We sit in a parking lot near the lumber yard while the car shakes with my sobs.
“Are you going to be okay?” he asks. “Do you want to go home?”
Sometimes I wish I wasn’t so sensitive. I wish I could separate God pleasing from people pleasing. I wish I didn’t feel another’s pain, or feel like I feel it.
I wish I didn’t feel so tired of this situation.
I wish I didn’t feel. so. helpless.
We decide to go on, and I dream of face throbbing to the sun’s beat, of body bobbing on waves, of water washing away tense.
But the closer we get, the further the sun gets. It buries itself in gray. And our one summer day at Lake Michigan seems destined for disappointment.
To be continued over at BibleDude.net. Meet you there.