Her brows pull together slightly. “Did you ever feel like you didn’t belong? Like, maybe this wasn’t for you?”
“All the time,” I admit with a soft chuckle. “Especially at the beginning. I’d show up, hear all these words I didn’t understand, watch people raise their hands in worship like they were fluent in something I hadn’t learned yet. I felt like an outsider.”
Her shoulders relax a little, like hearing that untangles something tight in her chest.
She blinks at me like she’s trying to decide whether I’m for real. Then she exhales, a dry sort of laugh slipping out. “Okay, but what if you’re not brave? What if you’re just confused and googling weird things at midnight and hoping for a lightning bolt?”
My lips tug into a smile. I know that kind of desperation where you are grasping for something you can’t name, hoping it reaches back.
“Then you’re human,” I say, my tone soft.
She leans back, arms crossing. “Good. Because I’ve watched like six videos on the book of John in an attempt to at least know something before I walked into a church. And honestly, I still don’t even know who John is.”
I chuckle, causing her to laugh as well, and it’s probably the best sound I’ve heard all week. All my life, really.
She doesn’t even know it, but she’s already seeking Him. Pursuing, searching, leaning in. It’s messy, yeah. But real.
“You’ll figure it out,” I tell her. “Don’t rush it. Let God meet you where you are.”
She goes quiet, fingers twisting the corner of her napkin. Then, barely above a whisper, “What if where I am isn’t good enough?”
Oh Ivy. If only she could see what I see. If only I could spill my whole life story right now, she would see that I was, and still am, the farthest thing from ‘good enough’.
“No-one is good enough, Ivy.” I say without hesitation, reaching for her hand and slowly brushing my thumb along her knuckles. “Because God’s grace doesn’t wait for us to get it right. It just shows up.”
“I know the pastor talked about grace in church today, but I am getting stuck on the difference between grace and mercy.” She says, dunking a chip into the salsa.
“Think of it like this—if you were speeding and a cop pulled you over, mercy would be him saying, ‘I’m not giving you the ticket you deserve.’ Grace goes even further. It’s him handing you a lollipop or a hundred bucks and saying, ‘Here, lunch on me.’”
Her eyes lift to mine, curious.
“That’s what Jesus does for us,” I continue, my voice low. “We don’t deserve grace. We mess up, ignore Him, run the other way. But He doesn’t just withhold punishment—He gives us more than we could ever earn. He gave His life for us, knowing we’d never be able to pay Him back. That’s grace.”
I let the words hang there, praying they land in her heart the way they still shake mine.
I watch her as she sips her Diet Coke, her fingers fidgeting like she’s trying to act normal, but I know better. I saw the way her voice trembled when she wondered if she wasn’t good enough.
That question…man, I’ve asked it too many times myself.
She thinks she’s not enough, and I wish I could reach across the table and pull that lie right out of her chest. Replace it with truth. With grace.
Instead, I just sit here, heart aching in the best kind of way, because this beautiful woman is letting me see her heart. And I don’t take that lightly.
She doesn’t know it, but this moment has changed something in me.
I thought I was already falling just from one chance encounter in New Orleans. Turns out, I haven’t even scratched the surface.
It’s not just the way she looks at me or the spark in her voice when she teases me, it’s this. Her honesty. Her hunger for truth. Her willingness to wrestle with it.
But there’s something I have to tell her. And I hope it doesn’t scare her away.
I shift in my seat, fingers drumming lightly against the table before I finally meet her eyes. “I need you to know…I don’t date casually. If I’m going to be with someone, it’s because I’m building toward something real. And for me, that has to mean being on the same page spiritually—knowing Jesus, loving Him, following Him. That’s not just important to me, Ivy. It’s everything.”
Her gaze holds mine and it makes my chest ache.
I take a breath. “I know we technically just met, but…there’s something here. I feel it. And I think you do too.”
Her cheeks flush, and for a second, I almost lose my nerve. Still, I reach across the table, threading my fingers through hers.
