Guidance

Chase chewed hastily on his steak and cheese sandwich, swallowing a little too quickly which sent him into a coughing fit as he choked on the food before he could continue his story. As Miranda thumped him on the back a few times he managed to swallow and took a long drink of water before continuing his story.

"Anyway when I woke up this morning, Justine helped me recover and we went to go get breakfast. Then, I think I messed things up again."

Peter, for his part sat, eyes closed, nodding slowly as he listened to Chase's recollection. Miranda let out a long sigh and looked at him pityingly.

"Chase," she said. "You have to try and realize how hard everything is on her right now. I don't know her personally, but from what you've said, you're asking quite a lot of her."

Chase raised an eyebrow. He personally didn't understand that. After all, he was the one who seemed to be making all the effort thus far. Every interaction they had felt like he had to run ninety percent of the distance required, and then it was usually Justine who would back out.

"I don't know aobuu that," Chase said softly.

"The most difficult thing for anyone to truly understand is what it's like to be someone else," said Peter, stroking his chin softly. "Justine is used to a much rougher world than you are, Chase. She sounds like someone is has to protect herself and lie to get by. You asking her to open up goes against everything that she's likely learned throughout her adult life."

Chase had no response for that, mostly because there was none. The fact was that Peter was right. Chase had been fairly close-minded through this whole journey. He hadn't really considered that while he was dealing with a woman, it wasn't a woman who had a strong support system of friends and family. She was very defensive, and probably had to rely on herself a majority of the time.

He sighed and nodded, glancing at Miranda, who smiled at him.

"It's alright Chase, you're not the only guy who ever struggled in dealing with a woman. Your gender is hopelessly lost without us."

"Hey now!" exclaimed Peter defensively. "Who are you calling helpless?"

"Oh?" started Miranda, raising an eyebrow at her husband. "And which of us exhausted themselves to the point of literally crashing through a window pane?"

"That's not…" Peter started, feebly.

"And who was it that took almost ten years to even ask me out properly?"

"I don't see how that's…"

"The point," said Miranda, looking to Chase again. "Is that if you really do feel like God is leading you to this woman, if you really want her, you're going to have to be prepared to fight; both against her instincts and yours."

Chase nodded, letting her advise ring through his mind. It didn't make a ton of sense to him, but so far his entire effort had led to Justine storming away from him twice. So, he was ready to try anew. After all, it could hardly go worse than his previous attempts had.

"Can we pray with you?" asked Peter.

"Of course."

They formed a triangle and placed their arms around one another. After a second, Peter began to pray.

"Father God, we just thank you for allowing us this time to be together and talk and share our burdens LORD. I just would pray that you give Chase guidance and persistence father. You God, know what must come of his time with Justine and we pray that your hand would be on that relationship father. You know more than we do what must be done, and we just pray that this is your will, and not our own. Amen."

"Amen," Chase and Miranda echoed together.

Chase opened his eyes, and was slightly surprised to find that there were tears in the corner of his eyes. He wiped them away with the collar of his shirt and smiled softly at the couple.

"Thank you guys, seriously. This actually as meant a lot to me."

Almost an hour later, Peter and Chase stood, shifting the spare tire slightly for the dozenth time to try and find the finite position that would allow the tire to properly rest on the wheel-well. It had been an arduous process, due in no small part to Chase's car jack. Unbeknownst to him, the jack had a habit of slowly lowering itself, no matter how hard to tried to keep it set. The result being that one of them had to jack the car up again every few minutes, or there wasn't enough space for the tires.

Nevertheless, as Chase accidentally pinched his pinky in the wheel-well, the tire slid into place, and they hastily began screwing on the lug nuts. Finally done, Chase grabbed a water bottle and used it to rinse most of the black residue off his hands, before passing the bottle to Peter who copied his movements.

"Thanks for that," said Chase, wiping the gathering sweat from his brow. "Seriously, that would've taken me quite a while by myself."

"Happy to help," said Peter, smiling softly. "So, see you Thursday night?"

"Yeah," Chase said, nodding slightly. "Catch you guys then. Thanks again, for lunch and this."

"Nothing gets better if we think only of ourselves," said Peter.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"When you were… healing people, didn't you ever feel… confused? I mean, you and Miranda just seem to be so… grounded."

Peter laughed hard, almost crying as he held his sides.

