Of course, he would never tell you the truth of the matter. Neither would he brave 40 days nor 40 nights. He would never tell you of the days he found his father blindly wandering. Never of the days he would find bruises upon skin. Never of the nights he would wake to a scream. Why would he. The father was nothing if not a saint. He only fed unto him what was needed. Even if what was needed was a rumbling stomach. Of course he would listen, or he would spoil the rod. In godliness there is only good, there can be no wrong. It is he who was wrong, his eyes are wrong. He has no say. He who is silent is godly. He who speaks is beyond his salvation.

It is only the way.