“Of course.”
“Why do you think this is so hard for you? The friendship part.”
I stare at the floor. “Because it’s not what I want.”
“But she’s what you want.”
I nod. “Yes.”
Jack lets that sit for a beat. “So what do you do when the thing you want the most doesn’t look the way you pictured it?”
I don’t have an answer.
He leans back. “Son, you’ve always had a strong pull toward fixing things. Taking control. It’s one of your best traits, but it’s also one of the things that gets you in trouble. Especially when it comes to love.”
“I’m not trying to control her…”
“I know,” he interrupts. “But I think you’ve been trying to control the outcome. The timing. Maybe even her pace with God.”
I shift in my seat, uncomfortable with how closely he’s hitting the mark.
“You don’t mean to,” Jack continues. “But when you love someone like that, it’s easy to start believing it’s your job to hold it all together. To make sure she doesn’t drift.
“But listen, Gray—leading her toward Christ, toward purity, that will be your calling when you’re her husband. Not now. Right now, she doesn’t need you trying to manage her faith like it’s yours to control. Because it’s not. You can’t force her into a relationship with Jesus. You’re not responsible for her salvation. What you can do is pray without ceasing. Be steady. Be ready to answer her questions when she asks. And trust that the same God who got ahold of you is more than capable of reaching her too.”
My jaw tightens. “What if she never comes back?”
“What if she does?” he counters, then softens. “Gray, you said it yourself—you were thinking about marriage. That kind of love is rooted in patience, not pressure. And I know this feels like a step back, but sometimes God has to do work in the stillness. And Ivy…she’s worth waiting for, isn’t she?”
I nod, throat tight. “She’s worth everything.”
“Then let her grow. Let her seek. Let God speak into the spaces you can’t reach.” He leans forward, his tone firm but kind. “And in the meantime, you keep living. Keep serving. Keep trusting. Don’t waste this season trying to rush past it. When the worry creeps in—because it will—turn it into prayer. Every time you’re tempted to wonder if she’ll make it back to you, bring her before the Lord instead. Pray for her faith more than you pray for your future together. That’s where your energy belongs right now.”
I look down at my hands. “It’s just hard to breathe sometimes. Like I’m holding it all in, waiting for her to come back.”
“Then breathe on purpose,” Jack says. “Not because you’re holding space for her, but because you’re trusting the God who loves you both more than you ever could.”
The words hit hard—true and tender and exactly what I didn’t want to hear but needed to.
Jack stands, moving around the desk and placing a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve come so far, Gray. Don’t let this season define you. Let it refine you.”
I nod, holding back the emotion welling in my chest.
“Let’s pray,” he says simply.
We bow our heads, and his voice settles into the quiet.
“Father, we come to You as sons who need Your wisdom. I lift up Ivy to You right now—her heart, her questions, her search for truth. Meet her where she is, Lord. Draw her close in ways no one else can. Let Your Word come alive for her, not because of Gray, not because of anyone else, but because she sees You for who You are. And I lift up Gray. Thank You for the love You’ve planted in him—for his desire to honor You, even when it hurts. Teach him patience. Teach him how to hold loosely whathe loves most, knowing You hold it tighter still. When fear whispers that he’s losing her, remind him that she was never his to keep—she’s Yours to redeem. Give him strength to wait well, faith to pray without ceasing, and peace that passes understanding when the longing feels too heavy. And Lord, remind him that Your plans are good, even in the waiting. We trust You with Ivy. We trust You with Gray. We trust You with the story You’re writing.”
When we finish, I open my eyes and exhale.
“Thanks, Jack.”
He smiles. “Anytime. Keep walking forward, even if it’s slow. And when you feel like you’re losing your grip—remember, you’re not the one holding all the pieces together. God is.”
I step out of his office into the bright light of afternoon, heart still heavy but steadier than before.
She’s worth the wait.
