A continuation of my attempt to finish a book I started in December 2017. Posting chapters in an attempt to organize it all and finish. And I now know I don’t have to, but it wants to be written. Why? I’m not sure yet.

Also, this not the next chronological chapter in the book. But it’s the chapter that wants to be written today.

---

Everything fell apart and we stopped hanging out in May.

It was the very next semester that a last-minute degree requirement was sprung on me. But almost all the classes had already been filled up. I had to scramble to find one that would allow me to graduate on time. Although it otherwise would have been one of my last choices, the World Religions class was the best remaining option.

I took it with a professor who clearly did not care much for Christianity or Christians. His bias was annoying, but not unexpected. However what really surprised me was that through the class I started to see the same theme across all religions regardless of their differences. Over and over humans came to the conclusion that there was someone bigger than themselves. That created them. And then the humans determined that the bad things in life happened because they had made their creator mad. And so each religion set about a system to, as they saw it, try to get back into the good graces of their creator.

Why did this surprise me? All this time I thought my religion was so different. But really it was mostly more of the same.

Except Jesus. Right?

But what was so different about Jesus? About our story that we were telling?

Because I had experienced God over and over. Right? I mean God was real for me. Not just some words on a page.

---

The person I refer to as Sojourner had given me a copy of The Shack to read so many years back. Maybe even in my late teens or early twenties. And at some point over the years she had referred to the author, Paul Young, as a friend. This intrigued me so much, but I didn’t ask more questions at the time. I just always wondered how she came to know a guy whose book was famous around the world.

Fast-forward to a few weeks after you and I stopped hanging out. And I saw Paul Young talking to Oprah on the television. I had just randomly watched clips of Oprah’s show sporadically over the years. But she was one of the most well-known people in America. And now I was only two people removed from her. The idea of that blew my mind. And caught my attention.

Long story short, Paul mentioned cheating on his wife. With her best friend.

Not what I wanted or expected to hear at the time. Especially after the reason we stopped hanging out just a few weeks earlier seemed on the surface to be because of a younger single woman that was allowed to come between us.

So I was mad. At you, at the whole male gender, and now at Paul. How could Sojourner be friends with someone like that? A lot was at stake. So I did what I do best: I started researching. I had to find out more about Paul’s cheating.

That little seed. Wow! What has come from it!

I learned that Paul’s cheating happened about a decade before he wrote The Shack. In the interim, he owned up to his mess, went through counseling for things like abuse in his childhood, and then reconciled with his wife. And she is the one who encouraged him to write down how he sees God. For their kids. That’s how The Shack came to be.

So if there was hope for Paul, then did that mean there was hope for you and I? That we’d talk and be friends again?

Another seed. That sent me researching again. For more of Paul’s story. Which quickly led me to Baxter Kruger. Who was another person Sojourner had tried to introduce me to even three years before!

And I was always receptive to whatever she suggested. I cared about what she knew because I knew that she cared. But even then, for whatever reason, the information didn’t land when she originally showed me like it was landing now. Something had shifted. Now I could see and hear. Now I was completely getting it.

I had to tell Sojourner! Unbeknownst to me, she was leading a group that was studying one of Baxter’s books. And they were planning to go to a conference with Baxter in Mississippi in a matter of weeks.

The attendance list for the conference had filled up so quickly that there was a waiting list. But someone in her group had a ticket and couldn’t make it. I had come to Sojourner’s mind but I don’t think that made sense to her at the time so she offered the ticket to several others first.

And why would offering it to me make any sense? I hadn’t really embraced what she had shown me previously relative to Baxter. And she didn’t yet know that the information had come back around to me.

Until I let her know. And then things moved very quickly. Next thing I knew a few weeks later I was driving to Mississippi for the conference with Baxter. Listening to more of Baxter and then Bruce Wauchope on the way. My mind and heart just exploding from wonder at all that I was learning.

---

Maybe this was the answer? Maybe God split us up for a brief time because I needed to learn this? Without you at first?

Because we used to talk so much, so many times about the issue of whether or not a person could “lose their salvation”. Hours and hours, and many drives with you were focused on that subject. As we’d wrestle back and forth with it. Without me ever being able to settle on a resolution because there was something missing, something wasn’t adding up.

And at some point I had mentioned my thoughts about that issue to Sojourner. That’s why she sent the Brad Jersak video. And it sounded good to me when she initially sent it. But not something I had heard before so I sent it over to you for your opinion. A few months before everything fell apart between us.

And you sent me a very long, Scripture-filled response. As you would do. As I loved. In that you took me and all my five hundred billion questions seriously. You didn’t dismiss me. You didn’t brush me off. You took a lot of time with me. I was so spoiled by you in that. And so thankful. I so miss you and those conversations.

But maybe God allowed us to be torn apart because of this: you were so close – you liked almost everything Jersak had to say until the end. Where you took issue with some things he said and then rejected the whole message. And because you knew all the verses and all the arguments, I decided to not fully embrace the message also.

Maybe that’s why God allowed you to be taken away from me. Because even though you were my best friend, even though we created a Bible study together, even though you brought so much healing into my life – God wouldn’t let the rest of my healing be stolen. Even by you.

And so there I was. Now able to see and hear. Without you. Although painfully you were the one I most wanted to share all this with. And no matter how hard I tried, you were not receptive.

So I went to the Baxter Kruger conference in Mississippi with the pain of having the best news in my life and seemingly no one to share it with. Because I had also tried to present the information to the preacher at CCSA and my best female friend – Julie. Among others primarily from CCSA. And each time the conversations devolved completely.

I couldn’t understand. Why was I given the best information in the world, in my entire lifetime, and yet those that I loved most were clearly not being allowed to come along on this journey with me? I was so sad and confused about that.

But I hoped that maybe the time would come eventually. So I put on my Never Give Up shirts, headed to Mississippi, and hoped for the best. With a very heavy heart.

Was Jesus worth it if I lost everybody I loved in the process?

Thankfully Sojourner was still there. Excited. Not giving up. My lifeline. Helping me find new oxygen to make it through over and over.

But was this all just made up feel good stuff? Or was God really in it?

---

The name of the conference was, “Living Loved”. Which felt like a cruel joke at the time.

And I was going to be meeting many of Sojourner’s friends and a lot of other people for the first time. There wasn’t a dress code but I didn’t want to embarrass Sojourner by dressing inappropriately for the occasion.

She emailed me and told me that she had a feeling I was being reserved. She assured me she wasn’t going to judge me. She told me she was proud of me.

So I took a risk. And instead of packing my “fake-a-good-impression” fancy lady clothes, I decided to just be myself and plan on wearing my jeans and Never Give Up shirts.

Well, on the long drive to the conference I had too much time to think. My insecurities and fears were holding front and center in my brain. And I felt like being myself was not enough. Plenty of people remind me of that on a daily basis. So I thought about turning around and not even going to the conference.

But it was a sold-out conference with a waiting list and I had generously been given a ticket because someone else could not attend. Also, I was scheduled to volunteer during a part of the conference. I felt like it would be really selfish and wrong for me to cancel at the last minute.

So I kept on driving towards Mississippi. And comforted myself by deciding that I would go shopping for better, more acceptable clothes in the few hours of free time I had before the conference began. To fit in with everyone else and not stand out.

Well, due to a series of uncontrollable events, I was delayed and hardly had any time to shop. I tried, I went to the shopping center. But I kept feeling this nudge in my spirit: “Just trust Me.”

So, scared out of my mind, I decided to stop looking for “better” clothes and just wear what I brought. And when I met up with Sojourner and all of her friends, I wore my new Never Give Up shirt with the obnoxiously large font.

