Jesus | Gonna Be Here

The light drew closer, and Silas reached into the car to turn the volume up, letting the song anchor him to the earth while he waited for the sky to open.

He leaned against the warm metal of the hood and lit a cigarette. "Any time now," he whispered to the crickets. Jesus Gonna Be Here

Silas stepped out into the humid evening. He wasn’t a particularly religious man in the way the folks in town were—no Sunday best, no front-row pew. But he had a standing appointment. Every Tuesday at dusk, he’d wait by the mile marker where the sunflowers grew tallest. The light drew closer, and Silas reached into

Silas straightened his cap. He didn't know if it was Him , or just a traveler looking for the way home. But as the music from the radio swelled, filling the empty fields with a gravelly promise, Silas smiled. He wasn't in a hurry. He had his bags packed in his heart, and he knew that when the guest finally arrived, he wouldn't need to say a word. Silas stepped out into the humid evening

A pair of headlights appeared in the distance, shimmering through the heat haze. They didn't move like a car; they drifted, slow and steady, like a lantern carried by a walker.