Come home ... before the day ends Copyright © 2021 by Andréa Regina Amorim Faulhaber
Translation Kamila Santos da Silva
Cover and Diagramming Grace Kelly T. Buzatto
Revision Frederico Faulhaber Silvio A. Alves
Text in accordance with the rules of the New Orthographic Agreement of the Portuguese Language (1990), in force since January 1, 2009.
INTERNATIONAL CATALOGING DATA IN PUBLICATION (CIP) Faulhaber, Andréa Come home ... before the day ends / Andréa Faulhaber. 1. Christians - Religious life 2. Women - Christian life 3. Women Conduct - Lifestyle I. Title
16‑1070 Index for systematic catalog: 1. Women - Christian life 248.843
“Come home, Come home, you who are weary, Come home! earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is Calling. Calling: – oh, sinner, Come home!”* (Will Lamartine Thompson – 1847 ‑1909)
To transcendent grace, designed in all things, Love that from the word conceived each woman, omniscient GOD. To my parents, by the path of freedom. To my beloved Fred, friend of all hours. To Julia and Miguel, eternal inheritances.
By Silvio André Alves “Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies.” (PV 31:10)
When I was chosen, I confess that I felt the weight of the responsibility to elaborate the preface of a work of the carat literary of “Come home… before the day is over”. After all, the prologue is the reader's host. I accepted the invitation, working on the sketches until the final text, not only because I had the honor of being the author's dad and having rehearsed her first steps. I gave her Ulisses, James Joyce, as a gift, and otherclassics, when realizing her interest in reading and her vocation for the art of writing. Also because I knew her spirit towards nature and the family, her simplicity and her affectionate heart, I concluded that I could not miss the opportunity to fulfill this valuable mission. The book you have started reading will lead you to a profound reflection on women as the most delicate poem of God, the true masterpiece of the Creator, her beauty, virtues, and her genuine values; will make her understand that civil, political and social rights conquered over decades, through various movements, undoubtedly brought the benefits of equal rights for women. The conquest of significant spaces in society
brought about a great rise in all areas and the occupation of important positions in the most diverse fields. However, the vehement desire to achieve social position, wealth, power and glory awakens ambition, greed and greediness, destructive feelings that lead to moral and spiritual exile, and cause loss of sensitivity. In this way, the woman has also been losing part of herself: the love, affection, sweetness, patience, understanding, dedication at home, harmony, peace, the ability to donate and, sometimes, even the respect. It is obvious that spiritual values such as the faith, the family prayer, devotional time, fear of God and meditation on the Word are being affected. This competitiveness is leading women to give greater importance to their social role, forgetting their original ideals. Then comes the time to question and self-analyze: Who am I? What am I doing? Where is that simple and true person, whose dreams were to have a full life, leave a mark of depth, build a home with children, and who had aspirations that did not reach interesting levels just for others? Then, the moment came to review concepts, establish priorities, return to origins, recover values and recover her true identity. The hands that sign expedients were also made to plant
flowers, write poems and make works of art, in addition to stroking tenderly and delicately the soft hair of children, the elderly and the sick. The ostentation, the lust, the pride and the vanity are abhorrent in the eyes of the Lord (Pr 6: 16-19; Rev. 18: 4-7; Eze 24:13). We are home to the Holy Spirit, so we must return to the temple that exists within us to purify it and make it worthy of its inhabitant. The simplicity of before must be inspired by Jesus himself, who being big became small, and even being the owner of the world, he was born in a place considered despicable. In God is the fullness of life that we need. In order to assume this fullness, we have to allow Him to be the reason and the center of everything in our living. In addition to narrating the author's own experiences, her book is also an invitation to the rescue of these lost or forgotten values, but which can be recovered, according to Jesus' teachings, in Luke 15: 8. That woman did not accept the loss of the coin and immediately went in search of the lost drachma until she found it; to this end, he spared no effort, undertook an unremitting search with dedication, diligence and perseverance, living the joy of searching and finding what he had lost.
