Cirrus@Austlit

Author's note: My father believed that grace was like cinnamon sprinkled onto a freshly baked teacake. It was like icing sugar or dandruff, settling on people's hands and faces. It was the love of God. As he always reminded us, grace was the potential for belief, for salvation (or so Luther had said). This is why William Miller ended up so angry. He could never understand why others couldn't see such a simple thing. William Miller saw the world in black and white, when it was really a landscape full of yellow calandulas and a deep blue sky.