They couldn’t have been nicer! Everyone was so welcoming and friendly. I was overwhelmed with their kindness. I felt a nudge in my spirit: “Seeeee! I told you. Chill out. Just trust Me.”

As the conference began, I met so many women and several told me, “I like your shirt.” I lost count of how many people told me that. In my spirit I felt the nudge again: “Seeeee. I told you. Just trust Me.”

During the conference there was a practical joke that Sojourner invited me to be a part of. It was not mean-spirited. It was a funny practical joke. But it involved standing up with her and several of her friends in front of over a hundred other people. And when it came time to play the practical joke, I just couldn’t bring myself to stand up in front of everyone.

Afterward Sojourner said, “You didn’t stand up?”

I responded, “I am so shy.”

She said, “Oh you’ll get over that by the time you leave here.”

Something Baxter said during the conference really stood out to me. He said, “If we are unashamed then no one will be able to define us or have power over us.”

But as I dressed for the second day of the conference with another “Never Give Up” shirt, I had to fight the fears all over again. I told myself: “Well at least the font size on this shirt is smaller.”

I was afraid people would be thinking, “Ok lady, one day of your cutesy little t-shirt was fine, but c’mon, grow up!”

I was avoiding interacting with people because I didn’t want to call attention to myself. But nearly every moment of the day there was someone initiating conversation with me. Ladies I met only the day before were inviting me to dinner and pursuing conversations with me.

After going through so much significant rejection in the months and weeks prior to the conference, the kindness of these new friends was a giant hug from God that was frying the circuits of my brain. I was truly overwhelmed in the best way.

So the last day of the conference arrived. I was looking at my clothes to wear. The choices were yet another “Never Give Up” shirt with the obnoxiously large font or a plain t-shirt. The thoughts in my head were: “Ok, people were understanding with your little Never Give Up shirt two days in a row, but three days is overkill. C’mon, grow up. Quit being weird.”

My heart really just wants to encourage. My heart doesn’t care so much about looking like a fool as long as even one person is given hope. But my mind was worried about embarrassing Sojourner, so I decided to play it “safe” and put on the plain t-shirt.

I went on to finish packing. But as I was about to zip up my last bag, I felt the nudge in my spirit: “Sarah, you are only going to see these people for two more hours. You may never see them again. Then you will be driving for twelve hours and stopping at several stores along the way. And maybe your Never Give Up shirt will help give someone hope. Just trust Me.”

Uggggggh. Ok. Fine. I’ll be “weird”.

So I changed shirts and put on the Never Give Up shirt with the big obnoxious font. But I brought a jacket with me just in case I became overwhelmed with self-consciousness.

I was trying to hide. I was worried people would think I only had one change of clothes. And I was counting down the minutes until I could be free of my anxiety.

Well the last session of the conference began and an unplanned moment happened where a woman shared about how she was forced to sign divorce papers a few days prior. For a separation that she did not want. She talked about how it was the biggest “you are not enough” moment of her life. She barely was able to speak because she was crying and in so much pain. And so many people in the audience started crying along with her.

That hit too close for me. The separation between you and I was something I definitely did not want. And it also felt like a big huge reminder that I wasn’t enough.

Then another unplanned moment happened as another lady was invited to share her experience that involved the pain of being sexually abused. Again, so many people in the audience were crying along with her.

And again, that one also hit too close to home for me.

Finally the second-to-last planned speaker of the conference started sharing her story. Again, more pain and suffering at the hands of others. Again, her words were resonating and so many people in the audience were crying as she shared her experiences.

I was completely overwhelmed at this point! I already had so much of my own rejection prior to the conference. And it was a fight to even get to the conference. I had also ridden the rollercoaster of anxiety and being saturated with kindness over the past three days. So the added intensity of the past hour or so with the speakers just made me want to jump up out of there and get on the road by myself with some music so I could zone out. I kept checking the time on my phone and counting down the minutes until I could breathe again.

At one point the speaker said something like, “I already ran over my time.” And then Baxter responded by saying something like, “It’s ok, keep going.” And although everything being shared was good, it was so intense that my whole being was just screaming, “Noooo, get me out of here!”

I was wrestling with whether to get up and leave the room just to get a break. If I had been in the back then I probably would have excused myself. But I was on the second row up front. And didn’t want to call attention to myself.

Well there I was trying to keep from jumping out of my skin, when all of a sudden I hear the speaker shift gears and loudly announce, “Where is that lady with the “give up” shirt?”

Oh no.

I raise my hand.

She says, “Stand up!”

Oh no.

Yep, this is happening.

So I stand up and she says, “Turn around!”

I’m facing the entire audience. They are all a blur.

And through my anxiety, all I hear is her say something like, “NEVER GIVE UP, ladies!!!”

And then everyone starts clapping and I sit down.

So much for being shy.

Then the nudge from The Holy Spirit with a big smile, “Seeeee!!!!! I told you. Just trust Me.”

The speaker talked for a few more minutes and then ended her speech by saying something like, “And remember ladies, DO NOT GIVE UP!”

I attended the conference expecting to learn a bunch of head knowledge, but God had other plans as to how He wanted to teach me about Living Loved.

---

So that’s it? Just a cute little moment at a conference?

I learned some knowledge that impacts every aspect of my life. But that’s it? Just carry on like nothing? Just leave everyone I love behind?

The story of you and me, and all I thought God was doing through what I thought was one of the best friendships of my life, just ends like that?

After I’ve received the best news of my life?

A continuation of my attempt to finish a book I started in December 2017. Posting chapters in an attempt to organize it all and finish. And I now know I don’t have to, but it wants to be written. Why? I’m not sure yet.

Also, this is not the next chronological chapter in the book. But it’s the chapter that wants to be written today.

—–

We had stopped hanging out and talking after the younger single woman was allowed to come between us and our friendship. And predictably she told me I needed to move out. With only three weeks’ notice.

But I had always found cute little apartments in the past. And now I was officially in real estate. So I wasn’t worried. There was no excuse. I would do what I had always done. Just hunt for a little bit and then move… on.

I checked the online ads day in and day out. I drove through neighborhoods. But nobody was returning my calls and emails. Nothing was working out. The ads were bait and switch; hundreds of dollars more than advertised. Or the places were too dirty or dangerous. One landlord showed a space with an active gas smell. Another even had the gall to show a space with freshly deceased roaches laying around!

But I still wasn’t worried. I was thinking two weeks out is still a great amount of time to find a place and plan to move.

It passes.

Ok, one week, Lord; I can do one week.

No?

Um, ok. I guess one weekend. Surely I’ll find a place the weekend before I need to move?!

Nope. Nothing was working out.

But by this point, I was used to stuff like this happening so many times before that I just had a feeling it was God closing the doors. I mean I’m in real estate; surely if anyone is capable at finding a place, it’s me.

So it was Monday and I was supposed to move on Wednesday. I still didn’t have a place. But I scheduled the movers anyway. I was thinking, “This is insane.”

But I kept remembering about the Israelites during the Exodus. I had prayed for years that I would be like Joshua and Caleb. And it felt like God was saying, “Now is your time.” So I kept repeating to myself over and over, “I know He didn’t bring me this far just to let me die in the desert.”

Now, please don’t picture me being calm! Internally it felt like I was a palm tree in a category five hurricane! I would have anxiety hit me so hard that I literally felt like I might pass out!

But God is so good…

Whenever I taught the kids at CCSA, I always only taught them one story every time I had nursery duty. I had taught it probably over two dozen times. It was the story about Peter when he started to sink on the ocean after walking on water.