Values that seem small to us are the greatest in the eyes of God; they are forgotten treasures that can be found, remembered and enlivened in our hearts: that trip to the homeland to find again landscapes that may not even exist anymore and also to see again relatives and friends; visit homes for the elderly, orphanage and hospitals; flip through the old photo album; the restoration of some object with the participation of all; the recovery of what was inherited from forebear women, such as handicrafts, embroidery, paintings and other relics… To seek the drachma, the treasure that is hidden from the world is to make real * the words of the writer and poet Cora Coralina in the poem That's how I see life:
Life has two faces: Positive and negative The past was hard But he left his legacy Knowing how to live is the great wisdom May I dignify My condition as a woman, Accept its limitations And make me a safety stone of values that are falling apart. I was born in rude times
I accepted contradictions, struggles and stones as life lessons and of them Iserve myself I learned to live. The power, the fame and material goods are ephemeral joys, which most often absorb us to the point of distancing us from our essence and from than we have of most important and precious in our life, which can bring us sad consequences. So there is a call from God: Come back ...
*The poem That's how I see life, unpublished, was published originally by the newspaper Folha de São Paulo - Folha Ilustrada section, edition of 04/07/2001
Jesus is calling us back home. We were girls when we left, do you remember? We ran between the bushes, in a meadow with streams of clear water, dry leaves and little rocks. Eyes of kindness were always waiting for us, whether we were in a spacious place or in a little street. Eyes that lived in our hearts. Able to spin with open arms and forgive without hesitation, we were content with papers drawn in colored
pencils that, transformed into boats, traveled in the flash floods, carrying dreams visible to our anxious eyes. We were so close to our essence that, without knowing it, we lived in the kingdom of God. And that kingdom started at home, even when it was not a place worthy of eminence. Thus, girls who lived in a sad home, liked to dream of more beautiful days. In fact, home was the sensory in us. It was the baking tray replete with cake dough, ready to be scraped with our fingers to taste that the delicious recipe. It was the bath, moment when we had foam in our hands and heard the sounds of waterfall when we closed our ears. The home was the parents, brothers and uncles, and also any little corner where we stayed with our thoughts. Home was so many things! Old books, pots with cookies, films made for dancing embracing the furniture and bushes that fluttered in the afternoon wind, near some old and friendly wall. Over time, almost all the girls passed to think it was silly to look from the bottom of a glass to see the colorful world and to imagine butterfly wings. Voices from inside or outside always insisted that we stop following trails of ant, as there was something more urgent to do. In the adult conception, there
would be no possibility for the home to coexist with the waiting rooms, in which supposedly mature people simulated indifference towards those who were right in front of them. So, as soon as we started to dream of a vocation, of a little yellow house on the mountain, of restoring book cabinets and planting beds, next to the good man we would meet, our look were attracted by less simple proposals. It happened when the sound of the streets made us wish for the grandeur in the way of life of the so-called "real women". In a kaleidoscope of countless faces, they emerged commanding other women and men, and paying for their own beauty and the concept of happiness. Carrying makeup brushes and diplomas, they signed a declaration of competence on the clipboards and behind the wheel. These women came to represent the freedom that our mothers (in theory) did not have, pent behind in domestic modesty, using wearing aprons soiled with candy and with their hair misaligned. It seemed to us to be an advance and so much to move from elevators to meetings, and from these to dinners heated by the modern appliances that appeared in the advertisements. We would have more elegant houses, with no objects left by the corridor. Yes, a better life - we thought.
There will always be a crown of honor for women who gift our society with their gifts and talents. Notwithstanding the appeal of the world, many women have sought with integrity a formation that has allowed them to fly above the social sores. Dedicated professionals, heroes on triple journey, balancing responsibilities, have managed to excel in their fields of acting of honestly form and give dignity to a home, often without help from other leaders. However, in the midst of this struggle, what we did not foresee happened. We went transiting insiding in our own conquests, without remembering the prisms that refracted the light and the little notebooks that we had left at home, in which the beginning of our story was noted. Albums with sad girls' eyes, backstage with maternal embroidery, little recipe books and precious fabrics were also there. In the treadmill rolling, other women as determined as we, wanted to transform the world, in a movement also as constant as that of the Earth. The supposed triumph in some areas evidenced other lacks and almost crushed the ludic in us; emerged forgetting values and people who, for God, will always be the smallest on earth and the largest in the heavens.
We came to success, as we wanted, but also to a world of few children with real mothers, of equipment exchanged for consumerist appreciation for the disposable, of zeal for the ego and its masks. When this happened, the residential streets were almost orphaned by women, who have always been the guardians of values and feelings. They were also emptier of boys and girls, who were being locked up in the properties and in the corridors of the schools. There are now too many frustrated women, humiliated by the daily war to reach the swivel chair behind a glass door. How to count how many are resentful of the time wasted away from dining rooms bought with fair sweat? They are rooms dusty with disuse, where these women ask why their children do not come. As ballerinas crystallized on old dressing tables, they miss you. Urge to review the path with the same metric, hand by hand. We have to clean up the vestiges of a combative ambition that splashes in such a way, that the essence of the woman remains hidden under a crust of conveniences and expectations. Exist a silent life that pulsates with identity, says the poet Walt Whitman. A biological record left by God will always shout in alert when His creation err the path.
