. Then, they realize they have missed a lucrative opportunity. Turning away, with puzzled looks on their faces, they resume their normal duties. I quietly leave the store, chuckling to myself, convinced who is going to have the last laugh.

Following her down an alley, I observe her entering a hole-in-the-wall type jewelry store. Nothing is going to keep me from entering that store. With anxiousness in my heart, I peer through the window making sure she is busy interacting with the jeweler. I hope she does not notice me staring at her or recognize me from the previous store. As I enter the store, a bell rings and the store manager acknowledges me, I will be with you in just a moment. I sheepishly make my way to a case full of watches, pretending to be interested in them. Mrs. Pompa’ rehearses the same story with the same request. I expect her to receive the same response. To my surprise, the store manager is more than willing to show her three perfect diamonds from which to select. One is three-quarters of a carat, another is two-carats, and the last one is one and one-quarter carats. All perfect stones, they are all brilliant and beautiful in every way.

Thank you very much for showing me these diamonds, but I am searching for a perfect, one-carat stone, no more, no less.

May I ask why it must be exactly one-carat? the owner queries, with obvious disappointment in his voice.

You may ask, but I do not have an answer for you. Thank you so much for your time.

I continue to watch her every movement. As Mrs. Pompa’ starts to leave the store, I hurriedly open the door for her, and we leave together. While walking beside her, I desperately seek an opportunity to relate my story to her. At the earliest opportunity, I engage in a conversation about watching her trying to purchase a perfect, one-carat diamond. Continuing our walk down the street, she poses a question, What is so interesting to you about an elderly lady trying to buy a diamond?

To be honest, I find you and the mission you are on very captivating.

I am secretly hoping she will share part of her story with me. Perhaps there is more to her story than finding a perfect diamond? I’m doing my best to be transparent with her. I know, if she responds, her response will be very enlightening.

Well, young man, let me tell you a little about myself. I normally do not do this, but it may satisfy some of your curiosity. First, let me introduce myself. My name is Cecilia Pompa’, I am a Duchess from England. When my husband died, he left me considerable wealth. I have everything I’ve ever wanted or needed, except, pausing, with a quiver in her voice, finding my child, my son. When I was very young, something terrible happened to me. Oh, you would not be interested in my history.

Oh, yes, I am. I am very interested. Please go on.

Being compelled by her intense desire to find her son, she continues, When I was very young, an extremely painful situation happened to me, resulting in my pregnancy. Because of my parents’ high political status in life, and to save them public humiliation, when the child was born, he was taken from me and given to a family in another country. I was never told the location. Revealing her past obviously challenges her ability to continue.

After struggling for a moment, she continues, "I have searched for him most of my adult life. All I have is a number that was given to me late one night by a mysterious stranger in my hotel lobby. He did not identify himself, he simply handed me a note and whispered, this number is the number of your son. I tried to continue our conversation, but he ran from the hotel and disappeared into the darkness. I have never seen or heard from him again."

A number? I question.

Yes, a number. All I have is this number. I’m convinced I must purchase a perfect, one-carat diamond with that number etched on it.

How will that number connect you with him?

I don’t know. But deep within my spirit I know it is a key to finding him, she responds, with tears welling up in her blue eyes.

I can’t describe the honor I feel as she reveals her delicate story. Thank you so much for sharing your story with me. Certainly, it is an unusual story I will never forget.

As it grows late, I’m hoping our conversation and newly found friendship will continue. Maybe we will meet again, and you will have found the love of your life. If there is anything I can do for you, please let me know. Here is my phone number. Feel free to call me anytime.

Handing her my phone number, sadness settles on me as I watch her turn and walk away. All of a sudden, I hear a loud gasp for breath. I turn to see Mrs. Pompa’ collapse onto the sidewalk. Without hesitation, I frantically run to her side. Reaching down to assist her, she wraps her arms around me with intense passion. I am speechless. With her trembling hand, she reaches into her purse and pulls out a well-worn card. The only writing on the card is a set of numbers. As I stare at the numbers, I am bewildered, how could this be? This is my phone number! As we stare at each other in total disbelief, my mind goes crazy. I’m thinking, How could these numbers connect us? I’m too young to be her son. I was born in the U.S.A., not in a foreign country.

