This letter is to introduce MAO.
Though quite unassuming, don’t sleep on this facet of his presentation. No doubt you know better, dear Father.
Am relying on you with great stock aforehand placed in you, that you have already available a place of refuge for him.
As you know, I am at hand. Nearby.
MAO, has no commendable features. Barring one. Life has stripped him of all the assumed negotiable merits. So it was that the end product you see before you has upon its brow, after effects of not only windshere, but various weatherings.
But none of this evidence is to be assumed as meritourious. No, none in the least.
Yes, he has not supplied any sustenance for self, no, this is why I have supplied this letter of introduction for him.
He saw fit not to care for himself, Father.
He did some crazy things, if he is to be assessed by some of his actions, from a popular viewpoint, Father.
And true in the measure of time and space, he and I were never at approximate measures. But in Spirit, we were conjoined.
I have no doubt that you will embrace him, doing so, as you would embrace me. Knowing that my Word goes along way in representation, and in this letter’s bona fides.
As I pointed out he has nothing to recommend him, except for one. Substitution. I know, that though what you see before you is dressed in rags, and unseemly. His posture is poor, and eyes are full of tears. I don’t have to tell you that they are tears of joy. Tears of gratitude and thanks for the meaning of this letter.
Accord him all the graces you would accord me, I trust.
And, oh yes, I apologize for your having to wrest this letter from the clutches of his mangled hand, for it meant very life itself to him, my beloved Father.
A home. A eternal home. Love, a eternal love.
Signed your Son; Jesus
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