But there’s something about her that loosens something in me. Makes me want to be freer. To enjoy life instead of just stewarding it carefully all the time.
“Oops. You got really wet,” she says, sounding only mildly apologetic.
“I’ll have to bear your competitive spirit in mind in the future,” I laugh, taking the towel from her and drying my legs, trying to soak up as much water as possible. It’s a good thing it’s not cold tonight.
“Don’t come up against me in ping pong or volleyball, I’ll tell you that,” she teases.
“Oh, yeah? Are you good?”
“I’m not a bragger…” she shrugs, very much bragging without technically bragging.
“I’ll make sure you’re my first choice for volleyball,” I grin, tossing the towel back into the car once I’m about as dry as a beach towel allows. These clothes are definitely going straight into the wash when I get home. Entirely worth it, though.
“Do you play any sports?” she asks.
I slide into the driver’s seat as she settles into the passenger side, reaching for my seatbelt before answering.
“I used to. But I think work and life just… took over. I didn’t really make space for it. I mostly just walk now.”
“Well, walking is good,” she says, one side of her mouth tugging up. “I’ll just make sure not to pick you for any of my teams.”
I chuckle as I start the car, rolling the windows down slightly so the scent of the sea lingers longer while we make our way back up toward Recife.
A comfortable silence settles between us as we drive. Like we’ve said a lot today without needing to say everything out loud.
We’ve been out almost all day—learning more about each other in a handful of hours than some people learn in months.
I pull up in front of the farmhouse and put the car in park, switching the engine off. The quiet that follows feels heavier than the silence in the car did. More final.
I turn toward her, the weight of tonight settling fully on me now.
“I know you’re leaving,” I say gently. “And I loved spending time with you today. After everything I got to know about you… all I want is more time. But maybe we should take tonight, pray through where to go next with this.”
I exhale slowly. Every part of me wants answers right now. Clear, immediate, certain. But I know better than that. Rushing ahead of God has never ended well for me.
“I think that’s a good idea,” she says quietly.
I know this isn’t simple for her either. If we’re going to be together, something will have to change in her life. That’s not a small thing to ask of anyone.
She lifts her head, and I gently cup her face before I can second-guess myself. I pull her in for another kiss — slower this time, deliberate, like I’m memorizing it.
“I’ll see you at church tomorrow?” I ask softly.
“Yeah. I’ll see you then.”
She climbs out of the car, and I watch her walk up the steps to the door. Halfway up, she turns, gives me a small smile, and waves.
I wave back, feeling—irrationally, maybe—like I’m watching my future walk through a door.
I keep replaying that kiss in my mind as I back the car out. The way she looked at me lingers just as much as the kiss itself. Something shifted tonight. I can’t quite put words to it, but I know I won’t walk away from this unchanged.
I start to back the car up, and make the drive home.
I turn my music on as I drive, letting worship fill the car. I take a deep breath, allowing the sense of rest to wash over me.
Making decisions—especially life-altering ones—isn’t easy. There’s always that tension between what I want and what God might want. The real question is… do we want the same thing?
What it really comes down to is… surrender.