The normality of every woman's adult life always has its final day; it is broke when she is faced with the image herself in the mirror of some a bathroom. There is that reflected sphinx, looking for the free girl. The lump in the throat is a body's hormonal reserve that has denied its needs for many years. There is a time when every woman pass to suspect that the Holy Spirit is hovering in the backyards and familiars kitchens. She cannot ignore that the work driven only by success, money and ostentation move away poetry and dance. Where are noble relationships and the gratitude response to life? Where are the soft rugs for your bare feet and the jewels of happiness you have fought for? There is an unexperienced story. The woman starts to dream of a life of peace, which caresses her in the middle of the movement. She wishes to hug someone when she wakes up in the morning, to go to fairs and to be able to share with the stall owners some simplicity. They are daydreams that live with the fear of judgment and the end of that what calls of reputation. What would she do if some of her certificates went stuck in the drawer? Generally speaking, our mothers and grandparents did not have such a large numbers of diplomas, money and
equipment. They had no social networks and got out less than we did. Their vacations used to be more modest and they attended less time in school. On the other hand, most women of our times do not dispose of as much contact with the integrity as these predecessors, with their stories. Many did not work for their own reputation, but obtained greater tacit recognition from their family and a home as part of their own identity. The women of the before presented us with less perfect lives and a series of disappointments, but they are crowned by a canopy of roots, values and lessons that continue to be delivered to humanity, even after their departure. And, most of all, they are recognized as matriarchs, when we are not as much as we would like. Who knows it is not late too to understand that teaching how to tie shoelaces translates something that is not clear in the words! The reach of God's favor will not require us to abandon everything we have done and whatever is part of our gift or sacred sweat. With degrees of mercy, He will come hold our hands and lead us away from the deception of self-reliance. The silence of the Bible at our headwaters never meant a concession, as the book of Proverbs says that wisdom screams in corners looking for those who can hear it (Prov 1:20) and
offers a feast to anyone who is willing to sit down at the feet of God (Pr 9:1-5). These scrolls have withstood passage of centuries to describe a home that is source of light for dwellers, neighbors and pilgrims. There, a full woman is building values for eternity (Pr 31: 10-31). On some days, she wakes up early in search of excellence for her family, being creative and persistent. This woman dressing in purple and fine linen, parading authority and generosity among employees and merchants. She is a successful woman, who earned with her work the right to acquire goods and properties. The Proverbs woman not only does all these things, as treats with intelligence the look of others addressed to her home. It is her prayer that leads the whole family to a reputation that is not shaken, commented on corners and plazas; her children receive the public praise and her husband is a prosperous man, invited to occupy relevant positions due to this woman's advice. Love for God and reverence to that His ways are at the center of all her choices and within this cozy house, which exhales delicious food. Voices rise and praise her mother and wife qualities when she passes under the vines she planted. The good news comes to say that this woman survives in us, and that we need not fear the cold, abandonment or day
tomorrow. Adored with our new raiment, we will emerge from the sadness of the losses to the glorious courage that is in Christ! Throughout these pages, God's love will be revealed, blowing into our ears who we should be and what we need to seek. He will take us back home, a place of longing where that one child still lives; he will take us to laughter and lightness, in a profound instance. Only then will we be able to help others and feel that our life has been worthwhile. That is why we recognize Him as our Savior. The beloved will call us beauties; tell us that winter has passed and that the time for singing has arrived at our lives. To live in these new palaces, each woman will have to leave outside the portals the addiction to the immediatist requirement and enter the courtyard where there will be healing. From glory to glory, we will be transformed into this relevant woman, extremely valuable to the husband, the children and parents, attentive to love and friendships, home and heritage. We will be friends, gathered in an abundant tea of poetry, strolling through places and reviewing people who may not even live anymore, whom we will remember in memorial meetings to revisit truths.
Come this way. The gates are now open to the vegetable garden newly watered by rain, leading to compassion, which looms over tangible things, which could suck the meaning out of our existence. Until the last page, we will find the blue window through which the morning sun enters and the hope embroidered by your own hands!