When I was a kid, I didn’t feel like there were any adults to trust so it was always on my heart to teach kids how to cry out to God when they felt scared. So I would tell them the story about Peter walking on the water. And then I’d have the kids line up and I’d go down the line and walk every kid through the following:

I’d say, “What do you do when you are scared?”

And then I taught them to each repeat, “Jesus, help me!”

Well, I intended the lesson to be for those two and three year olds. But maybe it was really for me. Because here I was facing homelessness again in less than 72 hours. And God brought my own words back to me. So many times.

I would literally fall on my knees in front of my chair at the house and just sit there praying to God over and over: “I can’t do this, Lord. I can’t do this. I want to be strong but I’m not strong. Please help me!”

And I would just hear the Lord over and over reminding me of Exodus 14. And my favorite chapter in the Bible, 2 Chronicles 20: “Be still, Sarah. Be still and see the salvation of the Lord.”

So I would literally just sit there on my knees, or bowing my head in the car, and I would just try to quiet my soul as Spirit would pour out reminders of all the other times God had provided for me in the past.

And then I would turn on worship music and picture myself as the people in 2 Chronicles 20. Praising God as they marched toward what at the time seemed like certain impending doom. Not having a clue as to what was going to happen.

But I’m still thinking, “Ok, haha Lord. I passed the test, right? It’s the day before I need to move. Surely today is the day You will show me where I am going to move. I mean, logically, right?”

People who knew me were calling for updates. Asking me what I was going to do. This is less than twenty-four hours before I am supposed to move. And I felt completely insane not having an answer. Not having a plan. This was not how I was raised. I knew better.

So I feverishly worked all day. Looking around. Calling. Emailing.

Finally one person returns my call. But I went to see the place and it was awful! It smelled old and musty. Felt dirty. And the building had so much neglected maintenance. It was a high-rise and I was scared that I wouldn’t have time to get out if it caught on fire.

“Lord?”

I felt like Spirit was telling me that if I went ahead with that place then I would be settling out of fear. Just taking it to have at best a brief and tenuous false sense of “security”.

So I decided to trust God for better. And I turned down the place with less than 24 hours before I needed to move.

I felt completely crazy! How do you communicate to others the things you feel God is speaking to your heart? Especially the things that don’t make any sense?

So, what do I do now? Well, out of routine habit, I jumped right back to working out the problem. And decided to drive over to another apartment complex off Huebner. I didn’t really want to live there, but it was all I could think of at the last minute. I mean we’re talking almost four in the afternoon. The leasing offices would be closing in an hour and I had to move in the morning.

But I was in my work vehicle, so on my way to the apartment building, I stopped by an office building where I needed to go in and research at least one of the tenants for my employer.

I kid you not, when I pulled into the office building parking lot, it was a beautiful sunny day. Blue skies. Full sun.

And all I did was park, go inside, take the elevator upstairs, quickly research the location of the tenant’s office, use the bathroom, and then come downstairs.

And by the time I made it back down to the first floor, which was literally probably only five to ten minutes at the most, somehow a torrential thunderstorm had started and was raging outside.

And when I say torrential, I mean the rain was blowing sideways. I had never seen that in real life before. And there was so much water coming in that the front desk security was trying to block water from coming in the front doors.

It was so odd. The skies were dark and menacing. And out of nowhere.

But this is Texas. We’re used to this. And I didn’t have an umbrella. So I decided to just sit in the office building lobby for a few minutes. Wait out the worst and then make a run for my car once the storm started to move on.

Except it didn’t. Five minutes turned to ten minutes. Turned to fifteen minutes. All the while I am watching the clock. Trying to get to this leasing office in time to sign the paperwork and get keys for the next day. But also not wanting to get soaked and showing up like some dog off the streets. Not a great first impression when you’re trying to ask someone to trust you with their property.

Instead of moving on, the storm actually started to get worse. And by this point it is nearing the end of the day, so many of the workers in the office building are congregating in the lobby. Probably thinking similarly to me. Not wanting to get drenched. Intending to wait out the worst for a few minutes and then jet.

But so many people are in the lobby now that they are standing closer to me. And comically, the ones standing almost over my shoulder start saying “random” things like, “It wasn’t even supposed to rain”. And, “So-and-so called me and said they had to pull over because they couldn’t see to drive”. Etc.

It felt like I was Jonah on the ship. Running away from where God wanted me. And the storm that caused the people on Jonah’s ship to throw things overboard seemed to have arrived in San Antonio. Out of nowhere. And it felt like my fault.

Finally I just surrendered. I sat there in the office lobby and I gave up.

Because by that time it was 4:45 PM and all the apartment complexes would probably close at five. And I was at the 410/I-10 interchange. So there was no way I was going to get anywhere anytime soon with rush-hour traffic jammed up by the rain.

I resigned myself and said, “Ok, Lord. I think You are telling me, ‘No’. I think You are closing another door. I think you sent this storm to keep me from going to that apartment complex and signing a lease.”

I surrendered. Sat in the office lobby and waited just a few more minutes until the rain predictably now let up.

And now it’s the end of the day before I need to move, I had movers scheduled for the morning and nowhere to go.

But I kept holding onto this sentence: “God didn’t bring me out into the desert to die.”

I laughed at the “craziness” of God’s timing. And felt like Spirit was encouraging me to not be scared about it. To instead go and enjoy my dinner meal.
So I drove over to Las Palapas on Callaghan. And proceeded to schedule the moving van rental for the morning. While I waited for my order. Feeling completely insane.

But I kept feeling like God was saying, “Keep moving. Keep marching forward. As if everything is going to work out fine.”

It didn’t make any sense.

But I went back to the house and started packing the remaining items and cleaning the remaining things to clean. All my boxes and furniture was stacked up and ready to be loaded. With nowhere to go.

But I felt so heavy like God was speaking to my heart to just be faithful in doing what I needed to do while I was waiting for the answer. Versus sitting down and melting into a paralyzed panic.

So I listened to worship music and prayed. Read some Scriptures and tried to get some sleep.

All of a sudden at 11pm an idea came to my mind of where to go the next morning: my old apartment complex. Where I lived before I moved in with this younger single woman that was allowed to come between us.

So the next morning, three hours before the movers are supposed to arrive, one and a half hours before I’m supposed to pick up the moving van, I wake up and immediately shoot straight up in bed. Very dramatic. Just like in the movies. As everything in me was SCREAMING: “Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!!!”

FULL BLOWN PANIC!

I felt SO much anxiety that I felt like I was going to throw up!

But I immediately started to pray. And God calmed me. But I probably had to stop and pray literally almost every five minutes that morning!

And when I wasn’t praying, I was trying to sing along to worship music. Trying to keep the panic and tears away.

I kept repeating to myself, “God didn’t bring me this far to let me die in the desert.”

I was almost shaking as I went to pick up the van at 8:00 AM. It was raining so I used the weather to buy an hour of extra time when I called and asked the movers if they could come at 10:00 AM instead.

That gave me an hour to find a place. Hahaha!

Did I go to the place that came to mind the previous night? No, because that didn’t make sense. It was clear across town for one.

Instead I did the “logical” thing and started with the closest apartment complexes. Called several but I couldn’t afford their rates or they didn’t have availability until later dates.

And just when I had worked myself almost into despondency again, Spirit whispered the calm reminder about my previous apartment complex across town.

“But God, that doesn’t make any sense? The leasing office doesn’t even open until 10:00 AM. And that’s when my movers will be arriving. I have to be here to let them in.”

“Just trust Me.”

I did it mad. I drove over there expecting nothing. Trying to think up a backup plan the whole way. Telling myself that it wouldn’t work out and I’d just find a storage space after to put my things into. And then stay the night in a motel so I could figure out what to do with myself. That was the best plan I could come up with at that point.