"No, no," he said, still chuckling somewhat. "I did certainly not have it all together. Chase, no one makes their journey perfectly. Every one of us is confusedly stumbling through everything just hoping we don't fail. That's alright. I had no clue what I was doing most of the time, and screwed up, at least a little, every step of the journey. I was worse than an angsty teenager with my bullheadedness. More than once I wound up in a very seriously dangerous spot because I refused to stop and think. That wasn't what mattered though, God got me through every impossible spot because when he called me, I went. He doesn't call the prepared Chase; he prepares the called."

Chase nodded, and laughed a little too.

"Well anytime that preparing step wants to kick in, that'd be great."

Peter embraced him briefly, clasping him on the back.

"It'll come Chase, just pray and be patient."

"Thanks."

Chase turned and climbed into his car, leaving the music off as he merged back into the traffic and let his mind wander. He tried imagining what his next meeting with Justine would be like, for he had no doubts now that there would be a next one. However, he knew that no matter how many time he tried to foresee their next interaction, it would not do him any good. After all, so far not a single interaction of theirs had gone as he'd planned. So, he would not plan anything. Rather he would trust God and allow himself to act in the moment. After all, it could hardly go worse than it had been going.

Chase arrived back at his apartment a little bit before two o'clock. Tired, and dreading the state of his inbox, he walked up his door and began fumbling for the correct key. However, something on his door stopped him. Honestly, Chase had seen the slightly peeling green paint of his door so often that he felt confident he could've picked it out of a line-up of one hundred similar doors and colors.

Only now, there was a folded yellow note scotch-taped to the door next to the dull, brass seven.

Chase examined it curiously, wondering dully where it could've come from. After all, he never had received a note like this before. Any message from a landlord or the city had come through his mail slot by the entrance, and he didn't really talk to any of his neighbors aside from Mrs. Hoffman.

The paper was yellow line paper, but didn't bear the ripped line of holes typical of a spiral notebook. So it had likely been torn from a legal pad, and written in hand. Even in this folded state, Chase could see several words on the note, and he reached up to take it down carefully.

He opened the paper, and was slightly surprised to find that the front of the note bore only a couple words, written in a very fine, feminine hand.

I'm sorry.

Below the message was an address. In spite of himself, Chase smiled, knowing that this must be from Justine. He found that he was more than a little surprised at how neat her handwriting was. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen someone handwrite a note in cursive, and on top of that she used an odd form of calligraphy he didn't recognize.

Opening his door, Chase started to fold the note up again, but stopped. In the excitement of a letter from Justine, he'd forgotten that the back of the note had script on it as well. He smoothed the paper out and flipped it over, examining the other side of Justine's note. Chase stared at it for three full seconds before he fully realized what it was he was looking at.

The most prominent thing on the note was several large lines crossing through a few lines of text. Chase had to turn the paper at an angle against the light and squint to read the writing beneath those lines. While a few words were instantly readable, most he had to try a few times before getting it right. After a moment or two, he realized that the back was a poem that had been written and slashed through and scribbled over angrily.

Chase grabbed a new pad of paper and transcribed the prom furiously onto the clean sheet of paper. It certainly had none of the finesse that Justine's writing did, but he could read through the entire thing without having to start several lines over.

The racing, beating pulse, and rushing brain

Thoughts abandoned, driven half insane

and losing hope, not even taking chance

Now walk by danger, asking for a dance

The needle never leaves me, always here

The lighter brings me comfort, ever near

Still shaking, day not hiding from my heart

It mustn't stop now, will it ever start?

Chase read it through carefully, then read it again… and again. It hit his chest in an odd way, and he didn't have the words to adequately say what he felt he wanted to. So, he read the poem again and thought through the path that must've put the words there. As he did, he felt as if he could understand and fear and pain that had put these words on the page. Even if it appeared she didn't like her work after all, Chase appreciated the sound and beats of the poem, marveling at how it was almost like rhythmic heartbeat.

It also put her drug use into a sharper relief for him. She didn't talk about the drugs or the trips, rather spoke of the addiction and pull of her using. Chase had never been much for poetry in school, always being forcibly reminded of the years they'd been made to read Shakespeare in English classes.

Now, he had to admit that when the poem was something personal and honest, he appreciated the words. Even if they hadn't really been meant for them, Justine had opened up her heart to him… at least a little. Spurred on by this, Chase had a sudden idea pop into his head and too the clean version of the poem into his office, hastily propping up a new canvas. He stood for a few seconds, painting the picture in his mind. Then, he grabbed his brushes and paints and got to work.