Motionless, we stare at each other and then the questions begin to flood our conversation. Who? What? Why? Where? The evidence could make some sense, but there is a lot of room for additional questions. After helping Mrs. Pompa’ to her feet, we make our way to a nearby coffee shop. We are quickly seated in a cozy niche and order a cup of coffee. Sitting here for hours, we try to unravel this amazing and puzzling coincidence.

Mrs. Pompa’ stares deep into my eyes, Tell me about your parents.

My dad was from Michigan, and mom was from Montana.

What about your grandparents?

I don’t know. Dad said it was a long story and I never pried into his past, still hoping to find more tangible evidence to connect us.

So, where are your parents now? she asks, with hope brightening her countenance.

They were killed in a car wreck several years ago, and I am the only one left in my immediate family. Desperately I hope my answer will not end our conversation.

How will we ever be sure if you are my grandson? This mystery must be solved. I must have an answer. My heart is exploding with expectations.

I do have some of my father’s keepsakes at home. Maybe they will reveal the truth. Maybe Father left some clues about what he was unwilling to reveal. His closed-mouth approach to our heritage has always been very puzzling.

Yes! We must investigate that avenue immediately. Mrs. Pompa’ quickly rises from the chair with reassuring excitement in her voice.

Upon arriving at my apartment, we anxiously scour through all of Dad’s belongings, searching for some connection between Mrs. Pompa’ and the past. Nothing materializes. Nothing, not even one additional clue. Maybe, for some odd reason, Dad did not want others to know about his past. Who knows?

I’m so sorry we didn’t find any hidden connections. Maybe there is a clue hidden within the numbers themselves, 7834961529. As we ponder the meaning of the numbers, going over them again and again, some of the numbers seem to jump out at us. The beginning of each section of the number, 7…4…1.... the seventh month, fourth day, 1901.

Was that my real granddad’s birthday? The man who dishonored and shamed you?

I do not know his birthday, she painfully replies.

I notice Mrs. Pompa’ flinch at the remembrance of her terrible encounter. For a moment she is taken back to that awful night. Then, with determination and a change of focus she gathers her composure and smiles. Her lovely, engaging self, emerges again.

As we examine the numbers, we find the ending of each section of numbers is, 3…6… 29... These numbers could represent the third month, the sixth day, 1929. Why, that is my dad’s birthday.

The middle numbers of each section are, 8…9...1952 That is my birthday! I shout with every ounce of my being.

What an amazing coincidence. The numbers match your dad’s birthday, as well as yours. How is that possible? Mrs. Pompa’ questions. This indeed is the most credible evidence I have ever discovered. Do you think this is the proof we are searching for?

Yes, it must be. Could it be you are my grandmother?

Could it be you are my grandson? she questions, with a huge smile on her face.

As we sit in my apartment, staring at each other, it becomes very apparent our desires to solve this mystery are extremely intense. There must be an answer. Someone holds the key to this mystery, but who? Do the numbers provide the proof, or are we blind to the truth because of our desires? I silently pray we will find the answer, and soon.

Mrs. Pompa’ spoke encouragingly, I know what I will do. I will hire an investigator to search for confirming evidence while we continue to build our new-found friendship. That way, if the evidence proves to be correct, it will confirm our relationship. If not, I believe we will remain close friends.

I agree.

I will start tomorrow looking for the best investigator available. I have friends who will give me great references. So, what would you like to do in the meantime?

I just want us to go where it is quiet and peaceful. Somewhere we can share our hearts without interruption.

How about Ellis Pierre’s Restaurant? I know the owner. I’m sure he will find us a quiet place to enjoy the evening.

It sounds wonderful. But honestly, I can’t afford to dine there. It sounds very expensive, I reply.

