Imagine you had a voice in your head that told you true things.
I’d had enough of hearing how disasters were part of God’s plan. So, I marched into a cathedral and shouted if He had a plan I was listening.
Next morning, I hear a whisper telling me to take another route. Eight-car pile up the way I usually go.
Kept happening. Figured it was confirmation bias, so I wrote everything down. Everything came true. Nothing huger than three lottery numbers, but enough to make my life great.
I like you. But God says your death should be messy.