Tyndale Fiction

Everything she did mirrored her faith. It was as though every waking hour of every day she was devoted to pleasing her god by serving others. This god that she worshiped consumed her. It didn't ask for a brief visit to a temple, or a small votive offering of food or coin, or a few prayers every now and then. This god wanted all of her.

“I don’t believe the purpose of life is to be happy. It’s to serve. It’s to be useful.”

She didn’t trust anyone anymore, least of all Jesus.