But still drove over to the apartment complex. Here goes “crazy” Sarah once again, right? Following God out into the middle of the ocean. Looking like a fool. Right?

I arrived at my old apartment complex at 9:00 AM. Like I had just told God, the office was closed.

“See! What now, God?! After I wasted all this time!”

“Just trust Me.”

“Trust You?!?! I’ve been trying to trust You and LOOK where it’s gotten me!”

Before I could even finish the thought, the office manager starts walking up to the front doors. He’s not even supposed to be here or be open for another hour.

I jumped out of my car and ran to catch up to him before he went inside the office and locked the door behind him. He recognized me from when I lived there before so we skipped the pleasantries and I quickly asked him if he had any apartments for rent.

“Only one place for $800+”.

That was WAY outside my budget at the time.

“Lord?!?! Why did you send me all the way over here if there is nothing available for me?!”

“Just trust Me.”

So I thanked the manager but told him that $800+ was out of my price range. And I dejectedly turned to go back to my car and drive away.

Then he said, “Well, come inside and let me look at my computer.”

I’m thinking, “Why? I can’t even afford anything here.” But I follow him anyway since I have no other plan at this point.

And he sits down and starts navigating his system. Then after a minute or two of looking around, he says, “Wait! We do have one unit that is not remodeled that we could rent for $695.”

That’s in my price range! So I run to go look at the apartment to make sure it isn’t a disaster. And it wasn’t everything I wished for, but definitely good enough. So I run back to the leasing office and tell him I’ll take it!

But we still have to do all the paperwork and I have movers showing up across town in less than an hour. So he sends me to go get the money orders while he runs my application.

I lived there before. No issues. But when I came back from racing down the street to get the money orders, he told me that my rental application was denied due to a class C reckless driving misdemeanor on my record from SEVENTEEN years ago! It doesn’t make any sense! Why is this now an issue?!

“Lord?!?”

But the manager was able to call a supervisor and receive special approval for my application. So we were back on again. But then he told me that I needed to get a utility account number and rental insurance before he could give me the keys.

We had already come this far. And I had no other plan. So without knowing if I could get it done, I assured him that I’d call to get what the apartment complex needed before I came back with the movers and all my stuff. And off I went to meet the movers. As if I was going to be able to move in. With no keys in hand.

Long story short, I was able to call and get what I needed as I went to meet the movers. I even had extra time to spare as I waited for them. Calm and no stress from then out.

Plus the manager gave me $350 off the first month’s rent. In addition to not charging me the $50 application fee or the $100 admin fee.

After weeks of failing to work everything out “logically”, God’s plan was able to get everything figured out smooth as butter in less than thirty minutes! Thirty MINUTES before the movers showed up!

Talk about a Red Sea parting with Pharaoh’s army on my heels!

It was an incredible, wild, crazy adventure. Not only did God show up, but He really showed off!

My timing was NOT His timing. And I knew I would be ok either way. But whew, what a lesson in trust!

He didn’t bring us this far to leave us in the desert.

“I just can’t give up now;
I come too far from where I started from.
Nobody told me the road would be easy,
but I don’t believe He brought me this far to leave me.”

Jesus loves us.

A continuation of my attempt to finish a book I started in December 2017. Posting chapters in an attempt to organize it all and finish. And I now know I don’t have to, but it wants to be written. Why? I’m not sure yet.

---

I remember the time when we were going down Lockhill-Selma Road, almost to De Zavala, in your car. And we saw a little dog running outside of a subdivision.

You asked me almost immediately, “Should we go back and help it?”

I said, “Whatever you want to do.”

And right away you urgently asked me again, “But do you think we should go back and help it?”

It was clear that you wanted to help the dog. I was happy to help you give yourself permission.

It was a very busy street. By the time we turned back around, we went through a street or two of the subdivision but we couldn’t find the dog.

I was used to most people who would drive by without doing anything. One of my parents even dropped a dog off out in the middle of the country one time when they didn’t want it anymore. I hate that now when I think back.

You doing things like this, caring enough to turn back around and stop for this little creature who could offer you nothing in return, kept winning me over. It was important to me that you wanted to help.

---

One time after we stopped hanging out, I was driving down a busy street near downtown. I saw a dog that needed help. I had no means to be able to take care of it on my own. No place, no time, no money. But I had to do something. At least try to take it somewhere that hopefully would be able to help.

I pulled over on a side street. I was able to get the dog to come to me. But even before I could stand up after kneeling down to get the dog, it was like out of nowhere an older lady appeared right beside me.

She asked me if I was going to help the dog. I told her I didn’t have the ability to keep it, but I was hoping to find it someone who could. She immediately offered to take the dog. And just like that took him from me, put him in her car, and drove off.

Moments like that gave me boldness. To see God make up the difference between my heart and my ability.

---

It was your birthday coming up. I was working full-time and going to school full-time. I didn’t have any money to be able to get you what I really wanted to get you for your birthday: tickets to the Formula 1 race in Austin.

You talked about racing all the time. You had been associated with a racing team of some sort in what sounded like a long time ago. Was it called Racing for Jesus? I can’t remember now. Maybe you told me you met Taqui through that racing team? Again, I wish I could remember. But I think you told me y’all had been friends at least that far back. Maybe when you lived up in the Dallas area?

In any event, you talked about cars and racing all the time. You had so many dreams. Two I remember really well because you told them to me multiple times.

One was to be basically a health consultant for a racing team. To be able to give them the best of the best. And optimize them for world-renowned success.

Another was to participate yourself in driving some race that lasted maybe even weeks. And went maybe from somewhere in Europe all the way to China. I think you said that it was only very wealthy people who did that race. And one of the unique things about it was that they did the race in antique cars. From what it sounded like, it was less of a race and more of an experience. I’ll be honest, it sounded right up my alley as far as adventure. I always hoped you’d get to do that one day – and maybe invite me along.

But that was the thing. You were always into shit like that. You liked these fast cars. You liked your Mercedes. You said you used to work for a tailor, making custom clothes. You liked fine dining. You went on excursions to winery tours. Living in Israel for a bit. Studying and interning before to be an architect. Even flying planes and one class or exam away from getting your pilot’s license at one point.

How on earth did we ever become friends when we were so different?! None of it made any sense.

One of my funniest memories is when we were talking about music. And you said you hated bass?!?! I was flabbergasted! Lol! How could anyone HATE bass? Beyond that, I LOVED and still LOVE bass; turn that shit ALL the way up! So I was thought to myself, “Yeah, we are DEFINITELY not meant for each other. God would never give me a man who doesn’t love bass! Right?!”

But to even make matters worse, I asked you what your favorite music was and you said opera. OPERA?! Fucking opera?! Lol! You gotta be kidding me.

I love music! Love, love, love music. I have it playing almost constantly. I can’t sing a tune or play an instrument to save my life, but I have thousands of songs in my library and everything I do or see triggers some associated soundtrack seemingly always running through my mind in the background. If I had a zillion dollars, I’d catalog and promote music just for the fun of it. New songs every day.

But out of all the genres I like, and there are so many, only three I have never ever been able to get into: polka, death metal, and fucking opera!

So that was it – you were right – there was no way we would ever be married. Lol! And I didn’t think that was superficial at all. Haha! This was our line in the sand in some respect, right?

One time I was walking back down Alamo Street in San Antonio to my job at Wyndham. And this big Black dude was driving down the street in a badass truck, windows down, shamelessly bumping electronic dance music full blast. Check, check, check, check, check! Now THAT was my man! Lol! I joked with my coworkers that I had just missed my future husband. Haha!

