Story of the Book

I once began writing a book when I was 10. After writing several pages, I made a decision. I went down the hill from our

house to the aging mansion at the bottom. I walked up the 

stone path and went in through the side door. I made my way

through the halls, past the east wing, the library and into my

pastor's study. There he was at his desk, in his sunlit room on

this warm afternoon.

I greeted him and nervously expressed my desire to read the beginning of my book to our congregation. He began speaking about many things unrelated to my request and his words became muffled in my ears. My eyes drifted over to the corner of his desk and fixated on his clear plastic and green ant farm. 

He asked me something. 

I pulled my attention back to him. His one eye moved about as he asked me again, "why?"

I could only think to say something that would persuade him, 

"Because God wants me to."

On Sunday, I read my story.