And the Lord shall guide thee continually, and satisfy thy soul in drought, and make fat thy bones: and thou shalt be like a watered garden, and like a spring of water, whose waters fail not. (Isa 58:11)
I intended to arrive early in my sector that Tuesday and anticipate a late job. That was when I saw a lady by the side of the road, close to home. The hot sun in her fully gray hair made me stop. She was bent and walked slowly. I opened the car window and asked if she wanted a ride. As soon as I stopped, the lady thanked with a dozen maternal exclamations. Only then did I recognize her. Years ago, when we arrived in the region to stay, I had visited her in a many-roomed mansion, where she received people to pray. Dona Maria - was what they called her. She has not changed, as do not change the old ladies who maintain the
inner simplicity, in fact. I noticed that She was using a dress with small prints. She was so small that I had to help her move up into the car bench. When she told me where she was going, I calculated I would have to deviate my way about twenty minutes to get her to her destination. I looked at her again and had no doubts about whether to make that or not. After all, she was the type of woman that everyone would call "old little lady". Who could leave an old little lady away from her destination? Our path passed through a sector of farms and conservation areas. We started a dialogue to try to break the monotony. I told her that, years before, I had known her house of with large burgundy windows and plants on the balcony. I asked how her life was, how her children and her husband were. She sadly started to tell me that one of her daughters had died the previous year, after a serious illness. She started to cry and wipe her face on the sleeves of her beautiful flower dress. I cried with her that blow that mistreated her old heart. I thought about parking the car to hug her, but she must have noticed my movements and, not wanting to cause me any further delays, she stared fixedly straight ahead with her
tight eyes telling me that everything was fine now. I searched for words of consolation for the woman with the wrinkled face. For her age, she might as well be my grandmother. We arrived at the supermarket where she was going to do her shopping for the month and I started to say goodbye with a hug that she sustained, squeezing my arms tenderly. In that parking lot, she prayed for me aloud and in such a grateful and loving way that I left for work with a feeling that life had brought me until there. As soon as I arrived at the environmental reserve, I met with one of the architects and we started talking about the traffic, until I described to him the meeting with that lady. He laughed, commenting that he was past the phase in which a little old woman would be able to make him cry. Days later, he himself came into my room office in a hurry. He was between excited and moved, because on the same route he had met that little old lady and offered her a ride to the point near her destination. On the way, she asked questions about his life and, in possession of the answers, began to pray for them all loud and clear, right there on the highway. The irony is that, in telling this, he also had active tears that denounced his perception of depth about this special moment.
Understanding the life of a person who takes pleasure in giving prayers as a gift is not something easy. Since that time, however, I believe that encounters with little old women on the road can literally change the direction of our lives. A Rose Garden is a woman's faith and the place she can go in times of affliction or ecstasy. The aroma of this Garden is distributed in drops to family, friends and whoever passes by. Each time a woman sighs for the answer, swallowing her own inability about what to do, she is being called to pray. Every time there is a silence of gratitude or longing, it means that she is being invited to a supreme meeting. Women thirsty for the deep love of God can, in this nook and in this space of time, read the words written in the Bible and drink from them, so that they flood their thirsty soul. Women… ah, the women! In them have been drawn, from the beginning , river veins. They are passage and stop on the road that goes to the lands of friends and of the other families. The first woman received this incredible biological character. A genetic
inheritance of sophisticated geometric patterns, and which makes us able to decode life, was the God's gift to us.
