Jesus in Denver When the One Everybody Depends On Begins to Break
Before the first wash of light touched the edge of the mountains, Jesus was already awake in City Park. He had stepped onto the damp grass near Ferril Lake while Denver was still holding its breath between night and morning, and He bowed His head in quiet prayer with the skyline dark in the distance and the air sharp enough to sting the lungs. A few geese drifted across the black water. A runner passed far off without seeing Him. The city had not opened its eyes yet, but its burdens were already awake. Thirty yards away, in a faded blue Honda with a cracked taillight and a fast-food cup rolling on the passenger floor, a woman gripped her steering wheel so hard her knuckles looked white in the dark. She had pulled over because she could not make herself drive home, and because if she went home now she knew she would have to walk into another day with no room left in her for another day. Her name was Corina Salazar. She was forty-one years old, five months behind on being okay, two...