“I... I am a man of flesh and bone. My desire for you was powerful, and I sinned. I pray for yours and heavenly Father’s forgiveness each day. There is no excuse for what I did.”
He is saying all the right things, but something feels wrong. Maybe the damage is irreversible.
“I want help. Ineedhelp,” he continues, leaning closer with his elbows on the table. “I started counseling. I bought some self-help books.”
I hold myself and shrug. “What do you want me to say? I don’t know what to do now, Gabe.”
“I want you to forgive me.”
I feel myself shut down like a phone dying. I stare at the tabletop.
“But not right away,” he adds with a rushed tone. “With time, I want toearnyour forgiveness.”
I glance up. That is far more reasonable than simply giving forgiveness.
Yet, my heart pangs as guilt envelops me. It’s hypocritical to withhold forgiveness when I beg Jesus for the same whenever I sin. I suppose I am only flesh and bone, too.
Gabe lowers his voice more so. “I have a confession I’ve never told anyone.” He swallows hard, making his Adam’s apple bob. “I watched pornography and it corrupted my mind with depravity.”
I close my eyes. I never imagined Gabe doing that, either. Honestly, I don’t believe that’s why he did what he did.
“But that’s over, and I am being cleansed daily from the sin it caused.”
“Other men watch that stuff and don’t cross lines,” I mumble.
He sips his drink, seemingly pouting. After a moment, he perks up as if he had an epiphany.
“Morgan, God tests us in ways we don’t expect. This is a test for both of us. For me to vanquish my sinful ways, and for you to trust God gave you the strength to forgive someone as awful as me.”
“I can’t be alone with you,” I blurt, too loud and fast.
“Uh... Of course you can’t. I wouldn’t dream of it.” Then, he shakes his head, like the suggestion is too wild to even fathom.
It isn’t crazy. It’s reality.
“Gabe, be serious. How are we supposed to do youth service together?”
“That won’t be a problem. I will always have someone in the room with us. If we end up alone, I won’t move from where I stand until you exit the room.”
That requires trust, but otherwise, it is an argument that is hard to refute.
My chin trembles lightly, because I don’t want this. This feels too complicated. Nothing about Gabe was ever this complicated.
I am on the verge of tears, but I can’t cry. Not here or in front of him.
Suddenly, he slides me his phone. On the screen is a picture of me and him at Bible camp. We were ten years old. His arm lay over my shoulder and we both beamed at the camera.
“That boy was pure. Somewhere, I fell off the path of righteousness. I ruined what we had romantically. Maybe even our friendship, but please don’t exile me from the one place that heals best: our church. Don’t stop me from preaching as it is my sole purpose. It’s what God chose us to do.”
I groan audibly. This is what makes it so hard. We were the same. It’s why I could relate to him, even though romantic feelings were a simmer instead of a fire.
“I’ll think about it,” I whisper.
“Yes, of course. Take your time.”
I drink my smoothie as he shifts in his chair.
A teenage girl walks in and recognizes us immediately.
