A note from Max Lucado
An example of faith was found on the wall of a concentration camp. On it a prisoner had carved the words:
I believe in the sun, even though it doesn't shine,
I believe in love, even when it isn't shown,
I believe in God, even when he doesn't speak.
I try to imagine the person who etched those words. I try to envision his skeletal hand gripping the broken
glass or stone that cut into the wall. I try to imagine his eyes squinting through the darkness as he carved each letter. What hand could have cut such a conviction? What eyes could have seen good in such horror?
There is only one answer: Eyes that chose to see the unseen.
