The Author of Life (Part 1)

<p>I rose from my bed, thoughts swirling like tornado winds. "Does anyone really know me? What is the purpose of my life?" Resolution filled my veins like urgent flames. Today I would search and seek until I found the answers I needed. </p><p>.</p><p>As I packed a sack of food for my journey, I had the sensation that Someone was watching me. This was nothing new, for I had felt this watchfulness my whole life, pushing it from my consciousness as one would shoo a pesky fly. But today, I allowed the sense to linger. "What if? What if there was Someone who saw my every movement, knew when I left my home, had an intimate knowledge of every activity—every thought."</p><p>.</p><p>The sun was just breaking over the horizon, golden light cascading through the fields. I chose to journey toward the sea; the vastness of its waters called to me. This Presence, this Someone, surely had no hold on me where the endless miles of ocean roared.</p><p>.</p><p>Traveling over the great sea in my small vessel, I was amazed to feel the Presence with me still. "Surely the darkness will hide me," I reasoned as the velvet night fell, ocean spray misting my hair. No, hours into my voyage, Someone was still with me.</p><p>.</p><p>Amid the pre-dawn light, a small island winked in the distance. I felt weary from my journey and decided to rest on the shore. As my bare feet dragged over the grains of sand, a sudden thought sprang up in my mind: "What if the Presence thought of me every day, hour, minute... What if these thoughts amounted to more than all these grains of sand?" A gurgle of a laugh welled up in my throat. It was almost too wonderful to contemplate—perhaps I was dehydrated. • Savannah Coleman</p><p>.</p><p>• Like the character in today’s story, do you ever wonder if there is more to life? Wonder what is the purpose of your existence?</p><p>.</p><p>• In Psalm 139, David wrote about how God has an intimate knowledge of us. The God who made the universe knows when we wake, where we go throughout the day, and every thought that enters