Isabelita told me the following story. An old illiterate Arab used to pray with such fervour each night that the wealthy owner of the great caravan decided to summon him so as to talk to him.
‘Why do you pray with such devotion? How do you know God exists when you don’t even know how to read?’
I do know, sir. I can read everything that the Great Celestial Father writes?’
The humble servant explained.
‘when you receive a letter from someone far away, how do you recognize the writer?’
‘By the handwriting.’
‘When you receive a jewel, how do you know who made it?’
‘By the goldsmith’s mark’.
‘when you hear animals moving about near the tent, how do you know if it was a sheep, a horse, or an ox?’
By it’s footprints,’ replied the owner, surprised at all these questions.
The old man invited him to come outside with him and showed him the sky.
‘Neither the things written up there, nor the dessert down below, could have been made or written by the hand of man.’
(From, ‘Like the Flowing River’, by Paulo Coelho)