Page 143 of Dare to Hold
The apartment is quiet, save for the low hum of the heater kicking on. I kick off my boots by the door, shrug out of my coat, and let the silence settle around me.
I move through the space slowly, turning on the little lamp by the couch, lighting the candle I keep near my Bible. The soft glow fills the room, warm and golden, wrapping around me like a familiar hug.
I sit down cross-legged on the rug, Bible in my lap, journal nearby. My phone buzzes.
Gray
"Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:6–7
I smile. He’s been quieter lately, but the messages haven’t stopped. They never stop. Each one is like a small flame. Never demanding anything from me, just…being there.
I set the phone aside without replying. Not because I don’t want to. But because I need this moment to be just mine.
I flip open my journal and write the date, then sit for a long time, pen hovering. The words don’t rush out like they usually do. Instead, I find myself writing slowly, thoughtfully.
The service tomorrow is about “Thankful, Grateful, Blessed.” Pastor Jack even joked that it sounds like something you’d see on a Hobby Lobby sign, but he said the message would be about more than just a cute slogan. About choosing to see God’s hand in every season—even the waiting ones.
So tonight, I’m trying. I pulled out this journal, and instead of overthinking what I’ll wear tomorrow or whether Harper will rope me into helping with the kids again, I’m going to write down what I’m thankful for.
November 26th
Thankful—for the way God has carried me through these past weeks. For the mornings that felt heavy but somehow I still got up. For laughter with Harper when I didn’t feel like laughing. For Olivia showing up even when she doesn’t feel sure about church. For little reminders that I don’t have to have it all figured out to be loved.
Grateful—for the Bible that sits on my nightstand now, worn from my fumbling hands, and for devotionals that help me make sense of it piece by piece. For songs that settle into the cracks of my heartwhen words don’t come. For quiet mornings with coffee and highlighters, when I feel closer to God than I ever thought I could.
Blessed—for Gray.
I almost hesitate to write that, because things are complicated. But even with the distance, he’s been a steady thread. The simple “how was your day?” texts. The way he still checks in without pressing too hard. The verse he sent last week—Philippians 4:6–7.
Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.
I write that down, reading it over and over. It’s like I want to believe it, but my heart still stumbles.
Because the truth is? I’m anxious.
I wonder if he would even want to be with me again. Before, he was ready. More than ready. He talked about a future, about marriage, about leading me in faith and life. And I panicked. I wasn’t there yet. I needed space to find Jesus for myself—not through him, not because of him. So I told him I needed a break.
Now, two months later, I wonder what’s left of us. Did I hurt him too much? Did I push him too far away? Would he even want to step back into this with me…or has he decided it’s safer to guard his heart?
I trace the verse again with my pen:Do not be anxious about anything.
Maybe that’s the whole point. To stop gripping so tightly. To stop trying to figure out if he still wants me, and instead ask if God still wants us.
Maybe it’s not about rushing into answers, but learning to live in the questions with open hands.
I set the pen down and rest my palms on the page, staring at the words until they blur. My chest aches with longing, but there’s something steadier underneath it too—like maybe gratitude and ache can coexist.
I bow my head, whispering into the quiet.
“Lord, You know me. You know Gray. You know the way my heart pulls toward him, even when I try to focus only on You. I don’t want to idolize him. I don’t want to make him the center when that belongs to You. But I also don’t want to lose what we had. So if it’s time—if You’re saying we’re ready—show me. Make it clear. And if not, help me trust Your timing. Help me release the fear that I ruined everything. Help me believe that if You want us together, nothing can undo that.”
Slowly, I thumb back through the pages of my journal, tracing the scrawled prayers, the verses that once felt foreign but now feel like lifelines, the messy notes from Sunday messages, the moments I poured my heart onto the paper because I didn’t know what else to do.
I pause at the very first page.
Taped to the inside cover is that small, crinkled note Gray left with the flowers months ago. His handwriting stares back at me.
I dare you to be my girlfriend.
