The glow of my phone outshone the light above my kitchen sink. And it lit up a battle. Not the kind with fists. The kind with words. A friend of mine, living on the edges of this world with a pay-as-you-go phone and more burdens than battery life, began pouring out her heart. And when I say pouring, I mean it came out like a shaken soda can. Pain fizzing everywhere. Anger popping in every direction.
Her words were sharp. Not because she’s cruel. Because she was hurting.
If you’ve ever ministered in the dark, you know this truth: People who feel unheard will sometimes shout at the one who stays.
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