Despite historical mutations, the elegance of the soul of women continues leading each one of us (when we wish) to the silence of a broken spirit, in which veils are broken revealing what is invisible. Therefore, we embrace with naturally the supernatural. Women have intuition, impressions, keep images, wish to probe and connect poles of those same impressions, and to deepen the dialogue with those who accompany them, even though the company is reluctant to talk. The beauty of women is the same that goes down the flower's throat, painted in a torn way in femininity until the belly, in hues of transparency pink and lilac. To keep this design and all the geometry thought, it depends on a daily return to the Creator's garden, to Eden sheltered in the heart. Bitter and choked women resent life's amputations, striking those around them with the same impetus with which
they were injured. Only prayer can restore the genetic soul that they should have. Every woman needs to choose a place where not only her, but also her home meets God. Pillows, Bibles, devotionals, songs and creative ideas can make this place a sanctuary with glorious tributes. Her companion will learn, over the years, to search the warmth of this refuge that refreshes the spirit. Her children will learn to pray, tutored by maternal or paternal conduction. The moment you decide that God is your own life, the time a woman sets aside for that friendship will tell you a lot about priorities. Modernity has an advantage that is also converted in a serious question: makes us select the item we want and exclude what is not convenient for us. That is why so many women choose not to pray. They select the option “not to pray” using the same logic that has always accompanied them: the worldly look that decides what has a palpable utility. Many desire, however, the excellent results of a prayer life. However, the terrain of spirituality is not for sale and does not submit. It is necessary to stop, seek and, mainly, be silent to listen God. It
is necessary to be submissive to a greater love that will not bow to human agendas. All women should dedicate their best daily time to a long conversation with the Creator. Saying that your prayer time happens only while doing other things, like driving or showering, is like confessing that you don't understand who God is. But God tells us in His Word, "I am" (Ex 3:14). Without Him, any and all aspiration threads lose their sense. Your entire life needs to be a prayer, but without the donation of that initial hour, that moment more valuable than all the others, there is no what can be done in matter of building an integral and straight life. If you don't have a life of prayer, a time of faith and meditation, a place to throw your fears with sincerity, if don't have lists of what to talk to God about, exposing the secrets and situations you have no control over, it's not possible to maintain hopes for any real form of success. I remember the night I asked God Himself why we pray. The answer came at dawn, in a dream. As if it were very far away, I saw a web of lights that covered the planet, with illuminated meeting points. There were also fine threads that, when touching these points, were lit slowly. God was
telling me something beautiful with that image. He shared to me that we are connected to our fellow man and that we have the option to enlighten and bless each other while we pray. From that day on, I realized how special the gesture of praying for someone is. I learned that the secret of prayer is love. A loving God does not accept words that have no connection and deep affection. Jesus was extremely sensitive to people's pain when he walked among us. He cried, loved, got involved with their problems and followed them to their homes, changing their lives, donating himself out of love for humanity. That is the key to stopwalking in circles. God does not want our minutia to make Him more God. He simply wants us to participate in the miracle, sharing with Him the sublime gift of creation. And there is no way to make understandable such immense generosity. We want so much that situations transform our life, when we so often ignore the miracle ways that the Master taught us! Loving makes it possible to pray and both are the paths to impact hearts through a power above our strength. There are days when we are stuck at the entrance of the maze of bills, schedules and appointments, imagining that
a miracle could happen; that things could suddenly change - our boss, the traffic, our address. Magic things could happen, we conclude. A trap of these times intends to confuse our minds about the concepts of fantasy and miracle. Miracles are not magical events, but voluntary acts in which faith moves the real world; it involves the sovereign will of God and people. It is possible that just this concept will make you give up, but a life of daily miracles is what God desires for us. Also, there is no miracle without a dream. The first bed of illness that you need to leave is the one that imprisons your dreams and offers inert position. The material of miracle is the cherished, beloved dream, in a personal gestation that involves work and creation. Dreams are matrixes for generating love and doing good. Dreams can be tiny or immense and they all fit into prayers, becoming granaries for seeds that will generate miracles. Many dreams are planted by God in us so that we can see with our own eyes its transformation, since the raw material to a beauty to be touched and felt. In our family, we built a house with a balcony and an orchard and dreamed that the birds would come to make their
nests. We started to pray for it and, at a certain time, we started to see many nests. It was a small dream, but we understood it as big when the children announced the creation of a rescue station for injured birds. Dream and pray deeply for wonderful friendships and you will have them; dream and pray for a welcoming home and you will see it be born from the heart of God and from paper; dream and cry out to move to your hometown and one day you will be returning, if this is the Father's will. Dream and pray in a meticulous way and never stop. Faith is a flowerbed planted by the hands of those who worked hard and faced the sun of circumstances to achieve something that they do not see, but that they know is there, after the mountains. It is the simple dialogue with the wind, but it is also the design of the spiral inside the seed: it is necessary to look with surprise each nuance, to irrigate the mounds of earth, observing the rainbow that water makes. These rituals of faith and precision, carried over to our prayers, will one day show us the glory of the Lord in our lives. True faith is born out of both pause and movement in the middle of the day. Our prayers are a supper to which the Lord is the invited. Pronounced at the edge of the sink, while
