For You, Father
Tonight, a priest must guard his own soul instead...
“Father…” came the whisper, soft as a feather, warm as honey. I woke in confusion, searching for the illuminated red of the clock, finding nothing. The bedroom was a well of darkness, a void of light that had no end. Was there a power outage? Not even the amber stars of a midsummer’s night could be seen through the drafty parsonage window. With uncertain hands I groped for the bedside lamp, touching instead a velvet warmt...