In the middle of our conversation, I am intimidated as I remember my meager income. I am working hard at a local mill to earn my tuition and the basics. I question why I’m trying to establish a relationship with someone who is extremely wealthy. Do we have anything in common? Our backgrounds are vastly different. This relationship is presenting real challenges. My low self-esteem prompts me to run. Is this encounter just happenstance? I have never eaten in an expensive restaurant in my entire life. As I’m zoning out, caught up in my self-reflection, I’m brought back to the moment by a simple question Mrs. Pompa’ asks, I’m so sorry, I don’t even know your name.

It is Gerald Moshure.

What a wonderful name. Gerald Moshure. Gerald, don’t worry about the money, I will take care of all expenses, she generously responds, with no hint of degradation.

I understand, but our relationship cannot be based on your wealth. Would you consider going to Papa Terry’s for pizza? I used to work there, and they will find us a quiet place to talk, hoping not to embarrass her.

That will be fine, just fine, she responds with unusual excitement. Now that I know your name, would you please call me, Lady Pompa’.

Absolutely, I am more than eager to address her properly.

As we gaze at each other across a pepperoni pizza, there seems to be something magical happening. This lovely lady starts a sentence, and I finish it. We have so much in common; it is optimistically scary. We like the same kind of pizza, soda, music, jokes, and the list goes on and on. About two hours later, Lady Pompa’ intently stares straight into my eyes and says, You certainly do have my son’s eyes.

It is fortunate I am sitting down. Otherwise, I would have fallen and completely embarrassed myself. I don’t believe you could have paid me a higher compliment. You are such a gracious person. I want to say you are perfect, but I’m not sure that would be an appropriate statement. I comment, knowing in my mind, she is the closest thing to perfection I have known.

Thank you for spending time with me. If your schedule permits, would you like to continue our conversation tomorrow? I timidly ask.

I would love to. My treat tomorrow, OK? she answers with kindness in her voice that spoke volumes to my heart.

Yes, you choose the time and place, and I will meet you there.

Let’s meet on the beach, by the old shipwreck, at noon. And don’t be late. Before leaving she gives me a big hug.

†

With my head on the pillow, I’m possessed with thoughts about how this crazy encounter is going to evolve. Is Lady Pompa’ my grandmother? She is such an elegant and resourceful lady. I certainly don’t doubt her story. Does it have anything to do with my life? All night long I wrestle with different scenarios.

She is obviously rich, and I must guard against trying to take advantage of her. Her wealth can in no way play a deciding factor in our relationship. What if I am the grandson of a wealthy Duchess? Does this mean I’m going to be wealthy? What will I do with an unlimited amount of money? Shut up! Stop thinking like that, I tell myself.

Without the alarm to wake me, I am up and ready to go by seven o’clock. It’s summer break and there are no worries about college schedules, so I decide to have a leisurely breakfast and walk down to the beach where my favorite coffee shop is located. It is ten thirty, and I’m sitting on the bench in front of the coffee shop when someone quietly comes up behind me and plays the old hands-over-the-eyes-who-is-it trick. At first, I think it might be Lady Pompa’, but it is obviously a man’s voice, and I have no idea.

I give up, who is it?

"Frank Dawson, dummy."

Frank, what a surprise! What are you doing here? Where’s your family? Why aren’t you working? I laughingly poke back.

Whoa, too many questions. I’m on a business trip and have a little time between meetings. How about brunch? We can go to our old hangout and catch up on the latest news, he eagerly suggests.

"I would love to, but I have a previous engagement."

Can’t you reschedule your appointment? he insists, obviously agitated with my answer.

You won’t believe who I’m meeting. Never in a million years, I respond, grinning ear to ear.

Who?

Let me tell you the story.

So, Frank heard the story in a condensed version.

Really?

Yes, sir. She has hired an investigator to find out additional confirming facts about our relationship. Isn’t that exciting?

