Page 47 of The Dating Game

Luke steps up to the microphone to welcome everyone to the service. Hannah said his singing voice is not the best—his words, she said, before adding in a whisper, “but also true”—so he leads the time of prayer, and then afterwards he and Will walk around and talk or pray with anyone who seems open to it.

Hannah also told me that they sing a lot of older hymns since studies have shown that patients with dementia and Alzheimer’s often respond well to familiar music from their younger days. A lot of the men and women here grew up singing traditional church hymns like “How Can I Keep From Singing?” and “Amazing Grace.”

When Will invites everyone to stand if they’d like, all of the staff in attendance as well as Hannah and I get to our feet, but only two of the patients gathered do. Quite a few people are in wheelchairs, having lost their ability to stand, and others stare vacantly at the wall or their lap or nothing at all.

It’s a bit depressing to tell the truth, all of these people, their memories and faculties vanishing slowly on them. I’m torn between wanting to cry and wanting to go around and hug every last one of them.

Then Will starts singing. The effect isn’t fast like a light switch flipping on, but slow like the steady popping of kernels in a bag as they burst into popcorn. First one person seems to start to attention, then another, then another, until they all seem to come alive. It’s not necessarily overly dramatic. Sure there’s a gentleman up front who lifts his hands and a woman nearby who gets to her feet and starts shuffling in place, but there’s also a woman who simply turns from staring at the wall to staring at Will, and another who only startstapping her foot. Subtle things. And yet, the charge in the room is powerful, tangible,holy.

God’s presence is in this room. There’s no doubt about it, and I’ve got a hundred goosebumps to prove it.

Next to me Hannah sucks in a breath, and I know she feels it too. Tears spring to my eyes. I can’t remember the last time I saw God moving like this. I realize with an abashed conviction that this is because I haven’t been orienting my life around Him, haven’t even been paying much attention to whether or not Hewasdoing things.

I’ve just been coasting. Checking off Christianity boxes the way I checked off Will’s boxes. Church—check. Read the Bible—check. Tithe—check. Actually follow His command to go forth and make disciples?

There’s no check there. Just a blank box.

A second even more startlingly clear conviction strikes me: I want to go on this mission trip. Not because of Will or even because of Sarah and the threat of her bus snugglings with him. I want to go because I want to partner with God in the works He is doing. I want to be on mission.

And I know that I don’t have to travel to share the gospel, but I think this trip could be a kick in the pants, the push I need to start living missionally in my day to day life too.

“Brooke, are you okay?” Hannah whispers in my ear. “You have a funny look on your face.” She scans my features, then smiles. “Oh wait,” she says, “I know that look now—it’s peace.”

Chapter 18

Brooke

“Sydney!”Iexclaim,yankingthe soft black material from underneath the pile of socks in my suitcase. “Really?”

“What?” Sydney’s innocent expression isn’t fooling me. I should never let her come over to help me pack. It’s a Thursday night, for goodness’ sake! A school night! Doesn’t she want to put Caroline to bed so she gets a good night’s sleep?

No. She’d rather be here torturing me with her input.

“I know you put this in my suitcase,” I accuse, “because I didn’t.”

“Maybe Caroline did it—did you ever think of that?”

“Caroline has been sitting at my kitchen table drawing for the last half hour,” I reply. “There’s no way she did it.” I put a hand on my hip, dangling the dress in front of me. “Care to paint a picture for me of the scenario you were imagining when you stuffed this in there? What occasion did you think I would have on a mission trip with a bunch of teenagers to wear a short, tight dress and,” I remove my hand from my hip and reach into my suitcase to grab hold of the sliver of black suede I saw peeking out too, “four-inch heels?”

“Every woman alive knows that a little black dress is a staple wardrobe item,” Sydney retorts loftily. “And obviously you should bring all your staple wardrobe items when traveling: underwear, socks, and a little black dress.” She crosses her arms across her chest, like a defense lawyer happy with a case well presented.

I narrow my eyes at her. “You know, you’ve been spending way too much time with Belinda.”

“And if Belinda were here, she’d back me up on the LBD,” Sydney replies smoothly. “Which means it’s two against one. You’ve been outvoted.” She stalks over to me and grabs the dress from my hand. “The dress is going.” She rolls it back up, and stuffs it back into the suitcase, this time not even bothering to hide it.

“You know I can just take that out after you go home, right?”

“Then you’ll only have yourself to blame when Will asks you to go dancing on the beach under the stars and you have nothing to wear.”

It’s disconcerting that her mission trip fantasy scene is the same as mine. Maybe I’m also spending too much time with Belinda.

Still…should I pack the dress…like, just in case?

“Then again,” she adds wickedly, “having nothing to wear might not be a problem—if you know what I mean.” She winks.

“Oh my goodness, Sydney! That is so inappropriate!” I exclaim in dismay.

“I was just joking,” she laughs, unperturbed. “Obviously the only way that would apply is if the two of you decide to elope over there.” Her expression turns pensive and a bit accusatory. “Oh my gosh, if you do decide to elope, you’d better call me so I can crash the ceremony! I expect to be at your wedding, young lady, so I can take credit for the whole thing.”

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