For a great number of people, it is a sign.
Regardless of one’s religious affiliation or lack thereof, there are events and relationships in life that give us the feeling that they are a part of something bigger.
It is necessary to avoid doubting the things that happen or the difficulties that may come up on the path in order to have faith in God.
Italian photographer Alfredo Lo Brutto recently shared a shot of a figure he had captured in the sky on social media. The figure had a striking resemblance to the Christ the Redeemer statue in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Reaching a height of thirty meters, this magnificent statue is not only the biggest representation of Jesus on the planet but also the highest art deco statue ever created.
Alfredo managed to spark some controversy when he shared the amazing snapshot he had taken over the Tyrrhenian Sea. Some say that the figure is just the clouds with the sun beaming through them, while others think it is divine and a sign from God.
People have expressed different opinions about pictures that have surfaced online before, and this time, there are a sizable number of people on both sides of the debate.
The view enthralled me totally. “I don’t usually post images on social media, but when I took this one, I instantly felt like I wanted other people to see it because it was so beautiful,” Alfredo told Daily Mail. “Since I don’t share many pictures, I don’t share them on social media very often.”
We can all agree that this image is extraordinary because it portrays the beauty of the natural world in which we live, even if you don’t think you can see a picture of Jesus in it.
What position do you occupy? What’s in front of your eyes? Do you believe there may be a connection between this sign and higher powers?
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I DIDN’T GET WHY MY BEST STUDENT REFUSED TO PERFORM IN THE SCHOOL CONCERT — UNTIL I SAW WHO HIS DAD WAS
The auditorium buzzed with the expectant energy of parents and students, a sea of faces eager for the school’s annual concert. I stood backstage, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. Jay, my prodigy, my star pupil, was nowhere to be found.
When I first met Jay, I was a fresh-faced music teacher, barely a week into my new role. The reality of wrangling a classroom of energetic children had quickly shattered my romanticized notions of teaching. I’d begun to question my career choice, wondering if I’d made a terrible mistake.
Then Jay sat at the piano. His small hands, seemingly too delicate for the instrument, moved with a surprising confidence. The music that flowed from him was breathtaking, a complex symphony that belied his age and lack of formal training. He was a natural, a raw talent that shone like a diamond in the rough.
I offered him private lessons, eager to nurture his gift. He hesitated, his eyes darting away, and eventually declined. I noticed his solitary nature, his avoidance of the other children, and a sense of unease settled within me. I suspected there was more to Jay’s quiet demeanor than met the eye.
Determined to help him, I offered to teach him without charge. Over the following weeks, we spent hours together, exploring the world of music. Jay absorbed knowledge like a sponge, mastering complex pieces with an almost uncanny speed. He was ready, more than ready, for his debut performance.
But on the day of the concert, he vanished. I searched frantically, my anxiety escalating with each passing minute. Finally, I found him huddled backstage, his small frame trembling, his eyes wide with fear.
“Jay, what’s wrong?” I asked, my voice gentle.
He whispered, his voice choked with terror, “I have to go on… before my father sees me!”
“Why?” I asked, confused. “Why wouldn’t your father want to see you play?”
His eyes widened, and he looked over my shoulder. I turned, and the breath hitched in my throat.
Standing at the entrance to the backstage area was a man I recognized all too well: Richard Thorne, the renowned concert pianist, a man whose name was synonymous with musical genius. He was also Jay’s father.
Richard Thorne was a legend, a figure I had admired from afar for years. His performances were legendary, his technique flawless. But his reputation was also marred by whispers of a cold, demanding perfectionism, a relentless pursuit of excellence that left little room for human frailty.
Suddenly, Jay’s fear, his reluctance to perform, his solitary nature, all made sense. He wasn’t just a talented child; he was the son of a musical titan, a man who likely held his son to impossibly high standards.
Richard’s gaze landed on Jay, and his expression was unreadable. He strode towards us, his presence filling the small backstage area.
“Jay,” he said, his voice low and commanding, “what are you doing here?”
Jay shrank back, his eyes filled with terror. “I… I was going to play,” he stammered.
Richard’s eyes narrowed. “You were going to play? Without my permission?”
“I… I wanted to,” Jay whispered.
Richard’s expression hardened. “You are not ready,” he said, his voice laced with disdain. “You are not even close.”
Jay’s shoulders slumped, his face crumpling with disappointment. I felt a surge of anger, a protective instinct rising within me.
“Richard,” I said, my voice firm, “Jay is incredibly talented. He’s been working hard, and he’s ready to share his gift.”
Richard turned to me, his eyes cold. “You presume to know my son better than I do?”
“I know he loves music,” I said, my voice unwavering. “And I know he deserves a chance to express himself.”
A tense silence filled the air. Richard’s gaze shifted back to Jay, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of something in his eyes, a hint of vulnerability.
“Jay,” he said, his voice softer, “if you truly want to play, then play. But you must understand, you will be judged. You will be compared. And you must be prepared for that.”
Jay looked at his father, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and determination. He nodded, his small frame straightening.
“I’m ready,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, but filled with a quiet strength.
Richard stepped aside, allowing Jay to pass. Jay walked onto the stage, his footsteps echoing in the hushed auditorium. He sat at the piano, his hands trembling slightly.
Then, he began to play.
The music that filled the auditorium was breathtaking. It was Jay’s music, his interpretation, his soul poured into every note. It was not a perfect performance, not a flawless rendition of a master’s work. But it was beautiful, raw, and filled with a passion that resonated with every soul in the room.
When he finished, the auditorium erupted in applause. Richard Thorne stood at the back of the room, his face unreadable. But as Jay walked off the stage, Richard reached out and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder.
“You played well,” he said, his voice low. “But you can do better.”
Jay looked up at his father, his eyes filled with a quiet understanding. He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. He knew that his journey had just begun, and he knew that he had the strength to face whatever challenges lay ahead. He had found his voice, and he would not be silenced.
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