I am so excited for you. You are a great guy who has worked very hard to go to college and succeed. I hope this situation does not distract you from your goals.

I’m sorry I can’t spend time with you. I hope you understand. Maybe next time I see you.

"Absolutely. Let me know how it all turns out. That is if you are still talking to us common folks."

I don’t intend to change, but I will let you know if I do.

†

In the distance I see the old, wrecked ship. I wonder if Lady Pompa’ will be on time. She will be on time, I reassure myself. There’s an empty bench. I’ll save her a seat. Checking my watch, I realize I am a little early. Better early than late, that’s what dad always taught me.

Repeatedly checking my watch, the time seems to go slower and slower.... 12:15, 12:30, 1:00. I wonder what’s happened. Where is she? Around 2:30 I reluctantly decide to go home. What a heartbreak. What a deep, deep, painful disappointment. I cannot describe the pain that is flooding my heart. Have I misunderstood the details of the meeting? Noon, the old shipwreck, today, right? Maybe she found additional information proving I am not her grandson. There are just too many questions. There are too many unanswered questions. What now?

Arriving back at my apartment, emotionally exhausted, I face-plant myself on the couch. All I can think about is the devastating pain in my heart. The sleepless night takes forever to pass. My mind finds no rest. I try watching TV, listening to the radio and then having a cup of coffee. Nothing works.

Early the next morning the phone rings. Hello.

Gerald, it is I, Cecilia, Cecilia Pompa’. I am so sorry I missed you yesterday, but it was unavoidable.

You do not have to apologize, Lady Pompa’. I understand you are a very important person and I honor you and your time, I respond, hoping this isn’t one of those ‘we had a good time but’ calls. Thankfully I feel the pain in my heart subsiding at the sound of her voice.

Let me explain. I received a call yesterday from the king, and it lasted for some time. It prevented me from keeping our appointment.

The king? I gasp for breath.

Yes, King George II. Please accept my apology.

No apology necessary, none whatsoever, Lady Pompa’.

With excitement in her voice, she inquires, May we reschedule?

Anytime. Yes, anytime.

Would you like to meet at the same place, same time, tomorrow?

What a relief. My heart is beating with pure joy. I feel my heart rising from the pits of despair to the joys of destiny. My life, for the first time, has the possibility of having a deep, meaningful purpose. My future is becoming a vision in my present. I am starting to believe hard work pays off. Thinking to myself, Is my destiny revealed because I was in the right place at the right time? One thing for sure, my future appears to be more promising than my past.

With overwhelming joy, I respond, Great! See you then. What a relief. It is mind-boggling to experience the power of grasping for the future.

Once again, the night is extremely long, and sleep is elusive. I can’t believe I am going to have more one-on-one time with a person of such importance. She has a personal relationship with the king. How incredible is that? I am humbled beyond belief. It is hard to fathom having a personal relationship with her, let alone the possibility of being her grandson.

†

It is finally morning, and I am finally on my way to the coffee shop. Certainly, today will not be like yesterday. The very thought of never seeing her again, after only knowing her for such a short time, is unbearable. She so captivates my heart. I believe life without her would be far less than it should be.

Once again, I take the long walk down to the old shipwreck on the beach. Once again, I arrive early and wait patiently, well somewhat patiently. Pacing up and down the beach I realize I have no right to demand her company or participation in my life, only desires. She may be too busy. I just have to wait and see. It’s now 11:55 a.m. and I’m not doing very well at being patient, constantly checking my watch. Off in the distance, I spot someone who looks like Lady Pompa’. Unfortunately, it is not. Then, another possibility comes into view. Again, it isn’t her.

Gerald! Over here. Over here. comes the sweet welcoming sound of her voice.

Wow. You made it. I am so happy I can hardly restrain myself.

Me, too. Sorry, I missed yesterday, it was unavoidable.

You don’t have to be sorry. I am so glad you are here. The wait was more than worth it. What would you like to do today?

I would like to find a quiet place where I can tell you more about my life and hear more about yours.

