Like maybe I’m on the edge of something.
Not a breakdown.
A breakthrough.
Because for all the messiness of today—Gray’s silence, Olivia’s questions, my own unraveling—I can’t shake thefeeling that God is still here. That He saw it all. Heard every word. Collected every tear.
Maybe he’s not disappointed in me.
Maybe He’s drawing me closer.
I remember Gray telling me once that God doesn’t wait for us to have it all together—He meets us right in the middle of the mess. Or maybe it was that verse Pastor Jack preached on last month: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
Either way, the truth presses in now, quiet and steady. Maybe this unraveling isn’t failure. Maybe it’s the thread He’s tugging on to draw me into His arms.
I pull into the parking lot, shifting the car into park but not moving. I sit there for a moment, breathing in the quiet. The chaos of the morning feels far away now. Like something I lived through, not something I’m still drowning in.
I want to meet God in the silence. I want to ask Him what to do with everything I’m feeling.
And this time…I want to mean it.
The apartment is too still, the silence settling like dust in the corners of the room. I sit on the edge of my couch, fingers laced together, my knuckles white with tension.
I’ve never done this before. Not like this.
Prayer always felt…distant. Like I was sending words into the void, hoping they might stick somewhere on the way up. But today…
Today, I want them to stick.
I draw in a breath, shaky and unsteady. “Okay,” I whisper, glancing around the empty room. My voice feels too loud in the stillness, but I push forward anyway. “Um…hi, God.”
I fold my hands tighter, knuckles pressing against eachother. “I don’t really know how to do this—talking to You. But…I’m going to try.”
The silence stretches, but I keep going.
“I don’t want to fake this. I don’t want to just show up at church or read the Bible because it makes Gray proud of me. I want it to be real. I want You to be real to me.”
My throat tightens. “And I guess that means I have to be honest. I don’t feel like I measure up. I never have. But Gray keeps saying it’s not about being enough—it’s about what Jesus already did. That You sent Him because I couldn’t fix myself. Because I can’t save myself.”
The words scrape out of me, raw and halting. “So…if that’s true, I don’t want to keep pretending I’ve got it all together. I don’t. I need what He did for me. I need forgiveness. I need…Him.”
I close my eyes, hands falling into my lap. “I don’t want this to just be another Ivy-tries-to-fit-in moment. I want it to be surrender. I want You to take this heart of mine and make it Yours. Not because of Gray. Not because of Harper or Olivia. But because Jesus gave His life for me. Because He’s worth it.”
A tear slips down my cheek as the last words tumble out, small and trembling. “So here I am, Lord. Please forgive me. Please make me new. Help my unbelief.”
The silence stretches long and deep, and for a moment, I wonder if I’m doing it wrong. If maybe I’m not good enough at this to get an answer.
But then my phone rings.
My eyes snap open, the sound cutting through the room like a blade. I scramble to find it on the coffee table, the screen lighting up with Gray’s name. His picture flashes up—a candid shot I took of him laughing at something I said over coffee a few weeksback.
My thumb hovers over the screen.
It would be easy. So easy to answer and let him talk me down from the ledge. He’s good at that—at making me feel seen. Safe.
But…
I let out a slow breath, my thumb moving away from the screen. I watch it ring until the call drops off and the room is silent once more.
