Page 34 of Anything (Mayberry University #1)
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
After his next game, Levi leads me past the pond toward Saga. “So, my family has been on my mind since our last discussion.” Is that his formal voice?
“Tell me more.” I twist to him playfully.
He softens with affection. “I want to be … more intentional about being Jesus’s love to them. Do you have any advice?”
“Oh. I’m honored.”
Is there something you want me to say?
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see me.
“This sounds kind of random, but one of the Beatitudes comes to mind. ‘Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.’”
He releases the air from his cheeks. “That’s helpful. Thank you.”
I tap the side of my leg, trying to wait. “Well?” I lift my shoulders and lean toward him, like I’m trying to get away with something.
A smile tugs at his cheek. “I think I’m hearing two things. First, that God wants my whole heart.” He gestures to his tattoo. “And second … I wish they would just be real with me. I’m going to do my best to do that for them.”
Yes, God. Open their hearts. Help them be real with each other.
“I’m giving you some excellent practice,” I say primly.
He chuckles with me and nudges my arm with his water bottle. “Thank you.”
My insides ache with some unknown emotion. I wish yet again that I could hug him.
“The thing is … my father used to rail on me constantly. He’d sit at his desk and make me stand there while he told me all the ways I was failing him.
As if he would seem capable and stable if Everett and I were.
I can tell Jesus is changing my heart slowly, helping me let go of the anger, but …
” His water bottle lid is going to break any second.
“I’m afraid he thinks I started following Jesus, unenrolled at Yale, left Connecticut because of rebellion or spite.
I’m afraid he won’t be able to see that I had to figure stuff out, do things differently, because that life can destroy a person.
Jesus said it’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to embrace God’s way, and I get it now.
I want my father to find the hope that I have, the peace.
He’s so relentlessly paranoid about … certain things.
I just wonder if I can help him at all if he doesn’t even understand my reasons. ”
His honesty is so precious to me. Tenderness swims in my chest along with a thousand indiscernible thoughts. I want to stop and answer the way God wants. I’m not sure I should say anything.
Please give me the right words. Keep me from saying anything that isn’t from you.
“If you’re afraid you’re an obstacle to your dad meeting Jesus, I can really only imagine the opposite.
But there’s one thing you can do. You can keep praying for him and not stop.
Set a reminder in your phone, every day, every few hours even.
In my experience, God honors earnest, consistent prayers in faith.
” Do I still believe that? My gut clenches.
“Sometimes I wish prayer were more of a magic trick, but it’s never a cop-out. It’s the best strategy we have.”
A streetlamp’s glow betrays Levi’s wet eyes.
We meander the rest of the way in comfortable, contemplative silence.
When we arrive at my building, I whisper good night but stall by the bench, standing closer than friends do.
I run my fingers down his open jacket, thumbs brushing the fleece underneath.
His intense gaze catches on my mouth and my heart tries to crack my ribs. He snaps away.
Back in my room, my hypocrisy crashes over me. I will never fully reciprocate his vulnerability and openness, lay my own secrets bare. I can’t. In yet another way, I’m not earning my keep in our relationship.
What do I do with all of this? What’s the difference between necessary boundaries and withholding affection? What’s the balance between taking up space and treating him fairly? I know he deserves so much better. I curl my legs up on my bed and rub my face.
I still don’t get it. Please help.
In the dark of the early morning, I shuffle to the lounge with a blanket.
A psalm about fear.
I type his prompt into my AI app, which recommends Psalm 56.
The more I read, the more I hunch over my phone.
It’s like it was written for me. There are no people hunting me down like David, not since that night I can’t forget, but fear itself hunts me day and night.
Two verses jump off the screen. “When I am afraid, I put my trust in you” and “You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book? ”
I slump down to rest my head on the top of the chair cushion.
That’s a big bottle, a long book. I squeeze my eyes shut.
I’m always here.
Please take this away.
I know you’re always here, but I don’t want to do this anymore.
I hate it. I’m exhausted. In all the ways. And the nightmares are awful. Please take them away. Take away the terrible memories, the fear of them coming back at any moment.
I beat my head on the cushion, past frustrated and inching toward anger.
It doesn’t seem like a yes.
Fine. Then show me what to do next.