At first glance, Bigger by Anthony Gifford might seem like a story about aging, loss, and the slow dimming of purpose. But within a few pages, it becomes something larger, a meditation on the persistence of wonder and the stubborn endurance of faith. It tells us, gently but firmly, that the age of miracles never ended. We just stopped noticing.

Anthony Gifford, at eighty-two, represents anyone who has felt forgotten by time. His words, once his ministry, have grown quiet. His prayers have turned into echoes. Then, as if summoned by his own longing, the universe responds a small red stone falls from the sky, carrying with it a pulse of light and meaning. That moment marks the rebirth not of youth, but of purpose.

What follows is a narrative that blurs the boundary between spiritual memoir and modern parable. Gifford writes with humility, never presenting himself as prophet or saint. The healing energy that flows through him isn’t about spectacle or proof; it’s about service. When he shares that gift with others, he learns that true faith doesn’t seek to be seen; it seeks to be shared.

The novel’s greatest triumph is its refusal to explain the unexplainable. In a culture obsessed with evidence, Bigger stands as a quiet act of rebellion, a defense of mystery. Gifford asks us to imagine a world where compassion itself is the miracle, where science and spirit coexist not as opposites but as partners in awe.

Through tender storytelling, he reminds readers that faith isn’t found in noise or crowds, but in the still, small moments when love moves faster than logic. The elderly hero who begins the book disillusioned becomes, by its end, the embodiment of hope, proof that purpose doesn’t retire, it evolves.

When the last page turns, the reader is left with more than inspiration; they’re left with a challenge: to live alertly, to love without hesitation, to believe again in what cannot be measured. Anthony Gifford’s Bigger whispers what the world has forgotten to shout: the miraculous is still among us, waiting not to be discovered, but to be recognized.