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“Eventually, he looks up at me. I’m not sure how I can tell—the hood only moves a few inches. “Do you believe in God?”
My night could seriously not be more surreal. I wet my lips and answer honestly. “I don’t know.”
He doesn’t challenge me, which I was worried about. “There’s this verse I like,” he says. “ ‘The one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind.’ ”
My eyes narrow. “Are you quoting the Bible?”
“Yes.” He says this like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “You know what I like about it? I like how it makes doubt seem inevitable. It’s okay to be unsure.”
― More Than We Can Tell
My night could seriously not be more surreal. I wet my lips and answer honestly. “I don’t know.”
He doesn’t challenge me, which I was worried about. “There’s this verse I like,” he says. “ ‘The one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind.’ ”
My eyes narrow. “Are you quoting the Bible?”
“Yes.” He says this like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “You know what I like about it? I like how it makes doubt seem inevitable. It’s okay to be unsure.”
― More Than We Can Tell
“Are you okay?” he says.
My breath shakes. “Do you know the story of the Prodigal Son?”
“Oh my god. Rev—”
“Do you?”
He sighs. “I don’t remember the whole thing.”
So I tell him the story.
He listens. When I’m done, he says, “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Which one am I?” I finally ask.
“Rev—”
“I didn’t stay with my father. So I’m obviously not the devoted son.”
“Dude.”
“But is that saying that if I went back to him, he’d welcome me with open arms? Am I supposed to be that son?”
“Are you listening to yourself right now?”
“No.” I study him. My voice is a breath away from breaking. “Help me, Dec. Which one am I?”
His eyes are dark and serious. “Neither. Is that what you need me to say? You’re neither son.
“But—”
“You’re not selfish. You wouldn’t be the son who asks for his money and leaves. And you’re not spiteful. You don’t resent anyone, even the one person you should.”
I flinch again. “Don’t you understand? I have to be one or the other.”
“No, you don’t! You moron, there are three people in the story.”
“What?”
“You’re neither son, Rev. If you’re anyone, you’re the man who watched his kids act like total dicks, only to stand there with open arms and forgive them.”
I’m speechless. I might be gaping at him. As many times as I’ve read that parable, I’ve never considered a third perspective. But of course it’s right there. It’s so clear.
Declan pulls his pillow away from the wall, fluffs it up, and lies back down. He yawns. “Now. Tell me about the girl.”
― More Than We Can Tell
My breath shakes. “Do you know the story of the Prodigal Son?”
“Oh my god. Rev—”
“Do you?”
He sighs. “I don’t remember the whole thing.”
So I tell him the story.
He listens. When I’m done, he says, “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Which one am I?” I finally ask.
“Rev—”
“I didn’t stay with my father. So I’m obviously not the devoted son.”
“Dude.”
“But is that saying that if I went back to him, he’d welcome me with open arms? Am I supposed to be that son?”
“Are you listening to yourself right now?”
“No.” I study him. My voice is a breath away from breaking. “Help me, Dec. Which one am I?”
His eyes are dark and serious. “Neither. Is that what you need me to say? You’re neither son.
“But—”
“You’re not selfish. You wouldn’t be the son who asks for his money and leaves. And you’re not spiteful. You don’t resent anyone, even the one person you should.”
I flinch again. “Don’t you understand? I have to be one or the other.”
“No, you don’t! You moron, there are three people in the story.”
“What?”
“You’re neither son, Rev. If you’re anyone, you’re the man who watched his kids act like total dicks, only to stand there with open arms and forgive them.”
I’m speechless. I might be gaping at him. As many times as I’ve read that parable, I’ve never considered a third perspective. But of course it’s right there. It’s so clear.
Declan pulls his pillow away from the wall, fluffs it up, and lies back down. He yawns. “Now. Tell me about the girl.”
― More Than We Can Tell
“He says the Internet makes too many people loud, and too many people silent, but the loud people are all we hear. We have to ask questions to hear the silent people.”
― More Than We Can Tell
― More Than We Can Tell
“Thank you.” “For what?” “For seeing me.”
― More Than We Can Tell
― More Than We Can Tell
“The rain is colder than I expect—which is ridiculous, since it’s March. My cheeks are freezing by the time we go two blocks, my hair has a sodden weight on my shoulder. My glasses are so wet I need to shove them in a pocket. I threw Mom’s pullover windbreaker over my sweatshirt before leaving the house, thinking it would be waterproof, but I am so wrong.
By the time I make the final turn for the church, I wonder if I’m stupid for being out here. It’s pouring so hard that a haze has formed around the streetlight, and I can barely see anything through the darkness.
My sneakers squish in the grass. I get to the spot where we sat for the last two nights.
And of course he’s not there.
I sigh. Only a complete moron would go meet in the rain.
Then Texy woofs and bounces on her front paws.
I turn, and it’s like I’m in a chick flick. His shadowed figure lopes across the grass.
Okay, maybe the dark and rain make it more like a horror movie than a romantic comedy, BUT STILL.
He draws to a stop in front of me. He had the sense to wear a heavy, waterproof coat over his hoodie, but the hood is soaked and rain drips down his cheeks.
“Hey,” he says, his voice a little loud over the rain.
I’m blushing. I tell my cheeks to knock it off. “Hey.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d show up, but I didn’t have a way to text you …”
“I had the same thought process.”
― More Than We Can Tell
By the time I make the final turn for the church, I wonder if I’m stupid for being out here. It’s pouring so hard that a haze has formed around the streetlight, and I can barely see anything through the darkness.
My sneakers squish in the grass. I get to the spot where we sat for the last two nights.
And of course he’s not there.
I sigh. Only a complete moron would go meet in the rain.
Then Texy woofs and bounces on her front paws.
I turn, and it’s like I’m in a chick flick. His shadowed figure lopes across the grass.
Okay, maybe the dark and rain make it more like a horror movie than a romantic comedy, BUT STILL.
He draws to a stop in front of me. He had the sense to wear a heavy, waterproof coat over his hoodie, but the hood is soaked and rain drips down his cheeks.
“Hey,” he says, his voice a little loud over the rain.
I’m blushing. I tell my cheeks to knock it off. “Hey.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d show up, but I didn’t have a way to text you …”
“I had the same thought process.”
― More Than We Can Tell
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