Because music was my life. God wouldn’t do this to me. Right? How was I supposed to live in silence with you? The idea of not being able to enjoy my favorite music with the person I spend the rest of my life with was like… incomprehensible. You mean I couldn’t freely bass out in my own house someday? Music blasting as I showered, cooked, and cleaned?

Ugh, maybe. Maybe the person would be good enough that I could force myself to be okay with that. I mean my favorite food is seafood and Denise hated the smell of fish. She was really serious when she joked that I couldn’t cook my favorite salmon inside the house. She told me I’d have to cook it outside. And for the years we lived together, she was more important to me than salmon. So I only ate it when I ordered out. And I never resented her for it. If it made her happy, that made me happy. A small sacrifice for love.

But opera, Lord?!

We made a deal. Driving in my car one day. I’d play a song with bass and then you would play an opera song. And we’d try to endure each other’s music. One track each. Neither of us was looking forward to it. Hahaha.

Did I pick “Changes” by Soulstice – the MartyParty remix? I have listened to that song on repeat SO many times. Bass rattling the whole damn car. Never had a system that could fully handle it – dreams!

I remember whatever I played you said you didn’t hate it. You found some redeemable value. But you didn’t waste any time putting your music on right away after. I wish now I could remember what opera you picked. I didn’t think I wouldn’t ever not have you there to remind me. You seemed to know lots of information about opera. I was impressed at least by that. I couldn’t name even one song in the genre.

And we were on one of those great long drives together. You playing your opera music while I drove. And I endured it. For you. We laughed when it finished and I told you that I felt like we had been in the middle of a Lexus commercial.

And that was you. Caring about shit like that. When I didn’t give a flip at all. About brands, about wine, about fancy shit. I used to tell you all the time that I was “country”. In that I cared more for the simple things. Nature, sunsets – make me happy any day, every day. Conversely the idea of strutting around and trying to kiss ass with people who give a shit about stuff like brands never was, and probably at this late stage in the game, never will be my idea of a good time.

I could care less that you drove a Mercedes. To be honest, I was even a bit embarrassed by it. I cared about trucks! Country shit. The bigger and louder the better. It was only until you explained how long your Mercedes had lasted and that it was diesel – only then was I proud for you. But for the look? Yeah, not my thing.

Which reminds me of another funny story. When we were coming back from a day out in Fredericksburg one time. And you were really tired so I offered to drive your Mercedes the rest of the way. And was really surprised that you let me.

That car was like an extension of your body. I remember you meticulously working over and over again to get the beam of the headlights to shine just right. You’d always ask me if I saw the difference, but I never did. But again, it was important to you – so I tried.

And so I drove your Mercedes almost all the way back to my apartment that day. Literally only three or four blocks away. We were so close. But I offered to stop and buy you some fuel. Probably because you treated me to meals and more. And you seemed to always have money even though your work was sporadic at best during the time that God seemed to free up your schedule at least partially in order for you to hang out so much with me.

I didn’t want to take advantage of you. I never even asked you to adjust me the whole time we were friends. Not once. It was important to me that you knew that was not why I wanted your friendship. You only adjusted my broken foot twice – of your own accord when I was telling you why I couldn’t do certain exercises that you were recommending.

So yeah, I offered to pump some gas for you. And you even reminded me before I got out of the car. Like you did so many times before whenever the subject would come up: “It’s not gas, it’s diesel.”.

And I was repeating it in my head over and over as I walked to the pump: “Diesel, diesel, diesel, diesel…”

But my brain had to shift focus when it was time to engage in the process of working my way through all of the prompts at the pump. And my mind can switch gears on its own lickity split like one, two, three – even faster. That’s how I made it this far.

So muscle memory took over. And it didn’t occur to me until I went to put the GAS pump back up: “Oh shit!”

You heard me from the front seat. But I came over to where you were with the window down. Your eyes still closed. Ssleepy. And I said, “Um, Jonathan?”

“No, Sarah. Tell me you didn’t. “

“I am sooo sorry! I don’t know what happened. I had been telling myself ‘diesel, diesel, diesel’ over and over.”

This Mercedes was your baby. And the one time, the one chance you gave me to drive it – I fucked up. BIG time. And just like everything else in my life: when I was attempting to do good. So frustrating, so annoying. Why did I have to always ruin everything with those I cared for the most?!

You took a looooooooong sigh. But you didn’t get mad at me.

One time after my biological parents divorced, we were at my father’s for the weekend visitation. And he was off in another part of his apartment complex. Doing some work, some repairs. And I guess it was my job to do the dishes back at the apartment. Well, I wasn’t used to doing dishes with a dishwasher. At my mother’s house I always did them in the sink. Can you guess? I put the dish detergent for the sink into the dishwasher. I was a teenager, but I didn’t realize there was a difference. And boy did those bubbles blow!!! At some point I ran out of the apartment to try to find my dad because there was no stopping them as they started coming out of the dishwasher faster and faster.

Somehow I found him and I’m not sure even he anticipated what we saw when we got back. In my kid brain, it felt like bubbles were pouring out of the dishwasher and filling the entire kitchen! I just remember my dad exclaiming, “GOD BLESS AMERICA, SARAH!?!?!” Calm, but not exactly happy with me.

But you didn’t even do that. And this was worse. Way worse. I would have arguably deserved it if you lost it. How many miles did your pride and joy have? I think it was closer to two hundred thousand. And all it took was one touch from Sarah to ruin things, eh?

But you didn’t even as much as give me a dirty look. I was so surprised. And you were so tired, too. It would have been understandable.

You were at least relieved that I realized what I had done before I jumped back in and turned the keys to start the car.

We sat there in the Texas heat as you called not your father or your other kin by blood, but Taqui. He had just finished a long day of work. But agreed to get back into rush hour traffic to help you out.

He pulled up with a bunch of GAS cans and some kind of siphon. But before he pulled them out of his van, first he came directly over and gave me a big huge hug.

Now, that was totally unexpected! Not at all what I anticipated.

Both of you. Epitomes of grace that day. When it really mattered. Not just empty words from a pulpit or someone handing out pamphlets.

Wow! I wasn’t used to this. I fully expected the shots of a full clip of shame as unloaded from others in the past. But ya’ll really showed me something I never experienced to that extent before that day. And it had nothing to do with me or what I could offer. It was totally because of who you both were. Your character. Not perfect, but huge deposits again in my trust account.

On top of all that, ya’ll let me stand there looking pretty as you both took turns siphoning the gas. A messy job. Didn’t even let me help. Or as others in past would have done – make me do it all by myself as they stood by and watched.

That’s what happened when I was a teenager and set some fires at school in the middle of what I believe was a legitimate complete nervous breakdown. Cutting myself. Just couldn’t hold it all in anymore. Lost it. And after I turned myself in when I realized people were scared, thankfully the principals gave me grace and told my mother to take me to the hospital instead of calling the cops. But my mother made me pay her back every dime she incurred for my two week stay in the psychiatric hospital. Told me to get my first job after I was discharged. And those checks went to her for a very long time.

I tried to give Taqui money for all his trouble. For the gas cans, the siphon, etc. Not nearly what I thought everything he did was worth. But as much as I could afford as a full-time college student on a $14-16 per hour job. I even gave the money to you to give to him. But he drove with you all the way back to my apartment in order to give me all the money back. Blew my mind. I wasn’t used to that.

And thank God, ya’ll were able to siphon out all the GAS I put in your Mercedes and it lived to see many more days. Although I never wanted to risk driving it again. :)

All that to say the Forumla 1 race was coming up. In Austin right around the time of your birthday. And I really wished I could get you tickets but they were hundreds of dollars even for the cheap seats. Way out of my budget.

