Dearest Friends, 

Is God Real? 

 Last night on the street in Tralee was crazy. It is the Rose of Tralee festival. Lights decorated the streets with flashing roses and even an American flag. The noise from the other street performers was deafening. At one point, the crowd was over 200. In truth, the crowds were big at every show. There were so many children. We tied an ocean of balloons. The children were very curious about the puppets. I spent one song kneeling in front of the stage, trying to keep the puppets from being pulled out of the stage. 

 Though some were not the best behaved, they were very attentive to the story. I was so surprised at the way they stared at me, hungry to hear every word. Their eyes spoke their deep need for Jesus. During the story, puppeteers came out and sat with the children, watching out for them and loving them.  One group of children gathered around my easel as we were doing our last song. Reality sings and a set of puppets that we made to look like them sings with them. I always draw the cliff illustration as the puppets sing "Oh Happy Day." On the either side of me, there was singing. The children asked me what I was drawing. I explained to them how they could know Jesus and how He is their bridge, their way to God. They listened so sweetly, so eagerly to the message of God’s great rescue plan. 

 Two little girls came up to me after we finished. One little girl said, "You are a nice lady. Please.. Is God real?" My heart leaped for joy that I could answer her question. My heart broke that she had to ask. I spent the next 10 minutes telling two precious little ones who God is. When I told them that He knows the number of hairs on their head., the smiled and gasped in wonder. 

Please pray for the little girls to come back today. They promised they would. Pray for all the children and adults who will come today. Ask God to make us bright lights for Him. Tonight, we are on the main stage, the only Christians given this privilege.

 In Jesus,
Linda for Coleen, Sara, Sam C., Sam S., Anna, and Reality