“Between being a realist, believing only what you can see, and believing in what you can’t, entrusting faith.” She turns to look up at me, but my gaze remains on the statue. “It’s you,” she says softly beside me, grabbing my hand, “it’s the way I’ve always seen you, Lance, with the whole world on your shoulders, but never aware of just how much you shine. It’s like you’re paralyzed by the weight when just a few steps away,” she nods toward the church, “you can accept a little faith and just let some of it go.”
