When I would be trying to tell my dad something, especially when I was excited, it would come out as, “Dad-dad-dad.” It is a practice that started when I was little, and it still continues to present.

Regret before God is not repentance.
Regret is not holy.
Repentance is a gift.

Sometimes, I find this space between the white noise of a window seat, but recently it has been in the cacophony of clanking dishes.

This time is unique and precious. I know it, but I do not always have the capacity to feel it.

“Bread.”

That is all I heard.