The drifting is not the hole. It is what he pours into it.
You invited him to Easter service eleven years running. You sent the study Bible that sat unopened in his closet. You asked the pastor to call. You prayed the same prayer every morning for thirty-four years. None of it filled the thing he won't name.
The hole was there before the drifting. It was there in vacation Bible school when he asked you what 'perish' meant. It was there in the toast he gave at his wedding with three Bible verses. The thing every man you've loved has had. The thing he does not have a name for. Work doesn't fill it. Silence doesn't fill it. He could pour a reservoir in and it would not fill.
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Eleven Easters — he came to four
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A study Bible — found unopened in his closet
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The pastor's call — never returned
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34 years of the same morning prayer