And Rachel stops midsentence. She reads the words chalked on asphalt out loud, words I’m focusing on. She reads them slow, like a decoding of everything. “Hey beautiful, you are loved J” scrawled right there on the sidewalk, happy face chalked there grinning too. “Oh.” She says it like an awakening. “And here I just thought it was graffiti.” I nod in the middle of an epiphany. The graffiti can be grace. What seems a defacement may be a glimpse of His face. All the writing on the wall could be love notes.
