Frank didn’t like writing at all—nope, not a smidge.
He typed code, managed business, and walked the bridge.
The work paid the bills, so he nodded and agreed.
He chose to love hard labor, whatever the need.
Spiritual dreams. They came so brightly during the night.
Christians mentioned Jesus as if distant from sight,
As if he were a historical figure from a tale far away—
Not someone they knew who was living today.
So after working long hours—over sixty each week,
He researched and wrote until his brain began to squeak.
Four hours a day with his books stacked up tall,
He was writing his stories and learning it all.
Twelve years whooshed by with plenty of zip and zest,
Until “Eyewitness” books came—Jesus’ life at its best.
Now writing and helping others bring endless thrills—
A calling … boundless joy … and gratifying chills.
