Ah, to have lived during the age of miracles. In a time of spectacle and wonder. When glowing apparitions instructed and vivid dreams directed. The blind could see, the unclean were cleansed, the lame could walk. To have seen it all with our very own eyes…
But we are sentenced here to an age of mere belief and faith. Of chasm leaps and the tussle of tall tales and truth. And eyes that search but cannot see.
But what if the ones asked to bear a son or to take in a betrothed who said yes were held by darkened eyes, apparitions faintly seen? What if they could not be certain too but only leapt?
What if the age of miracles is still upon us?