I would love to share my life’s story with you.

Sitting on a secluded bench, hidden from the beachcombers exploring the old shipwreck, I am all ears. I feel like a kid in the candy store. There’s an invite into a mystery with a mission presenting itself to me. No one else is there vying for her time or attention. It is such a secluded encounter; the annoyances of the world disappear from my life. My whole being focuses on what Lady Pompa’ is saying. May the recorder in my mind remember every word, is my prayer. For reasons unknown, I am again privy to a portion of Lady Pompa’s life story.

"Where shall I start? There is so much you don’t know about me; it will take a lifetime to share it all. So, let me just emphasize a few defining moments. I am the widow of the Duke of Cannerberry. Unfortunately, during our marriage, we had no children. My husband passed away when I was in my twenties.

I only have my son, who is the love of my life; even though he is a constant reminder of that traumatic night I was raped. I have since forgiven the rapist. Since then, I have never viewed my son as a fatherless child. I only see him as my son, my one and only son. He is, and will forever be, the love of my life.

Since my husband’s death, I have searched for my son, traveling across many nations. I have spent much of my life seeking a one-carat, perfect diamond. This stone expresses my vision of him and matches the number given. Through danger, at extreme cost, I have relentlessly searched without any thought of personal sacrifice. The vision I have of one day seeing him has kept me through much personal degradation. The hope of one glimpse of his face has empowered me to dismiss and forgive the endless negative comments made by family and friends. To be with him will be the fulfillment of my life. Several times I thought I had found convincing evidence. As the truth came forth, I realized my journey was not over. I have learned to dominate my emotions, to prevent the death of my vision. The king has stood by me as much as possible. Others have expressed their support in many ways. But, at the end of the day, being reliant on God has been my salvation. Listen to me, I am carrying on as if I were the only one in this conversation. Forgive me. Tell me about your life."

I am awed by your relentless dedication, I said, with deep emotions welling up in my heart. "In comparison, my life is a boring story of a young man without a cause or a vision. I’ve lived a life of near-poverty. After losing my parents, out of necessity I entered the workforce at an early age. I am presently working my way through college - no real highs - no real lows - just a lot of hard work and lonely nights. I try to stay focused on the possibilities of a brighter future; doing my best to be a good person with godly moral values.

I give tremendous credit to my parents for shaping my character. They were wonderful. My dad and mom both worked very hard. They worked nights in the mills, so I stayed with my relatives most of the time. We barely scraped by. ‘Hard times demand hard decisions,’ Dad used to say, and he made them on a daily basis. I do remember being down by the creek one day, thinking about what the world would be like if I had a lot of money. The thought soon passed because the question about where our next meal was coming from was rumbling in my stomach. Maybe I could catch a fish or two; that would help the whole family to have a brighter day. After all, I do like to fish, sharing with a smile on my face.

We have had such different lives, she said. Yet, curiously we are sitting together on a little bench by an old, wrecked ship. Doesn’t it make you pause a bit when you consider life and its complexities? Is life about money or destiny? Is our search dictated by the wealth of our accumulations or the wealth of our heart? Is life about experiences or expressions? Lady Pompa’ asks. I have traveled the world over, and yet I have not found the love of my vision. You have struggled through life, and you are still hoping for a better future. How does God fit into this very complex picture? Or, is life a matter of how we fit into His creative design and how we express Him? So many questions, most of them unanswered. Shall we leave all of this heavy conversation and have some lunch?

I would love to. Your choice this time.

Let’s go to one of my favorite places. Ellis Pierre’s Restaurant. Some friends of mine are there, I would love for you to meet them.

Your car or mine? I ask jokingly. Hoping Lady Pompa’ is all right with me riding in her car.

It’s a lovely day, why don’t we walk up to the parking lot? My chauffeur is awaiting us, she responds graciously. "He is a wonderful person who has been with me through many struggles. He has traveled with me for the past several years. Don’t be distracted by his outward appearance. I found him in the gutters of Madrid, since then we have