The priest gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The nun\u2019s quiet voice echoed again: \u201cFather\u2026 remember Psalm 129.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What was she really trying to say? A warning? A secret? A test of faith?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He smiled politely, but inside, doubt and curiosity battled for control.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
By the time he opened the Bible, his heart was rac\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He traced the words on the page slowly, expecting revelation, correction, maybe even rebuke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Instead, he found a simple, almost practical encouragement: to keep moving forward, to lift one\u2019s eyes beyond the immediate, to look past what lies directly in front.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In that instant, all the tension he had built in his mind collapsed into a burst of laughter at his own seriousness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What amused him most was how his imagination had turned her gentle reminder into a drama that never existed. She had spoken casually; he had heard mystery.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That quiet car ride became a mirror, showing him how easily meaning can be twisted by unspoken assumptions. He realized how many worries in life are born the same way\u2014out of things never asked, never clarified.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Walking back to the rectory, he promised himself one small change: next time, he would simply ask, \u201cSister, what do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n