She nods. She takes her bag and her new cd, and she leaves the car.
Ruthie studies the picture on her cell phone as we complete the short drive from Jennifer's home to our own. We see what Jennifer is talking about, but it's blocky, pixillated, small.
I dunno, I tell Ruthie, It doesn't look like anything to me, but I get a feeling.
Yeah, she says.
No one is really giving me anything to run with right now. I think. I pray for some sense of what is going on, and why this little photo seems so significant to all of us.
I call my friend David Park, and he's on his way to a speaking engagement. I tell David something like the following, except much longer: There's a crazy picture coming out of a house where crazy stuff happens, and everyone in Jennifer's family is scared, and I don't know what to think about the photo, but the fear is a bad thing. Also, I have a feeling that this is a good time to talk to them about Jesus.
I tell David I'd appreciate his presence when I visit the family, and he agrees, but tells me he can't be here until tomorrow because of this speaking thing.
I hang up, and a few minutes later, I get an overwhelming impulse, like a command, to talk to them before they go to bed.
I'm in a world beyond my strategies here, so I submit to the impulse.
When Ruthie and I make it back to Jennifer's at ten at night, I see why someone needed to be here now with some good news.
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