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you to listen carefully." Will nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. "Your skin is white," Reverend Thomas continued. "That's a fact, and nothing will ever change it. But your skin doesn't determine who you are. It doesn't determine your character, your intelligence, or your worth as a human being. What matters is what's in here." He pointed to his own chest, over his heart. "Your soul. Your spirit. Your capacity for kindness and love. That's what truly defines you." Will felt tears prick at his eyes. He blinked them back, not wanting to seem weak. "But everyone looks at me and sees a white boy," he said. "They don't see anything else. They just see my skin." "Yes, they do," Reverend Thomas acknowledged. "And they always will. That's the nature of this world, I'm afraid. People see what they want to see, not what's truly there. But you have a choice, Will. You can let their perception define you, or you can define yourself." Will frowned. "How?" Reverend Thomas leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with intensity. "By deciding who you want to be. By standing up for what's right, even when it's hard. By refusing to let the ignorance of others limit your potential. You are more than the color of your skin, Will. You are more than the circumstances of your birth. You are a child of God, beloved and precious, and nothing anyone says or does can change that." Will absorbed his words, feeling a strange sense of peace wash over him. It was the first time anyone had ever said anything like that to him — that he had worth beyond his appearance, beyond his poverty, beyond the circumstances of his life. "But what about my name?" he asked. "You called me Will, and that's my name. But I don't know if I'm going to stay here. I don't know if I belong here." Reverend Thomas nodded slowly. "I understand your uncertainty, Will. And I won't pretend to know what the future holds. But I want you to know something else. I want you to know that you have a purpose. A destiny. And it's not about the color of your skin. It's about what's in your heart." Will looked down at his hands, thinking about his mother's photograph, about the woman who had loved him enough to let him go. "I don't want to be different," he whispered. "I just want to be normal." Reverend Thomas chuckled softly. "Normal is a myth, Will. No one is truly normal. We all carry burdens, challenges, and gifts that make us unique. And that's a good thing. The world doesn't need more normal people. It needs people who are willing to stand up, to fight for what's right, to make a difference. And I believe, with all my heart, that you are one of those people." Will looked up, meeting Reverend Thomas's eyes. There was so much faith in them, so much certainty, that for a moment, Will almost believed him. "You really think I can make a difference?" he asked. "I know you can," Reverend Thomas said. "You just need to believe it yourself." That night, Will lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, and thought about everything Reverend Thomas had said. He thought about his mother, about the name she had given him, about the hopes and dreams she had had for him. He thought about the Thomases, about the love they had shown him, the faith they had placed in him. He thought about the world outside, the world that would always see him as