The Wish

by Nicholas Sparks

Art and photography, he’d added, allowed for the communication of new ideas, often in ways that words did not.

“I’ve always believed that art and faith have much in common. Both allow people to explore the subtlety of their own emotions and to find their own answers as to what the art represents to them. Your work and Trinity’s always make me think, and more importantly, they make me feel in ways that often lead to a sense of wonder. Just like faith.”

That was the thing about battling cancer. The waiting. So much of the last few years had been about waiting. Waiting for the appointment with the doctor, waiting for treatment, waiting to feel better after the treatment, waiting to see whether the treatment had worked, waiting until she was well enough to try something new.

Someone who could laugh at the inconveniences of life and find joy in any occasion. That’s when I knew she was the one.”

The silence depressed me. It wasn’t the silence of silence. It was my own silence.

“They texted some photos from Nazareth and the Sea of Galilee. You’ve been to Israel, right?” “It’s an incredible country. When I visited, I kept thinking to myself that I might be following in Christ’s footsteps. Literally, I mean.” “What were you photographing?” “Tel Megiddo, the Qumran cliffs, and a few other archeology digs. I was there for about a week, and I’ve always wanted to go back but there were too many other places to see for the first time.”

“But never forget that love is always stronger than fear. Love saved me, and I know it will save you, too.”