Song of Solomon
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Yesterday was long. Four hours to San Francisco. Four hours in pre-op, surgery, and recovery. Four more hours to get back home. Today, it’s already time to start therapy. The kind that comes with cracking and bleeding. The kind they tell you will be “excruciating” like they’re forecasting the weather.
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At noon today, I go under the knife again. The setting is different this time—scheduled, prepped, expected—but the anxiety is familiar. I’m hoping for more mobility. Less pain. A stronger grip. But beneath it all, a deeper question still presses in…
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It happened over coffee. Noah, the college director at our church, asked to meet. He wanted to share the vision for the ministry—young adults craving connection, longing for truth, needing voices who had been around the block and lived to tell about it. Then he said it…
