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But before the words could escape, Darius pressed his lips together and broke his gaze. “Thanks. I appreciate that. I’ve just been—busy lately.” He stood, clearly ready to end the conversation. “Thanks for talking with me today.”
“No problem.” Terry’s soul ached. The kid wasn’t being honest. And as long as he lied—to Terry, to himself, to God—he’d keep dying. He kept his tone light but made no attempt to hide his sincerity. “If you need me, I’m here, okay?”
“Okay. Thank you.” Darius slipped out the doorway. “Have a nice weekend.”
“You too.” Terry’s earlier impatience to get home had melted. He slumped in his chair, defeated.
What was troubling Darius? Not an overloaded schedule, of that he was sure. What was it that had almost—almost—risen to the surface of his soul?
Terry swallowed his disappointment. He had hoped Darius would accept his help, grasp the hand he’d extended him. The kid was wallowing in some slimy pit of the soul. He wouldn’t be able to escape on his own.
Had Terry approached the conversation the wrong way? He let out a sad sigh and bowed his head.Father, what did I do wrong? I’m sorry—he wouldn’t talk to me.
My son, even the wrath of man shall praise Me.
Terry felt comfort, deep and warm, soaking into his soul from the familiar Bible verse. Gradually his feelings of failure dulled. If God used even the twisted efforts of ungodly people for His glory, then surely He could also redeem Terry’s inadequacies. And maybe this hadn’t been all for nothing.
Terry stood. It was time to get home to his wife. But before he left the quiet room, he bowed his head and prayed.
That God would use his feeble efforts to break through Darius’s wall of pain—and that in the midst of all, God would lead the young man home.
To Himself.
