"Few are they who by faith touch Him; multitudes are they who throng about Him."
Lying on his bed and with a weak hand he tries to communicate. Lifting his hands, making them into a fist I watch. A index finger is extended with great effort. The hand now making a point. Raising his pointing hand, he directs it towards heaven. His face smiles with a reassuring look. He shakes his head up and down with a nod of yes. Lowering his arm, he moves the still extended finger toward himself. Guiding my eyes to him. As I observe his finger directed at him, he makes a motion toward his other hand. Putting the outstretched finger into a point that touches the palm of the other hand. With his voice gone from the illness, this simple gesture spoke volumes. The look of Love had overtaken him.