Here’s how this week’s arts and culture column begins:
I’ve developed a soft spot for those people we hear of from time to time who see Christ in a tortilla, Mary’s face in the trunk of a sycamore, the baby Jesus in the condensation of a hospital window.
In Protestant New England, where I come from, we had little regard for such phenomena. “Malarkey,” the grownups might have snickered, then doggedly continued chopping wood, hauling lobster traps, or canning peaches.
READ THE WHOLE PIECE HERE.
My friend, a Protestant, and alcoholic at the time, heard a voice one day that said, “Your an alcoholic.” She went to an AA meeting the next day and never drank again. 20 years later she heard the same voice say, twice, “Walk with Me.” She got religious real fast! She has seen her dead mother, father, and grandmother. I have never in my life heard anything, seen anything, felt anything, supernatural. She said to me, “ You love Jesus and Mary so much, you don’t need that.”
Beautiful–whatever works! God bless you, Melanie, and glad your friend made it–
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