His last comment was: “Good story.”
Me: “Yes. And a true one.”
Dad: “One that’s happened probably hundreds or thousands of times.”
Me: “Almost hundreds and thousands plus one.” That kinda hit him, and he looked at me somewhat surprised.
Dad: “Well, I hope you stay with us.” I shook my head.
Me: “There’s nothing to worry about anymore.” (Just a lot more work to be done between us).
Dad: “Good. You still have a lot of stories to write.”
Then he left. I wasn't impressed; mom and dad didn't hug me and say sorry at all, but honestly, I don't feel letdown either. I feel like after it was over we didn't really dig into the issue like I'd wished, but part of that was because I was comforting OTR. By the end of the movie she was inconsolable, and seriously cried at least a half hour after it was over. She just didn't think that it was fair so many people had to hurt so badly, and we make it worse for them by our hate and discrimination. We had a good chat about that and how it's not fair for her to say that her pain has been any more or less than ours; she's been through her share of hell too. She's taking time now to question her faith in hopes of finding the deeper faith that Reverend Whitsell spoke of.
My response to her, my father, and Mary is this:
I will not give up on love. I think every time before I say Amen, and definitely always listen. My dreams won’t die. I’ll carry them on for Bobby and anyone else who didn’t get the chance.
Most of all though, like people who feel the utter need to bear their testimonys for fear of being ungrateful to God, I must cry out from every fiber of my being: Thank you Mary Griffith. Thank you Bobby.