Written by Bobby Burgess
My dusty guitar is in my hands, and as I strum the mistuned strings, I think of David in Saul’s court. To soothe someone full of anger and hatred, possessed perhaps by an evil spirit sent by the Lord to torment him; what skill he must have [...]

His son lay upon his chest resting. Going deeper into his special dreams I wondered what he sees when his eyes are closed. Is he already free in his mind and I don’t recognize it because I am expecting him to be like other little boys?
What is autism?