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Dear Crystal,
it's late.
It's about 11 o'clock.
I just have
one more day to go.
I woke up at, um,
before this morning
and grabbed
the ever critical cup of coffee
and hit the road.
It feels good to be moving
to see things
in the rear-view mirror shrink.
I have a destination,
a purpose.
I'm like the Blues Brothers,
a mission from God.
That's what Dad wanted.
I miss him.
I miss him.
I hate
that he never got to see
me involved in the church.
I wish he
knew
what I was doing, and I know he does,
but
I wish he were here.
I can see how God used it, though.
Dad's death woke me up
before I was
...
directionless,
wandering through the woods
with no way out.
During our last conversation,
Dad prayed for me.
He prayed that I would repent
and he even prophesied
that I would go into the ministry.
I don't know if I ever told you that.
Of course, at the time I blew it off,
but I have to admit something happened
and I really truly believe that it was God
catching hold of my heart.
I pray he does that for you as well.
I worry about you,
about your soul.
Of course, it wasn't easy to change.
Dying to the self never is.
At least that's what I have to believe.
I know you hate hearing all this stuff,
but I hope,
I hope soon
you will understand.
Anyway,
this letter is heavier than I intended.
I'm just having a lot of emotions right now.
It's scary to think that I'm
responsible for the souls of an entire church.
I have to be honest,
kind of surprised that I haven't heard back from you yet.
Look, you're my sister.
We had an argument.
But we're still family.
I just need you to say something.
Anything, even if it's
telling me to fuck off.
That's okay.
That's okay.
But the silence is killing me.
I need to hear from my sister.
I love you.
And I miss you.
Please.
Please say something.
With love.
Vincent.
