Bizarre, as in how ironic, curious, and what are the chances of this happening.
My sister to whom I given a signed copy of my first published book, An Odyssey of Illusions, loaned it to someone.
The book was sent from a bookstore in Illinois. She opened the package and started to examine what she’d bought.
She discovered it was a copy I’d signed and sent to my nephew.
He had written in 2012, “I read An Odyssey of Illusions. Thanks for writing it and I appreciate your sending me a copy. It was wonderful to read, and I feel like I romanticized my father when I was the age of Levi, so I really connected with the story. I was left wondering how much of it was a true part of your life.”
Nephew died in January of 2014, so who knows how the book I gave him made it to a bookstore several states away from where he died. And the bizarre thing is that my sister ordered it without knowing from where it would be sent.
Family members who read this will recognize the people of whom I have written.
Perhaps God wanted the book to stay in the family.