Why I wrote a book retelling the greatest story ever told.

As a young teenager, whenever I came across stories about Jesus, he seemed to be about peace, kindness, sacrifice, freedom and affirmation. Everybody he encountered – rich, poor, sick, healthy – seemed to walk away with their life changed. It made me want to learn more about him.

It wasn’t religion I was after – as a teenager I wasn’t exactly hungry for more rules and restrictions – but I did like the sound of the freedom and empowerment that seemed to come from being around this guy. What I didn’t know was how it would truly change me from the inside out.

Having a Christian faith can be difficult to articulate, but I know I have the light of the Almighty within me. At times I have ignored it and tried to live without it. But my heart is restless when I try to live on my strength alone. I am not too proud to admit that I need my Saviour within me.

And it’s easy to be cynical about faith, but I have realised that doubts are ok. That’s part of it all. To seek truth and choose faith is courageous. Life and the wild have taught me that the tougher path often ends up being the most fulfilling one.

I’ve witnessed the gift God gives us change so many lives over the years. None of us deserves it. I certainly don’t. If anything, I am more aware than ever how often I have failed, yet still I am forgiven. That’s why Christ turned everything on its head. His forgiveness is free because he has paid the price. He took our place on the cross. He died to set us free. No wonder they call it the greatest story ever told.

The story I have written in my new book is His story, Jesus’ own story, told from the perspective of the first eyewit­nesses. I deliberately stuck closely to the accounts recorded in the four gospels, though some dialogue and other details have been added for context and flow. But not a single word of Jesus has been changed from the original accounts in the New Testament. I have used different English translations to capture his words depending on the context.

In writing a book like this, I also wanted to be authentic to the original setting and to avoid anglicised names that are over-familiar to many of us. The region in which Yeshua (Jesus) lived was complicated and remains contested to this day. Greek and Latin were the dominant languages throughout the Roman Empire at that time. Yeshua himself was Jewish and would have read the Scriptures in Hebrew. However, as a Galilean, Yeshua’s everyday language would have been Aramaic. The Gospels beautifully preserve some of Jesus’ most intimate words in Aramaic.

So I’ve used a mixture of Greek, Hebrew and Aramaic names for people and places to reflect the social context of Yeshua’s time.

Below is a small section from the book when a small selection of Yeshua’s followers saw him ascend into heaven, ahead of that great Pentecost Sunday.

When forty days had passed since he first appeared in the garden, Yeshua made his final appearance to us. One moment we were alone, then there he was among us, again. He said nothing about this being the last physical visitation that he would make. With hindsight, I should have known.

He led us out of the house, down through the city gates and along the valley, up beyond Gad Smane and into the hills towards Beth ’Anya. The journey we had done so many times together.

When we reached the top of this small hill, called Tura Zita, the Mount of Olives, Yeshua turned and stopped. He reached out his hands to us and held on tight to each of us in turn. Andreas asked him, ‘Master, are you going to restore your kingdom now? Is this the time?’

Yeshua told them that God’s own Spirit would come to them. ‘Dates and times. They are not for you to know. But the Holy Spirit will come upon you and give you power. You will be my witnesses. You will tell people everywhere about me – in Yerushalayim, in the rest of Yehuda, in Samaria, and in every part of the world.’

His arms were now raised above him, and his eyes closed. His head lifted up to the heavens. Suddenly, the light around him started to change. And a brightness began to shine out from him. A brightness that was almost impossible to look at. Then a cloud began to form around him. A cloud that circled him and slowly began to lift Yeshua off the ground.

We all stood there, holding each other, and we watched our friend – the Master, the Lord, the Messiah – slowly disappear among the cloud until he was gone. There was no fanfare. No grand goodbye. Just that swirling cloud around him as he was raised higher and higher.

And then, just like that, Yeshua was gone.

We were left staring up into the clouds above.

As we stood there, suddenly two angels appeared beside us.

‘You Galileans! Why do you just stand here looking up at an empty sky?’

We all looked at each other in awed surprise. But with no paralysing fear anymore.

How strange, I thought, that this is no longer strange.

Then one of the angels spoke: ‘This very Yeshua who was taken up from among you to heaven will come as certainly – and mysteriously – as he left.’

My thoughts on this extract:

Put yourself in this scene for a second.

These were ordinary men and women.

Not superheroes. Not saints.

Just tired, hopeful, confused people who had already watched their teacher arrested, beaten, crucified… then somehow alive again.

And now, just when things feel steady, just when they think maybe everything will finally make sense…

He leaves.

His parting message:

“You will receive power… and you will be my witnesses.”

Most of us would have probably preferred instructions.

A plan.

A guarantee.

But faith rarely works like that.

We all want control. Certainty.

We want to know:

When will this get better?
When will the storm pass?
When will the breakthrough come?

But life doesn’t give us those answers.

In the wild you don’t always know when the weather will turn.
You often don’t know if the trail will get any easier over the next crest.
We don’t know if we will have the strength for whatever is to come.

You just take the next step.

And trust you’ll find what you need along the way.

That’s what He’s saying here.

Whatever is to come, you will receive the power to face it.

“Why do you just stand here looking up?”

This might be my favourite line.

Because it brings them back into the reality of the world they are left in.

They’re just standing there, staring at the sky.

Frozen.

And the angels basically say:

Don’t just stand there.

Move.

Live.

Go.

It’s such a human moment.

We do the same thing.

We wait.

We wait for the perfect sign.
The perfect conditions.
The fear to disappear.

Courage isn’t something we wait around to feel.

It’s something we choose.

And it’s often manifested in the act of taking that first step.

Faith isn’t standing still staring at the sky.

It’s lacing up your boots and striding forth!

But doubt is normal.

I think this is important.

These same people had doubted before.

They’d run.
Hidden.
Questioned everything.

And yet they were still chosen.

Which tells us something powerful.

Doubt doesn’t disqualify us.

It makes us human.

Every one of us wrestles with fear and questions.

On mountains. In business. In family life. In faith.

The goal isn’t to eliminate doubt.

It’s to keep going anyway.

To take the next small step.

To choose courage over comfort.

Again and again. In all the small and big moments.

So what is this passage ultimately saying.

To me, it says this:

We’re not promised an easy life.

We’re not promised clarity.

We’re not promised the full plan.

But we are promised strength.

We’re promised that we’re not alone.

And we’re invited to rise anyway.

To be witnesses.

Not perfect people.

Not fearless people.

Just ordinary people who show up with grit, kindness and faith.

People who keep walking when the cloud rolls in.

People who help each other up.

People who refuse to give up.

When life feels uncertain, try this:

Don’t stare at the sky.

Take the next step.

Help the person beside you.

Trust that the strength you need will meet you there.

Never give up.