Chapter 8: Take This Sinking Boat and Point It Home; We’ve Still Got Time

We'd been planning for weeks now. When David had first suggested, one morning over donuts and coffee, a road trip to a conference in North Carolina, I had doubted very much that I’d be able to attend. I had just started a new job—a job I had been hired specifically to work weekends. During the dates of the conference, I’d still be in the middle of my training.

But God has a way of working these things out, despite my skepticism.

So here we were—David and Danny sleeping on my living room floor (Danny, please stop torturing David with the giant stuffed horse)—and I, painstakingly choosing my outfits for the next few days and cramming them in my suitcase as the hours drew nearer and nearer to morning, and a much-needed escape from Georgia.

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Danny offered to drive, at least part of the way. I thanked him, with no intention of allowing him to.

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Two states and a seven-hour drive later, we arrived in the sweeping, forest-bedecked embrace of Greensboro. I stepped outside and drank it in.

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(North Carolina is a place that holds only happy memories for me. It makes me think things like I can breathe here. I once imagined calling it home, knowing even then, it would break the magic.)

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It was time to go exploring.

We visited the cabins (the guys' and girls' were separated by a long stretch of dirt path; we actually drove to avoid a long walk hauling sleeping bags and suitcases).

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Between the cabin areas, there was a lake, complete with paddleboats.

Danny wanted me to go on one with him, but I said no.

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A day later, David’s little brother, James, extended the same invitation. I hesitated, since I had rejected Danny’s request, but I eventually said yes, hoping Danny, who was talking with a few people nearby, wouldn’t notice.

(He did.)

~

“You’re going to bed already?”

It was the second night, and something was wrong. Danny was never the first to leave (the first to sleep, yes, but he never actually detached himself from the group in order to do so).

He wasn’t himself. At least, not the self I had become accustomed to.

(It’s the first time I remember seeing him sad.)

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I felt heavy as he walked away into the dark. It felt a little like abandonment. Also, like fear.

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Hours later, my mood not alleviated, I walked to my cabin alone.

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The next day, Danny (somehow) found out. He tried to make me agree not to walk back by myself in the dark (he was going to bed early again), and when I wouldn’t, he enlisted James to ensure I’d have someone with me that night.

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(Side note: Months later, I went to see The Hunger Games: Catching Fire in theaters. There was a quote—“You could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him, you know.”

And as I sat next to Danny, his hand in mine, I thought to myself—I know.)

~

The final night of the conference, I was in the back of the sanctuary, on my knees—lost (but found) in the invisible, secret place, where my God meets with me.

Suddenly, someone knelt beside me, and began to speak. I opened my eyes to see Hannah, one of the young adults who belonged to the church hosting the conference.

“I think God wants me to tell you something,” she said. “If it’s completely off, let me know, but I believe this is from Him.” She paused, and I readied my heart.

“There’s this part of your heart that’s closed off from Him. It’s like it’s encased in ice. But God is gonna take that ice and turn it into a snow-cone.” 

Danny. I felt my heart resist as soon as the thought entered my mind, but I reminded myself of my promise—not my will, but Yours.

~

Still, I wasn’t ready to admit that the word was about Danny specifically. As I pondered it over the next few hours, I could admit the possibility. But it was more likely that God was referring to my suspicious attitude toward men and relationships in general.

(That was the best my still-cold heart could do.)

~

I never did ride with Danny in a paddleboat.

But our last afternoon, I joined him and James in the canoe that had been beckoning me since our arrival. Danny sat in front, and I, just behind. The summer sun shone, bright and warm on our exposed skin, the water parting silently before the boat’s metallic prow—our laughter, the loudest sound.

And even though I didn’t love him, it sure was good to see him smile again.