Page 138 of Dare to Hold
Great message today. Worship was beautiful.
I stare at the screen for a while, thumb hovering over the keyboard. I type out three different replies before erasing each one. Finally, I settle on something simple.
Gray
You have no idea what that means to me.
My finger hovers over the send button for just a second too long. I hit send and watch the little message bubble disappear.
And then I just sit there, staring at the screen. I shouldn’t get my hopes up. It’s been eight weeks of this—flashes of hope, whispers of connection, but always just out of reach.
But she’s still here. I have to keep telling myself this.
I lean back against the headrest, closing my eyes for a moment.
Every text. Every random snapshot of her day.
They’re not much, but to me they’re everything—little lifelines that carry me from one week to the next. Reminders that even with the distance, I’m not forgotten. That she’s still tethered to me in some small way… and for now, that’s enough.
You have no idea what that means to me.
She has no idea at all.
I walk up to Pastor Jack’s office fifteen minutes early, nerves coiling in my stomach like I’m walking into something heavier than I can carry. I’ve been here more times than I can count—sat on that cracked leather couch across from him when I was still figuring out how to breathe again. Jack’s been my anchor since the day he found me slumped on the steps outside this church, hungover on regret and barely holding it together. I didn’t know what I was looking for back then. But Jack saw through the mess, sat down beside me, and stayed long enough for me to believe I was worth something more.
But today feels different. He’s going to want updates. And I’m going to have to admit the one thing I’ve been avoiding: I’m not handling this well.
His assistant waves me back without even looking up from her computer. I weave through the narrow hallway, stopping just outside his door where his name is printed in gold letters: Jack E. Willis, Senior Pastor.
I knock lightly and hear his voice boom from the other side. “Come in!”
I step inside and immediately feel the warmth of his grin. Jack’s sitting behind his desk, glasses perched low on his nose, a Bible open in front of him and a mug of coffee that’s definitely more cream than anything else.
“Gray!” he says, standing to shake my hand. His grip is firm as always. “Good to see you, son.”
“You too,” I say, settling into the worn leather chair across from him.
Jack eases back into his seat, eyeing me carefully. “You look better than the last time you sat there.”
“Low bar,” I mutter with a half-smile.
He chuckles. “Still progress.”
He gives me space to speak first—he always does. I glance toward the window, the light slanting in through the blinds like it’s trying to warm something deep in my chest. Finally, I say, “It’s been eight weeks.”
Jack nods slowly. “Since she asked for space?”
“Yeah.” I let out a breath, scrubbing a hand over my face. “We still talk. Still see each other from a distance. It’s not like we’re strangers, but...it’s different now. We’re friends. Just friends.”
“And how’s that going?”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Harder than I thought. Not because I don’t want to support her—I do. I really do. But I was planning our future, Jack. I was already halfway down the aisle in my head, thinking about rings and forever. And now I’m sitting here trying to act like I don’t care that she doesn’t text back right away or that I haven’t kissed her in two months.”
Jack doesn’t flinch. He just nods, arms resting on the desk, patient as ever. “Sounds like you’re grieving something.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “I guess I am.”
A silence settles over the room before Jack leans in slightly. “Gray, can I ask you something?”
