Some years ago I wrote a series of stories. I wrote them without thinking about publishing them, much less to share this set of stories with so many people; I only experienced that with my closest friends and some relatives. Then, one day I gathered all those stories into a book which I entitled "The Lighthouse of Asaph," because I like lighthouses a lot, and the name of Asaph due to a man of the Bible who was sad and discouraged. Every year, when arriving the terrible and threatening hurricanes of the Caribbean, I lose sleep and the happiness, fearing that the strong winds could pull up the trees that my father planted almost forty years ago; some of them are already rootless, but there are still many in foot and this fact is one of the best memories that I have of him. Many times my mother and I were praying next to the door while the wind blew irresistibly outdoors. When I think of something like that, I also imagine that our faith can be considered as trees which are looked after by other people, new ones can be planted as renovated reasons and good actions and ideals to be fed, comparable with lovely kept seeds of those old demolished trees. A new way to rescue the faith from the mean of the pain that exists around us may be thought as well. Many times my memories and thoughts transformed into dry leaves, then they were gathered as ashes, but one day, miraculously, all those ideals began to hold testimonies, varied texts and memories that could be good for others to begin again. It was not a simply personal game of learning how to use words but of reviving myself when using them.