Missy called that afternoon to ask if I felt like meeting her to go for a jog. I agreed, forgetting momentarily the way I’d blown up at her. I remembered as I stood waiting at the park, and threw my arms around her when she arrived. “Missy, I am so sorry about the other day. I was just so frustrated with everything.”

“It’s all right. I can’t begin to imagine what this has been like for you. How are you now?”

“Great.” I smiled as we began to jog. I had this amazing surplus of energy, and the run felt good.

“Wow, what happened?”

Later I would see what I was doing as total deception, but at the time I simply thought I was saving myself the hassle of convincing Missy that my unconventional method of evangelism was valid. It hadn’t taken me long to justify to myself my blatant disobedience through spin control: I wasn’t defying God; I was breaking away from the church’s archaic standards in order that I might win another soul for Christ. Allowing oneself to fall in love with an unbeliever wasn’t detrimental for the believer; it was beneficial for both parties, since the believer would surely win out in the end.

Similarly, I had convinced myself that he was on the road to Christianity and that, with my guidance, he would change his mind about God; it was simply a matter of being patient and waiting for him to accept the inevitable. He’d continued to talk to me after knowing how I felt about God, hadn’t he? That, to me, was proof that he was interested. That was all I needed.

And so, in that spirit, I answered her, “We talked, and he’s starting to come around.”

Her eyes bulged. “Are you serious?”

“Well, I wouldn’t expect a conversion in the next month, but I think it’s just a matter of time. Keep it under your hat, though, okay?”

“Sure, sure. When did all this happen?”

“We had dinner again last night, and we talked for ages. Fantastic conversations. He’s so intelligent. Had a great time.”

“Dang, girl. That’s amazing.”

“Yeah. So how have you been this week? I’ve been a lousy friend and I’m sorry; tell me everything I’ve missed the past seven days.”

I deftly changed the conversation to avoid any more discussion on this delicate topic, and for the rest of the afternoon, we jogged and hung out and put the nasty business of my short temper behind us.

When I got home that evening, I had a message from Jack asking me to call him.

“Watcha been up to?” I asked.

“My usual Saturday routine: worked out, read scripts, relived last night a million times, and hoped against hope you were serious.”

“I was. Didn’t you get my message this morning?”

“Well, yeah, but I couldn’t believe it.”

“Why not?”