Once I'm home and I've had my post-therapy nap, I'm struck with a desire to talk to Ethan.
I need to talk to him.
I send him a text, asking if we can get together for coffee.
His reply comes within minutes: I'll pick you up around 4 :)
As promised, Ethan arrives at 4 PM. When he comes in, I hesitantly reach up to hug him but he overrides my hesitation and pulls me tightly into a hug, kissing my cheek at the same time. "Where do you want to go?" He asks as if nothing has ever been awkward between us.
"There's a new place here in Charlotte, kind of a hipster hangout, if you can handle that," I tease.
"Sounds perfect," he laughs.
Once we get settled into a quiet corner of the café, I jump right in, "You have a strange effect on me, Ethan."
His surprise is as obvious as mine. "What does that mean?"
I shrug and I swallow hard. Why am I telling him this when I told him to back off not very long ago? "I can't quite figure it out, but I always feel safe with you. Protected, maybe," I venture. "Why is that?"
He draws his eyebrows together as his lips scrunch into a funny expression. "I have no idea why that is. Maybe I'm a miracle worker." He stops and looks at me as if he's said something terrible. "Oh, I'm so sorry, you don't like the word miracle."
I throw a sarcastic look his way and say, "Very funny. It's not that I don't like the word. I just don't understand why, if God can do them, why doesn't he do them for everyone?"
"That, my dear, is a very tough question," Ethan begins with a smirk. "Philosophers and theologians have struggled with that one question for centuries. If God is all-good, then why does he let people suffer?"
I nod emphatically, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn't. "Well?" I finally ask.
"You think I have the answer?" He scoffs playfully.
"Well, maybe you can tell me why God doesn't seem to care that I'm struggling, but when I'm with you, everything falls into place." I feel a flush in my cheeks after admitting that to him. "You want to hear something really weird?" I continue and he opens his eyes wide with a nod. "When I saw myself in the mirror at therapy today, and you were standing behind me, I felt more confident than I have since this all began. How do you do that?"
Again, confusion crosses his face. "You're asking some tough questions here," he laughs. "I don't think I'm doing anything in particular. I would guess that when we're together, you start to understand how I see you."
I take another sip of coffee as I process that explanation, his words warming my insides more than the drink. He has so much confidence, in himself and in others. It makes sense that I would pick up on his positive energy.
"I just never had to rely on someone else to make me feel capable, you know?" I admit in an almost-whisper. "It's kind of humiliating."
"Sarah," he says gently, placing his hand on mine. "I never want to make you feel that way. But we all need help once in a while."
"I don't," I say pouting. Then I realize that I sound like a spoiled child. "Okay, maybe I do, but I don't like needing help. I think I know myself pretty well. So why can't I just figure it all out on my own?"
"First of all, if you're asking me for God's perspective, he didn't create us to be solitary. He meant for us to have relationships, family, friends, people who are there for us. That doesn't make us weak. It just works out well when we find others who complement us. And also, if you only rely on your own self-assessment, you'd probably miss some things. God doesn't see you only in the way you see yourself. He sees your potential and he sees everything he loves about you. I'm not as wise as God, but maybe I can see some things about you that you've missed."
"Every time you speak, it makes so much sense. And all I can do is come up with random thoughts and sputter out partial sentences," I mutter softly.
Ethan laughs and it's very addicting, so I laugh with him. "Stop being so hard on yourself," he says, still chuckling. "You're still taking some pain medication, right?"
"Yes."
"Have you ever taken anything that heavy before?"
"No."
"That stuff will mess with your emotions in a major way, too. And it will make you feel confused sometimes, too. It's fine while you still need to use it, but just be aware that some things might be out of your control while you're taking it. Like, you might have mood swings, depression, or even dreams about handsome physical therapists who save your life."
I purse my lips, trying to fight back a smile even while a telltale giggle escapes from my chest.
"You want to know the cool thing about God?" He asks with untamed enthusiasm now that I've opened the door for conversation.
"Sure."
"If I can help you see yourself just a little bit, think about how much God can help you to see yourself, to see who he wants you to be, who he created you to be."
I stir my coffee a bit while listening to him. "But what if he's not happy with me. I mean, I'm a good person, I don't steal or kill or do drugs. But maybe he wants more from me."
"He might," Ethan agrees. "But I know for sure that when he looks at you, he doesn't see all your faults. He sees a beautiful woman whom he created. He's not ashamed to look at you or embarrassed by your behavior, you know. He just loves you as you are."
"I just feel like he's going to judge me and push me away because I'm not good enough." I swallow what I've said like a bitter pill. What if I reach out to God and he rejects me?
"None of us is good enough," he shrugs with a humble smile. "We have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. And yes, that's from the Bible, too," he says, winking at me.
"It just feels like it's fake, though," I say carefully, not wanting to insult him. "Most Christians I know all act like we're supposed to be so perfect and everything, but even they can't get it right."
"Sadly, that's true of a lot of Christians, but not all of them," Ethan explains. "Many think it's their job to go around telling others how to live their lives, when all Jesus truly asks of us is to follow Him and to share the Gospel. To have a relationship with Him. It's His job to help people to do what they're supposed to, not ours."
"Then why don't more Christians act that way?" I ask.
"Pride, I guess. They've found something they're willing to bet their life on, and they want everyone else to have it. But somewhere along the way, they start thinking that just because they've found the truth, they're perfect or that they somehow have a higher sense of how to live life."
"So, you're not perfect?" I tease him.
"Not in the least," he laughs. "I'm just as guilty as anyone else out there. I don't want people to know my deep, dark secrets. I want to hide the fact that I'm so...let's just say imperfect," he laughs loudly. "Maybe that's why a lot of Christians think they have to appear better than everyone else. They have a misguided understanding of sin and guilt. But we all sin. Period. The difference is that I know who can free me from my sin." He's quiet for a moment and then he huffs out another small laugh. "Listen to me. I sound like a preacher."
"Nah, it's all right," I say. "I've never heard anyone talk about it so plainly before. In my mom's church, there were a lot of recited prayers and they never really meant anything to me. In my dad's church, there was just a lot of singing and shouting," I tell him and he laughs.
"So, you don't really go to church, but you don't consider yourself an atheist, right?" He asks, and I know the answer he wants to hear. It's the answer I'd give anyway.
"No, not an atheist. I just don't get it, you know? I don't know what I think or believe anymore, especially now that my life has been turned upside down and inside out. My old life ended with the accident. I'm trying to make something new, to define what my new reality is." Then I shyly add, "Does God want to be part of that?"
"That makes a lot of sense," he shrugs. "And yes, God always wants to be part of our lives. I'm not going to push you into anything, Sarah. I know you asked me to step back and I will honor that, but I also want you to know that I'm serious when I say I'm falling for you. I honestly don't know how that would work out if I'm a Christian and you're not. I guess I'm just going with my gut." He really puts it all out there, just like that. At least I don't have to try to figure out what he's thinking.
"I just think that, if you gave yourself time, you would realize that there's nothing really special about me," I tell him, shrugging with slight embarrassment.
"Sarah Stoker," he says, grabbing both of my hands and drawing me close so our faces are just inches away from each other. I forget that we're in public, in a coffee shop, with several people nearby enjoying their beverages. "You're blind if you can't see that you're a very, very special girl."
* * * * *
So I hope you don't mind that I got a little more heavily into the discussion of Christianity in this chapter. The next chapter will be a bit more like that, too, but there's also plenty more romance in the story. <3