Around the time of my chrismation, my brother Dan sent me a draft of a book.
The title was The Last Sinner.
It hadn’t yet been published, but it deeply moved me.
Dan has always been… different.
No, more like a pioneer in spiritual truth.
Dreams. Visions. Quiet prayer. Encounters from ‘the other side.’
They weren’t dramatic. They were quiet. Deep. Real.
The book told the story of one soul.
Not someone evil.
Just a man—an ordinary Christian—who couldn’t forgive himself.
He hadn’t been ‘sent’ to hell.
He stayed there himself.
Because though forgiveness had been offered,
he couldn’t accept it.
And so… someone went to find him.
Not to save him.
But to find his hiding place.
To stay beside him.
Until he had the courage to return to the Savior.
Dan called him 'the last sinner.'
Not because he was the worst,
but because he was the last to imagine the gospel might still be true—for him.
That book broke something in me.
And it saved me, too.
It didn’t answer everything.
But I knew:
God’s light was not judgment.
It was welcome.