He sat with me in silence. The sound of the pencil sketching swiftly along his notepad. We sat so long, I became unaware of his presence, the room taken over by the sound of him working feverishly to finish this task.
Abruptly he glanced at me and said, "I'll be the first to admit it. There are moments in my solitude when my soul needs to relieve small burdens, but no words come forth. What do you call that? I inquire, 'Does he still hear me?' ...Search my inner depths for the perfect words, I swear I do, because I never want to go to heaven and hear him say, 'Well you didn't ask.' But they never come out...NEVER! I continue through my days... skipping the cracks where I have strength enough to jump. Sometimes I don't discern the cracks' locations and stumble. I'll be the first to admit that too. Situations, ya know... they come, go, begin and end. Did I not pray the right words? I laugh to myself because I know I prayed the right words, I just didn't heed to his guiding. Next time, maybe next time, I will listen. One thing I do listen for is my mission. To feel that feeling that vibrates through my body in a color and a note made for me. So I know what I am doing is RIGHT, JUST and LEGACY worthy. Sometimes I'm not so sure about my prayer for that either. Maybe soon he will show me. Until then, my soul does this word less prayer. Meaningful, but word less...have you ever had one of those? You know, when your soul says it all, but no words come forth. What do you call that?"
I shrug, slightly confused and lovingly intrigued by this rhetorical conversation gifted me.
He replied, "You don't know?"
Stared blankly in my direction, almond eyes wide, and softly mumbled, "Me either."
His head dropped in humble understanding as he continued his sketch.
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