But one day I was driving to work downtown and right there by the Pearl at the 281/37/35 split was a HUGE billboard offering the chance to win tickets to the Formula 1 race.

Well, of course I signed up as quick as possible for the giveaway. The company was CultureMap. I never heard of them before and so that certainly didn’t help when it came to me considering there being any legitimate possibility I’d win the tickets. But every day when I drove to work, I’d see the billboard and just mention to God in my heart: “It would be really cool if You could help me with that.”

And that’s exactly what happened! One day I was totally surprised when CultureMap emailed me to let me know that I won the Forumla 1 tickets!! I almost didn’t believe it. I called them up just to make sure it wasn’t a scam or a trick. That I really had won the giveaway.

I was so excited to tell you! I can’t even remember how I did it. But I know there were four tickets for all three days of the event – even including access to the Elton John concert at the end. And I assured you that the tickets were yours. You could invite whoever you wanted. Make it a guys’ weekend – no need to include me. But despite my attempts to dissuade you, you insisted I join you for all three days.

And it wasn’t that I didn’t want to go. I just wanted you to have a good time. And I figured that meant inviting “cooler” people than me. Specifically, skinnier people than me. People who would fit in more. With the crowds of fans who spent hundreds of dollars just to buy apparel with Ferrari logos and the like. When I was much more Nascar and Walmart vibes. I didn’t want you to be embarrassed of me. But you insisted.

And even included me when you invited your brother one day and your nephew another. My first time meeting them. Polite, but not exactly the warmest reception. Although I didn’t expect otherwise. I mean as the theme always was and would continue to be – we were completely different and nothing, at least outwardly, about us being friends made any sense.

It was no doubt that God seemed to have orchestrated us in the first place. Just like the Formula 1 tickets. But maybe those race days were a preview of what was to come. Because although we started out all excited, things took a turn for the worst.

It started when some really nasty weather blew in the first day. Ugly cold rain. Turning the entire venue into that Swamp of Sadness scene from the Neverending Story movie. All the women in high heels at the Formula 1 event looked so ridiculous as they tried to navigate all the mud. But me also. At one point, just like the movie, I literally sunk one leg so far down in some mud that it came up to my knee and took me what felt like ten minutes to pull myself out as you and Taqui, who you also brought along for all three race days, didn’t notice and were continuing to walk farther and farther away from me. Almost lost ya’ll in the crowds, but finally caught up.

God, it was so miserable. Those days at the event. Why would God do that? Why would He give me exactly what I repeatedly asked for and then let it play out so bad like that? It felt like a dirty trick – but that’s not our God, right?

A continuation of my attempt to finish a book I started in December 2017. Posting chapters in an attempt to organize it all and finish. And I now know I don’t have to, but it wants to be written. Why? I’m not sure yet.

---

It got to the point where we were often spending over twelve hours a day together. So we needed more places. Not just restaurants.

One of the first parks you suggested we meet at was Phil Hardberger Park off Blanco. I hadn’t been there since my ex, Denise, introduced me years before. So that was bittersweet. But you and I met and walked around that place so many times, so many conversations, that you started to come to mind before her whenever I’d pass by.

That was where we first addressed the elephant in the room one day. We were talking in general about relationships. I can’t even remember the context now. But at one point I said, “Well, what does dating look like then?”

And you responded, “Like this. Except we’re not dating.” You and I.

That was so confusing to me. You didn’t have to answer it that way. You could have said a host of other things. But that’s how you said it.

And of course I knew we weren’t dating. We were just friends from church who connected well enough to hang out over twelve hours a day. Talk until two or three in the morning. But all it was was just supporting each other through hard times, right?

Each going through major heartbreak and transition. Me with the pain of losing the connection I thought I had with CCSA. And you also to a lesser extent with that, but more so with your most recent ex.

During our first conversation outside of church, at the coffee shop, we talked about her and what happened. In my mind, you hadn’t anticipated and maybe were having a hard time accepting that it ended how it did. I even encouraged you to call her or knock on her door to try to start up conversation with her again. I told you email and text wasn’t personal enough, but that’s what you ultimately did. And didn’t receive a response from her. We discussed your feelings about that and your other past relationships in our many conversations.

When it came to me, we talked much more about my relationship with God and the church. My previous romantic relationships also, but to a much lesser extent.

But even from that first coffee shop talk with me, we were started talking about Mr. December 19th. I thought I had to prove my faith in God by telling everybody about that crazy idea. And you, as was your nature, told me in no uncertain terms that you believed I was wrong about the whole December 19th thing. You still handled me with care though. I never felt shamed. Even as the subject would come up several more times and you’d always stand your ground that I was wrong about the whole thing.

When the day finally came and it didn’t happen, Mr. December 19th never showed up for me, I was so surprised that you were the first person I felt safe enough to tell. Even more than the safest person in my life for the past at least 15 to 20 years. Although I let her know next.

But I was so surprised that it was you who I wanted to talk to first. Sought comfort from. On such an embarrassing failure. I mean I fell so hard and so far on that one. Still cringe when I think about it eight years later.

And we had basically only just met. Out of all the people I knew at CCSA and in my life. You were the one I wanted to talk to first when Mr. December 19th didn’t happen. I was so surprised by this.

But my instincts were right. You proverbially scooped me up without a flinch and helped me get through that as best as anyone ever could. You knew exactly what I needed. Even more than I did. You took me out for a long drive and helped me talk about what pointedly did not happen. And then just like a best friend, you quickly helped distract me so I could start to move on. More importantly, with dignity. Probably the only reason I didn’t die from the overwhelming amount of shame from that infamous December 19th debacle.

Yeah, I guess looking back now, I can say you made me feel safe because you loved me in that incredibly difficult moment that could have so easily been the end of me in the hands of pretty much almost everyone else. But God knew what He was doing before I was even aware of what I needed. You were the one who He seemed to hand-pick to help me navigate that. And so many other things.

And so, with great hesitation, I started to consider alternatives since Mr. December 19th didn’t happen. And you were right there beside me through that process.

---

I left Denise back in 2009 or 2010. In a dramatic way. I was sleeping one night and had a dream that it was “the rapture”. And in the dream, all these bodies were flying up into the sky. But there I was in bed with her. And when I looked over at her, I heard God ask me in my dream, “So, she’s worth it?” And then the dream ended.

But the dream was so real to me that I shot up immediately in bed and wondered if “the rapture” had really just happened. I went outside and sat in my truck at three in the morning. Feeling sick to my stomach. Feeling like maybe I had just traded my future in eternity for some happiness here on earth.

So I called my biological mother. The one who raised me in this religion since my conception. Thinking if she answered then maybe “the rapture” didn’t happen.

I never ever called her this late in my entire life. So when she answered I felt such a wave of relief that the decision was immediately made. I told her to pray for me. And then somehow the decision was made that I’d move back to her house right then.

Over two years living with my girlfriend, who I dearly loved, and ended it in a matter of minutes over that dream.

She was standing on the porch at some point. Had woken up and found me outside. Wondering why I was sitting in my truck at three in the morning on the phone. I remember I walked up to the porch and told her I had to leave. Right then.

She probably thought I had absolutely lost my mind. She told me, “You know if you leave, you can’t ever come back?” I went ahead and left. Because I was so scared that I had narrowly missed spending eternity in a lake of endless fire.

She helped me pack and by the time the sun was up, I was on the road to my mother’s. Crying my eyes out.

We had only argued one time the whole time I was with her. Over her saying that it was okay to kiss other people even if you were in a committed relationship. And when I say argued, we didn’t even raise our voices or get disrespectful. We just never came to be on the same page with that issue.

