So he started to write down his prayers. At first no more than a few lines – big issues and real problems. He still heard nothing. Yet he wrote on, enjoying the confidence of pen and paper. Page after page, notebook after notebook were filled with the intimacies of his deepest thoughts and desires. But yet he sensed no answer.
He was writing one day in the coffee shop when the man across the table asked what he was doing. He told him reluctantly and, even more so, of the silence. As he got up to leave, the stranger asked – have you read your own prayers?
That night he read and read. Suddenly he saw troubles solved, people helped and his world changed. Now he saw the handwriting of God.