Anytime I meet someone important – someone who gets me before they really even know me – it seems like the world immediately begins to pry us apart. It doesn’t matter that I navigate tricky circumstances with reasonable grace, or that I pray until my eyes bleed for this good thing to stay good. I get no credit for my patience or my tenderness or my heart. Apparently all I have to give just isn’t enough.
A good thing cannot make a home for itself with me. Instead, it is ripped from my tired, broken hands when I least expect it.