Prologue

Dark clouds rolled in over the valley, lightning bouncing against the mountains and pulling thunder behind it like a chariot; I slept like a baby. Before dawn, I woke again to the complete silence of the Great West, soft tendrils of sunlight sifting through the desert grass and turning the mountainside foliage to gently waking embers. Another day, another gift, I whispered into my coffee, unable to take in the magnitude of such an offer. All this, for me? I opened a window, let the morning breathe for me, as words and worlds stretched and danced around my head. All this, for me. I reached my hand into the envelope again, longing for every minute of the rest of the day to come:

If the Word isn't mean to be 
my salvation, 
why does it call me so?