we cut the seasoning and cook lunch, they are heated in the everyday pot. Wiped with the arm or in the sleeve of blouses, our tears are collected by God (Ps 56: 8). There are in us futile and fleeting desires, but there are also those that have living roots that are and full of truth. At this point, the expression of that will is something of great value. Read about Jesus' miracles and will see that He wanted to hear the hearts of His followers (Mark 10:51; John 5:6). Although He knew exactly what they were going to say, He took pleasure in the expression of their feelings and in the fulfillment of their dreams When we are praying for a change that is not within our reach, prayer turns a gesture of humility and dependence on the Most High. An interesting word to translate the prayer is to invoke. No one invokes without, first, recognizing that he or she is at an inferior point. There is no miracle without hard work after the miracle comes. The hardness of this work is also provided of the same beauty that the fruit has when it falls from the tree and fertilizes the earth, donating its seeds to generate another tree. We need to die for our selfishness, let our sweat and our
thinking move our hands, to transmute the things already dreamed through prayer and effort. When I wanted to go home, to my essence, happened something special. I told God that I no longer intended to live a superficial life and expressed all my feelings in long hours of prayer. I imagined details and shared them with my best Friend, venting about the incoherence that I had watched around me and those that I had felt in my inside. I was talking about how much I wanted small joys. As the days went by, God began to allow me to live situations in which I could accompany my children. Old friendships reappeared and the feeling of longing went through me. God created a new schedule for me, with very simple goals like taking better care of some plants and visiting my parents. It is such an effective schedule that, when I least expect it, I am fulfilling all responsibilities without the weight of a burden. However, nothing surprises me more than the Lord's ability to change agendas. There are days when I even get calls that postpone appointments. My hope is set in the beauty of the alchemy process, which takes us to God and allows us to experience transcendent living.
Right now, for example, I am praying for your life. By faith, I can see a woman that looks for the tranquility that exists in the early hour of the morning, before everyone wakes up, when the sounds of the day outside are the barking of dogs and the birds singing. This woman knows that waking up early to be in prayer leads to the quantum miracle of economy of many hours of anguish. Near the armchair that she has separated for prayers, there is a basket, in which she can rest her books and people's names. I can see how slowly she begins to recite his gratitude for so many joys. She thanks for the baby tooth of the daughter and for the cure of a relative. As she speaks, this place is becoming sacred and blessed. I can see the light that is surrounding everything. A friendly God, who keeps every detail of her childhood and account with a sadsorrow this woman's sad days, is right next door, but she could not notice yet. He saw her yesterday when she was impatient with the street worker, while she was parking the car and registered her critical look at the handwriting of her still immature son. He watches her now and strokes her hair in a way that she, inexplicably, begins to feel.
This woman regains a loving heart and the ability to overcome, to learn from her own failures. In these minutes of the silent morning, words that came out slow from the lips will spring from the rock touched by the Father (Ex 17: 6). These words will, bit by bit, be transformed into a torrent that carries pain and moistens the land of ideals. Drops of peace will be washing the soulling and soaking the seeds. The lips, little by little, will confess to the Holy Spirit the inability to understand the words of the Bible and this beautiful Counselor will blow its mysteries. Anyway, will come the silence so longed-for. Human silence can mean absence and contempt, but what to say about the silence there is in prayer time? He spreads answers throughout the day, in surprises sent from heaven at every precise moment. Praying is like finding an oasis among the noise of the world and bathing in its pure waters, secretly. We began to perceive the hour of prayer as a delicious and desired meeting. Maybe additional mornings may be needed to talk and listen, listen, listen. This is the encounter of love that precedes all others and that makes other experiences truly eternal.
This is how get back home and to the essence, which is the starting point and also the port of arrival. Then,, finally, life starts to make sense.
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About the author…
Andréa Faulhaber lives in a country house, with her beloved husband and two precious children, capturing the essence of the instants. In counting of the delicacies, she marks the days by the biblical path that proposes to lead every person to a wise heart (Ps 90:12). The author travels real and virtual distances, carrying in letters the balm of the love of Christ, while her hands continue to be extended to readers from different continents and distinct cultures. She has worked for decades as a journalist who has elected for herself the areas of human ecology and popular culture for children - and sounds that echo through remote villages and regions through the Casa da Árvore program (Radio Câmara). Its story yet revisits songs, legends and games - in a ciranda of intentions focused on the universe of poetry in everyday life. Between the sound of birds and a cup of coffee, it transcends borders in an invitation to go back to the origins and to a life full of meaning.