But that was near the end and otherwise it had been a glorious run of peace and lots of laughter. Everything wasn’t perfect, even more so when I could think about it years later with some emotional distance, but it was definitely very good for a long time.

I hated God for not letting me be with her. And not letting me be with women. As I saw it back then. Now all these years later I see the whole situation and the whole homosexual thing, even the kissing other people thing, so differently. A completely different perspective and narrative. Which I hope to share eventually.

But for now I just want to share my mindset back then. Where I was when we met. After I hated God for taking away my happiness with Denise. And then read the entire Bible looking for some loophole to get back to her. Which led me to listening to Christian radio while I worked. Which led me to visiting CCSA. Which led me to meeting you.

---

But also before I even met you, I was thinking God was preparing me for my future husband. Who I thought was Mr. December 19th. But now that that didn’t work out, you and I talked more about who and what I thought God was preparing me for. And in my head it looked so specific.

I remember one time we were sitting in my car in the parking lot of the HEB in Schertz after another long day of hanging out. And I was telling you that I would know who my future husband is because he wouldn’t try to kiss me until after we were married. All in my pompous certainty.

And your reaction was so visceral: “You are so damn black and white, Sarah! If a man tries to kiss you, it’s not a bad thing! It means he likes you! Just tell him, ‘Tap your brakes, Andretti.’” 😊

---

It wasn’t until all these years later that I wondered about two moments.

We never got physical. Thank God. I haven’t done a lot right in my life. But at least I did that. Because no regrets. No shame. Nothing to hide. Just hugs when greeting and saying goodbye.

Except for one time when you took me to that park by the lake near Bandera. And it was already night. The first time I heard the coyotes and it scared me so much! They sounded like demonic aliens. Screeching so loud! And it was pitch black outside. I was so scared that I grabbed onto your shirt so I wouldn’t lose you in the dark. And you didn’t pull away.

And another time when I was cooking at my apartment for our Bible study. Maybe Julie was already there while I was finishing up the meal. And you passed behind me in the kitchen and touched the small of my back as you scooted behind me in that tiny ass apartment.

I didn’t have the nerve to think anything more of it. But it didn’t scare me. Not creepy at all. Which was an accomplishment for me in terms of men. And beyond the intellectual, I have to admit I liked the idea of us being that familiar. The innocence of it was beautiful in a kind of way that doesn’t happen as much when you get older.

All that to get back around to the two moments that confused me.

Once when we were up at the old tunnel park. Laying out looking at the stars. Quiet for the most part. Except when you’d point out the satellites and planes flying overhead.

We had been there so many times by that point. Even that one crazy time where someone somewhere was playing the piano and it was so quiet out there that even though they were God knows where, it sounded like a concert just for us.

But this time I was so cold. And you and your ice baths – trying to convince me to just think my way through the feelings of coldness. I thought you were completely crazy about that back then.

But at some point that night you took my face in your hands and held it for a long time…

I’m the one who pulled away. Too much in my head. I didn’t know what you were thinking. So I ended the moment.

Brené Brown refers to it as dress-rehearsing tragedy. And she was 100% correct – I wish I hadn’t always tried to be in control in order to try to prevent inevitable pain. Because I only stole from myself. Maybe there could have been so much more happiness.

The next time I only wondered about recently, years later. It happened when we were at that old mall off Fredericksburg Road. You brought me there a lot for movies at the Bijou and just walking around when the weather wasn’t conducive to us spending time outside.

And this time you were in such a pensive mood when I showed up. In one of your funks. And I mistakenly thought I had to fix it, fix you. It was up to me, right?

So I was doing my best at first. Trying everything I knew. But only making things worse. And not understanding what had you so frustrated beyond your usual valid grievances.

But at some point I just gave up. So sad that I couldn’t snap you out of it. And just sat and walked with you in silence.

You didn’t say much. But you didn’t try to end our time or go away. We were just there together in silence for awhile.

Until you slowly started up the conversation again. This time on your terms. And everything was totally different.

I had let go and you came back. To me.

And the “us” I liked best had returned. So quickly. So much that I eventually forgot the rocky start.

We were walking in the parking garage after having done what seemed like a million laps inside the mall. When I was finishing up something I said. Animated, totally engaged in our conversation. And you stood in front of me, smiled, and took both your hands and just held my face again. For another long time. Just looking at me.

It was night and dark outside. Like when you held my face that last time at the bat tunnel park. But this time the lights were on in the parking garage. And I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t figure out what you were doing, what you were thinking. So again, I pulled away. To deal with not understanding what was happening.

Even now, I feel embarrassed. I don’t want to tell these stories for your sake. Because, look at me, right?

It’s stupid and silly to think anyone would want to kiss THIS? Right?

It was just a fact of life for me. And had been for so long that otherwise never even occurred to me.

We were just two friends hanging out. Right?

---

So yeah, that day way back in the beginning. When we were in Phil Hardberger Park. And you followed up your comments on dating by saying, “We are never going to get married.” Meaning you and I would never be together. I was actually offended.

I didn’t tell you, but I was thinking, “Your audacity! Just because I’m fat, that doesn’t mean I’m desperate.”

Only in the sense that I’m not just going to fall for the first person who gives me attention. Right?

I didn’t leave my love, Denise, just to settle for anyone. No, I intended the next person I committed to to be the last. For life.

What would we talk about all the time? A lot of it was stuff like this.

This wasn’t what you sent the Moroccan Bites ladies. That one was a completely different tone. You felt a little more free with me. And you knew it. Made sure to let me know to warn others if I shared it. Which I used to do with my coworkers at the time. But I always wished more people could hear our conversations. Hear you.

Maybe too much for most, but to the audience that needed to hear it probably so much comfort. I felt spoiled to be able to volley ideas like this back and forth with you for so long. Not many could handle how deep I needed to go with some details. But you seemed to be right there with me. I didn’t have to explain myself.

This is one you sent to me after a conversation of ours. I hope others will hear your heart and a taste of the freedom – in truth – that you started to help me grab hold of and live!

From : “Dr. Jonathan Almirudis”
To : “Sarah Nyhan”

As you know I have no problems you sharing the e-mails I send you, but you might want your readers to know that I am a matter of fact person, one that is interested in the truth and may sound insensitive. As you know I am not insensitive, just someone wanting to speak the truth.

I am so used to hearing the responses you received. They take 1 Corinthians 10:31-32:

“Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God. Give none offence, neither to the Jews, nor to the Gentiles, nor to the church of God”.

And then they use it to defend whatever view they wish.

In this passage Paul is talking about food sacrificed to idols! Yes, the word ‘drink’ is in the verse, but look at it in context. Wasn’t a form of demon worship eating food sacrificed to idols?

Never in the Bible will you find the people being told not to drink alcoholic beverages. Plenty is said on not getting drunk, but not on avoiding alcohol. Yes, there was the Nazarite vow and while serving the Lord, but those were temporary.

Look at Jeremiah 35 and the house of Rechab. They made a vow not to drink and they were the exception. They kept that vow and God blessed them.

But before someone wants to use that as an argument, notice that they also vowed not to build houses, sow seed or plant vineyards – but were to always dwell in tents. Let me see someone make that vow.

I abhor people forcing the Bible to defend whatever point of view they have. Most of what I hear from the pulpit and from people that have grown up in the church when they reference drinking is the fear of offending someone or making someone fall into alcoholism because they saw someone drink.

Really?! Don’t think so highly of yourself; be a little realistic. People can be bombarded with advertising, surrounded by people drinking, and talking about drinking – and have no problem until they see you drink? You are so special.

