I’ve always been wired a little differently. Some people strike up small talk about the weather. I ask strangers about their tattoos. Not because I’m nosy — well, maybe a little — but because I genuinely want to know what makes people tick. What they've walked through. What matters to them.It drives my kids crazy. They say, “Dad, not again... do you have to talk to everyone?” Yes. Yes, I do. Because you never know when a simple question might crack open a door to someone’s soul.On this particular day, it was just that — a simple, passing moment. I noticed a tattoo, and I asked the question: “Hey, what’s the story behind that ink?”Now, you’d expect a quick reply. Maybe a funny anecdote or a pop culture reference. But instead, I was invited into something sacred. What started as curiosity turned into confession. This tattoo wasn’t just ink on skin — it was a marker, a scar, a symbol of a season of despair. Depression. Hopelessness. A time when they weren’t sure they'd make it out the other side.But here's the thing — they did. That tattoo now tells a different story: not just one of suffering, but of survival. Of redemption. Of hope.And this, right here, is why I keep asking questions. Because everyone has a story, and sometimes the stories that begin in the dark end up pointing to the light.

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