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Hearing from Heaven

From his seat in the van my son pointed to the sign on the gray wall.  “That’s for me,” he said.

His sister and I shrugged.  We hadn’t seen the sign, and we’d certainly heard weirder things.

But my son insisted.  “It has my name on it.”

I glanced at my boy in the rear view mirror. “Your name was on the wall?” I asked.

My son nodded and pointed behind us.  “It said,” he began, “Dear Silas, I love you.”


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