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Spring and summer 1999
Aaron was lying on his bed thinking about Luce—of course. There were few moments now that he didn’t think about her. She’d looked beautiful this morning in her jeans and t-shirt when he’d picked her up for church. Ever since they’d kissed, he’d been afraid to get too close. He told himself that he didn’t want to scare her away, but, really, he was the one who was scared. He wasn’t without experience, but Luce, and his feelings for her, were different from anything else he’d ever experienced. It was like being in a riptide; he was just hanging on for dear life.
“Aaron! You got something in the mail yesterday; it’s down here!” his mother called up to him.
Sighing, he pushed himself off the bed and made his lethargic way downstairs to find a plain white envelope on the hall table. There was no return address, and Aaron didn’t recognize the address. Furrowing his brow, he tore it open and unfolded the letter:
Dear Aaron,
I hope this letter finds you well. I hope it isn’t too weird that I’m writing to you—I got your address from Pastor Dan the last time he was in Boston, but I haven’t had much to say until now.
I’m in Virginia! The Blue Ridge Mountains. It’s a beautiful area, but it makes me miss the water. And it’s so hot!
I’m working at a place called Hope House, a home for families who don’t have anywhere else to go. It isn’t exactly a homeless shelter, but it’s like a step before a homeless shelter. A lot of the kids here have never stayed in one place for more than a week or two until they come here. I never realized the impact that stability—or no stability—has on a person. You can see them grow so much, once they know they’re somewhere safe and don’t have to leave.
Anyway. The truth is, I’ve been thinking about you a lot since you left Boston. I think I feel kind of a kinship with you, since I was the first person from the church to meet you.
So how are you? Any new developments in your relationship with God? Or your life in general? I would love to hear from you that you’re doing well—or, if that’s not the case, I would love to know so that I can be praying for you. I’m really proud of you, Aaron, for turning your life around like you did, and I know that this last year can’t have been an easy one. If you ever need anything, I hope you’ll feel comfortable asking me.
Also, I wanted to extend an invitation. We could always use your services down here. If you ever have a free week, month, whatever. It’s pretty incredible down here! I’ve seen God work in ways that I never thought I would.
I don’t want to put you on the spot. It’s just that we’re always in need of volunteers, especially men. There’s a place for everyone here. Whatever gifts you can offer would be welcome.
Either way, I’d love to hear back from you!
Peace and blessings,
Jen
Jen—the girl who had come to him on the street that night. She’d been the first one to pray for him and, later, with him. When he’d returned to Maine with Pastor Dan, Jen had been the person he was most sad to leave, but this was almost the first time he’d thought of her in weeks.
And asking him to come to Virginia…what was that about?
He flipped the letter over. Jen had written all the information on the back: Hope House in Culver, VA. He’d never heard of it. But, looking at an atlas a few minutes later, he realized that he hadn’t heard of most of the places in Virginia.
Aaron put the letter back in its envelope and carried it up to his room. It was nice of Jen to think of him, and it flattered him that she’d asked for help, but there was no way. Not now.
He’d write her back soon and let her know.