I think that they would be better off if they saw someone drink responsibly and not abusing alcohol.

People are so set on a belief system and take a holier-than-thou position that they refuse to consider a problem honestly. Their mind is set and no matter what is said they won’t budge. Most people will not consider an opposing view seriously. For them to come to a point where they have to admit being wrong is something that probably won’t happen.

This argument of the alcohol content of wine and that wine was diluted with water is frankly silly and intellectually offensive.

Also, when I hear that people didn’t drink the water because it was polluted – I cringe. When did people realize that water could be harmful? Look at the many purification ceremonies and traditions the people in the Bible had. Most importantly, people were still getting drunk with that dilution at the Lord’s Supper.

The Bible addresses being drunk. And it also speaks well of drinking. Learn self-control, but then that is too much to ask.

Look at how we abuse food, the time we give to media, etc. We are a people that have no self-control and thus think it our job to put demands on others that are un-Biblical.

Deuteronomy 12:32: “What thing soever I command you, observe to do it: thou shalt not add thereto, nor diminish from it.”

It seems that we are more concerned about offending an ex-alcoholic than we are in offending God.

We need to follow the word of God instead of trying to accommodate it to our belief systems.

You want to get technical? Then realize that the Lord’s Supper is to be taken with wine and unleavened bread. The Bible tells us how it should be done, but we know better and serve grape juice and fermented bread. Aren’t we glad that God pours grace upon us?

If we eliminated the taboo of alcohol from our churches and families, and instead followed the Bible, then we would be a better witness to the world.

How is it that we can preach tithing and ignore the blessings that God promises?

Proverbs 3:9-10: “Honour the LORD with thy substance, and with the firstfruits of all thine increase: So shall thy barns be filled with plenty, and thy presses shall burst out with new wine.”

Does that mean that you won’t buy a new car, house, clothes or any good thing because it might offend a brother? “Yes, it may cause my friend that was a thief to start stealing again.”

There is a balance that people avoid. Proverbs 21:17: “He that loveth pleasure shall be a poor man: he that loveth wine and oil shall not be rich.” Do I need to explain that verse?

There is a balance and in that balance is the truth. There is nothing wrong with drinking alcohol. We should not teach against it. God gives it to us as a blessing and wants us to enjoy it.

Remember the tithe in Deuteronomy? I’ll remind you once again. Please read it slowly. Deuteronomy 14:22-27.

Notice that it was a command, a tithe that they were to give and in it they are told: “thou shalt bestow that money for whatsoever thy soul lusteth after, for oxen, or for sheep, or for wine, or for strong drink, or for whatsoever thy soul desireth: and thou shalt eat there before the LORD thy God, and thou shalt rejoice, thou, and thine household”.

It says strong drink. So much for diluted wine. And it is for you and your whole household to enjoy.

I am sorry, but it is un-Biblical to preach against drinking. Preach all you want against getting drunk, but don’t call bad what God calls good.

I really feel stupid and silly trying to continue writing this book. And I now know I don’t have to. But it wants to be written. And won’t leave me alone until I finish. Why? I’m not entirely sure yet. But here is some more as I try to get it done. “Confess… so that you may be healed.”

—–

We talked at the church first. Then at the coffee place across the street. But early on you seemed to pick a new place every time. Which added to the fun. You showed me lots of restaurants. Introduced me to many for the first time. I used to be that person in most of my friend groups. But you one-upped me so many times in that regard. Spending time with you in town seemed like an adventure over and over. I had lived there for years but you made me discover a city I never knew. That had been hiding in plain sight all along.

There was Koreana off Harry Wurzbach where you introduced me to kimchi and a host of other pickled things that I never had before.

There was Arirang off Austin Highway. Another small little place that I would have been scared to try on my own.

You introduced me to Green with their vegetarian Tex-Mex cuisine. I think that was also my first time at the Pearl.

You introduced me to Pho Nguyen off 281. Where you advised me try the bahn mi. Which is still one of my favorite Vietnamese foods to order. But it feels cruel that you still come to mind every time.

You took me to the Indian buffet off Wurzbach Parkway back when it was still in business. The place was so authentic that none of the signs for the food were in English. But that’s where I ate the best green beans I’ve ever had in my life. And am still searching for a recipe to make them.

How can I forget you taking me to Pasha Grill and Jerusalem Grill? Where I tried real naan for the first time. With the oil and spices. And then the cool yogurt dips.

You also took me to your little spot on Medical: Jasmine Thai. And Dahlia Thai on Fredericksburg. Where I tried and loved the Tom Yum soup for the first time.

You took me to Azro on Military for Afghan cuisine. My first ever time trying that.

Sometimes you were in the mood for Greek and took me to Mina & Dimi’s over by Lackland. Or John the Greek off Thousand Oaks. Which was in the same shopping center as First Watch. Where you invited me along as you met with I believe your bookkeeping lady and her husband. For a business meeting it seemed. I didn’t know why you wanted me there, but I felt honored that you trusted me enough to want me along. To introduce me to your people. Ones outside our mutual circle at CCSA.

You are the one who introduced me to the Alon when you took me to El Mirasol for my first time. The salsa and shrimp tacos were so good. But the conversation was always the better and best part. We went on to walk around that shopping center and have intense conversations at that place so many times. Our neutral ground we could almost always come back to. Lots of good memories. You took me upstairs and showed me the backside where I have captured some of my best sunset shots.

Guajillo’s on Blanco. Also my first time there with you. And many conversations. The one that triggered so much between us. Where you encouraged me to accept an offer of mentorship from one of my professors. That would turn into a whole thing. Much bigger than I ever expected. Or eventually even want. Especially because of how it later came between us. When you’re the one who fought so hard for it in the beginning. I remember we were there for two hours that day. And you only finally convinced me when you agreed to be there for me if it went bad. Painfully ironic that the mentorship greatly contributed to our distance before that time.

You took me to Moroccan Bites off Evers. I can’t remember if this was before or after Arlene had invited me there. But you encouraged me to try the Turkish coffee. Which I had never had before. Probably maybe only the second coffee I’ve ever had in my life. The only one I ever liked. And the baklava there is still one of my favorites.

It was really cool how you got along with the ladies who own and ran the place. Eventually you’d write something for them and ask me to look it over before sending. You wanted spiritual freedom for them and we prayed together for that many times.

You took me to Thai Cafe off Perrin Beitel. Back when they had the amazing lunch buffet. Where I learned to love the Yam Nua.

I can’t go in there without thinking of you. And about how we were sitting in the corner one day when you out of the blue asked me if I had ever been sexually abused. Only the second person in my entire life, outside of professionals, to ever have the courage to ask me that. And so directly. I was surprised.

That was really the first time I ever talked about it at length with anyone. Which even then wasn’t very long. But you listened and asked questions. You didn’t run away. You kept looking me in the face. You didn’t ditch me in disgust.

That’s when you told me that the first time you met me in your clinic you thought I acted like an abused dog.

We’d revisit that topic a few more times on our drives. Once even staying in town wasn’t enough.

One of the first was when you took me all the way out off 90. Nearly to that road that leads to Leakey. To the burger spot where the ladies from CCSA always went on the way to the retreats.

Well over an hour out of town. In the dark for the first time. I was scared at first. Because this for sure wasn’t just coffee before church anymore. We were definitely hanging out. A trip out of town was not necessary. Maybe it meant you enjoyed my company?

What if you regretted it once we were already well on the way? That would be awkward. But then God gave me one of the most beautiful sunsets I’d ever seen as you drove us on. It accompanied us almost the whole way as we were driving westward. And calmed my nerves. Gave me peace. Everything would be okay.