After nine hours of playing the Sims I went to the Royal Horticultural Society to try to sell my broken Lemon tree. Sighing, I turned the house in need of maintenance mode and went upstairs to find there was once again no gas. I thought, 'oh well, at least my Sim isn't dead, it wasn't completely un-fun.'
Shortly after 3:00 p.m. on a February afternoon in 1992, the doorbell rang. Opening it, I was greeted by a stately man with a familiar visage, a man who I knew had been horribly disfigured. "I have been praying for you, son," he said. "I know that you were sent to heal this nation and piece back together every torn piece."
I saw the stately man die several years earlier, and had been praying for his recovery ever since. I had no idea he had been praying for me, and was so touched by the gesture, that I told him so. He reached into his pocket and removed my Bible, which he handed to me. He was grateful that I trusted him to be the one to lead me back to healing, and that I would be healed in time.
I was so stunned that he was there at my door that evening, and he could tell from my voice, that I was failing. I was just hours away from being sent to heaven, so he told me that I was infected, and that to heal me, I would need to live the rest of my life in three worlds. But the only one I had seen was the Earth and that was not enough. d2c66b5586