I was holding my breath, waiting for a glorious shift where I could finally exhale with relief. Day after day I prayed, watched, believed, cried, fell on my bed exhausted, prayed some more, dreamed of better days, and fought off all the worst-case-scenario visions that nipped at the edges of my mind whenever I tried to sleep. But the more I didn’t see any tangible evidence of God intervening with Art, the more unseen and unheard I felt. The more unseen and unheard I felt, the more my deal with God fell apart. “God, if You aren’t going to do Your part . . . how can you possibly expect me to do
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