Bubbles of soap, petals of roses, rays of a fading sun, Jesus for many years seemed to be little more than a dream. Beautiful, comforting, but a dream.

Little enough it seemed having to do with every day chores, with small sorrows or bog laughters. I couldn't find  the power of God, couldn't touch his hand. I remember vividly the feeling of being cursed somehow. 

Now that I have tasted the power of God, have found his grace, I am scared at times to loose it. Its taste is sweeter than strawberries with cream and sugar, more beutiful than all the soap-bubbles in the world, more comforting than even a double rainbow after a rainy day. I have been honored by a foretaste of heaven. Jesus is no dream.