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Come and dine
Imagine for a moment
You had lost your best friend, your mentor,
Someone so full of life, who loved to do good,
So connected to God that it was incontestable.
Now he was gone.
You ponder, “Where was God when this dear one seemed to have such a tragic end?
“This blessed, beloved man—why had he not perhaps saved himself as he saved others?”
Imagine for a moment
Your despondency and hopelessness at this loss.
You go back to work.
Back to fishing, scared to acknowledge your faith,
Deeply saddened by the state of things.
Imagine for a moment
After a particularly unsuccessful night of hard work at sea,
You receive good advice from a stranger.
Ah! Your nets suddenly overflow with fish.
You walk up the shoreline.
“Come and dine,” 1
invites that same stranger, preparing breakfast.
And suddenly . . . you recognize him.
He is your precious friend you thought you’d lost.
Right there.
He wasn’t suffering; he hadn’t been punished or deserted by God.
Quite the opposite.
He was well, he was happy—ready to inspire.
He was instructing you and mentoring you even still.
You sit. Speechless, elated, humbled.
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