John stood up and placed the worn bible he was reading on a small suitcase behind the backdrop. He slowly walked over to the library chair.
As he sat down and positioned himself, John’s lower back, neck and hands put his grueling work history on parade.
Concrete and heavy construction work busted him up pretty good. Endless years of hard labor grinding down his body against time, perseverance and the need for food, shelter and fun.
“You know the Psalms don’t seem like Psalms — they don’t even seem like poetry at all,” John says. “When you are all alone not much makes sense.”