One Father

One Father is about Jesus—who while walking the earth was called Yeshua.

As a book it is not easily defined. It’s not a genre, a doctrine, or a formula. It’s more like a thread—ancient, living—echos of midrash in resonance, waiting to be traced by those who feel the pull. It doesn’t begin at the beginning, nor does it end at the end. It circles. It breathes. It draws the reader into a pattern they may have glimpsed before but never fully seen, heard of but never head through.

This book does not demand belief. It invites remembrance and recognition.
Not of facts, but of design. Not of traditions, but of structure.
It is less about answers than it is about order. Less about certainty than it is about restoration.

For some, it may read like prophecy. For others, like architecture.
For some, it will feel like home. For others, like the fire that guards the way back.

It explores the possibility that what we’ve called faith might be missing its frame. That what we’ve accepted as “the way things are” may be built on a series of quiet departures from what once was good. It gently suggests that the Garden was not just a story of where we fell, but a blueprint for what can still be built.

There is no dogma here. Only a voice—sometimes soft, sometimes sharp—that points toward something older than culture and deeper than custom. A voice that whispers in the bones of fathers, mothers, sons, and saints: Come back. Not to a system. Not to a slogan. To the breath before words. To the place where the Light was first called good.

One Father does not try to resolve the tensions. It lets them speak.
It walks between the lines of revelation and reason, law and love, covenant and consequence. It doesn’t stand above Scripture but beneath it—listening for the echoes, the patterns, the living symmetry beneath the page.

You won’t find a clear map inside. But you may find your bearings.
You may hear a name you forgot you carried.
You may see the garden differently. Or the sword. Or the Son.

You may not agree with everything. You’re not supposed to.
But you may find that something in you stands up straighter.
As if called. As if remembered.

It does all of this with a hint of the prophetic in attitude, and a cool breeze by waters in it's feel.