Ruthless Trust: The Ragamuffin's Path to God

John had been kneeling for hours. His hair was matted to his head and his face had the grey craggy look of a man that hadn't eaten or slept in days.
There were no windows, and the air was filled with the smell of mildew and stale smoke. John's room was empty except for a rickety wooden cot and a small table standing next to it. A flickering candle splattered the walls with yellow light from its precarious perch on the edge of the table.