His life had been a constant turmoil; one colossal blunder after another: the drowning of his son, the divorce following, the business failure. All gone. Alone, he opened the gun cabinet, loaded the nickel-plated Colt, set a note on his dresser and headed for his son’s tree house. A fitting place to finalize his life.
Once settled in, he reached for the Cold beside him, not wanting to prolong the act. But his hand was frozen above the gun. He could not move his arm or fingers. Confusion and panic set in. Then fear and then the wind. Somehow, in the wind, was a voice.
“I love you. I gave everything for you, even My Son. My only Son. I I gave Him freely. His death was more than I could bear too. I know how you feel. I will walk with you every day. Don’t give up. My love for you will balance your loss. You can trust me always.
Now free to use his arm and hand, he picked up the Colt. . .and stuffed it in his waistband so he could climb safely out of the tree house. After he locked the pistol back in his cabinet, he opened the phone book, under churches.