In a friendly West Texas town just south of the Red River, a newly constructed 12-foot cross towered behind me in a basketball arena on the university campus. The look on Destiny’s face as she approached me tearfully and expectantly told a story I wanted to read and help interpret.
Her beautiful, brown eyes sparkled like the morning dew with numerous tears laced between her carefully manicured, long, black eyelashes. I knew in an instant, as she and her friend Diane lingered before me, that she wanted to—no, she needed to unpack the story behind those tears that caused lines of mascara to run down her soft, brown cheeks.
