That was my biggest fear with Nick. Despite working too much, he really wasn’t a bad guy. Until now, potentially.
“How do you mean?” I asked.
“People end up feeling they have to do certain things or be a certain way to be acceptable. So they stop being who they are, and instead they try to keep a bunch of rules that they can’t keep, and all the time they feel guilty and miserable.”
“It makes me miserable just thinking about it.”
“Then they start distancing themselves from people they have meaningful relationships with. They’re afraid that people who don’t believe like they do will lead them astray. So instead of making them more loving, religion isolates them from the people they really do love.”
I opened my water and took a long drink, then slowly screwed the cap back on. “I had a friend like that. My best friend in high school, Melinda. We had known each other since elementary school, but in high school we were on the volleyball team together, and we really got close. During our sophomore and junior years we did everything together. Then the summer before our senior year she became a Christian. Some church camp she went to.”
“And after that?”
“After that our friendship was never the same. She started hanging around all her new Christian friends, and she did the Christian youth group thing, and she just didn’t have much to do with me. I mean, we were still on the team together, and we still did some things, but it got less as the year went on. As a seventeen-year-old, I felt really left out.”
“That’s a shame,” he said. “And it’s exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Yeah. I just knew we’d be friends forever. But I don’t think we ever got together after graduation. I saw her at my ten-year reunion.”
“What was she doing?”
“She had married some guy in college, and then they got divorced. I guess religion didn’t help her much after all. No kids. She was dating some new guy at the time, and she was still doing her church stuff.”
I unscrewed the cap of my water again and took another drink. He adjusted his body slightly to face me a little more.
“You’re afraid your husband is going to do the same thing, aren’t you? If not leave physically, at least emotionally.”
I was surprised at his forwardness. “What are you, a counselor or something?”
“Actually, yes.”
“Oh. I—”
“I didn’t mean to be presumptuous. It just seemed like a similar situation.”
“Yeah,” I said, looking down toward my feet. “I got over Melinda after a while. High school friends, you never know. As for Nick…” I bit my upper lip to stop the tears that were welling up. “It’s one thing to lose a girlfriend…”
I stared emptily for a moment. “First a workaholic, now a Jesus-aholic. Either way, Nick’s not invested in me. What’s the point of being married?”
“It doesn’t sound like you really want to get a divorce.”
“No.” I surprised myself by how definite that sounded. “No, I don’t. I want our family to stay together. But Nick is pulling it apart. Why is he doing that? Why did he try to get so close to me before we got married, but since the ‘I do,’ he doesn’t really seem to care? I married to have a soul mate, not just to wear a ring and reheat dinners when Nick comes home late from work. Maybe most men grow distant like that.”
He sighed. “A hard question. It depends on the guy. But mostly, men are afraid of being close. They weren’t taught how to be close growing up. They weren’t loved for who they are but instead for how they performed. They feel insecure and inadequate, and they don’t want anyone to know them like they think they know themselves. They’re afraid of being rejected.”
“So instead they do the rejecting. Faultless logic that men have.”
He shook his head slightly. “I wouldn’t say they think through it on a logical basis at all. They naturally gravitate toward those things that make them feel competent and less susceptible to rejection, like work. They think these things will meet their soul’s needs. They’re wrong, but that’s what they do.”
“You’re saying what they really need is intimacy, not work and sports and whatever.”
“Work is important to a man. Very important. Providing for a family and feeling capable are part of who he is. But, yes, deep down, men want connection, just like women. They want to be loved for who they are, not what they produce. They want to feel accepted.”
“So how does that relate to Nick’s Jesus thing? I mean, this isn’t the same as work is for him. He’s not getting accolades for talking about Jesus.”
“No, you’re right,” he answered. “This is completely different. Nick’s tapping into something deeper. If he listens well, he’ll fulfill what his heart is really looking for.”
“How is this going to give him what he’s looking for?”
“That’s the key question, isn’t it? If you figure that out, you might save your marriage.”
“IF YOU FIGURE that out, you might save your marriage.”
The man’s words kept running through my head. Maybe he was right. Maybe my reaction to Nick’s stuff was so knee-jerk that I hadn’t taken the time to look beneath the surface. Not that I much wanted to, especially this particular surface. Couldn’t it have been something else? Anything else?
Exploring why Nick was having an affair might have been easier. But if my marriage was going down the drain, the least I could do was try to understand it. I knew that the Jesus thing might just be a phase, but there had to be something underneath that had led him to embrace this stuff.
The little boy popped his head back over the seat. He was apparently heading to some beach, given the ensuing discussion with the man about sandcastles and moats and building defenses against the waves.
I picked up my airline magazine again and leafed through it. I glanced at an article on Texas wines that didn’t interest me much. A couple of pages on Hilary Swank’s acting career wasn’t a lot better. Why don’t they ever have interesting articles in these things? I guessed they didn’t want to risk offending any fliers and had to water down their content to a bland lowest common denominator. I made another halfhearted attempt to find a piece that would grab my attention but failed. I put the magazine back in the seat pocket.
I looked out the window to see where we were. Down below, a patchwork of crops covered mostly flat land. That meant we were…somewhere between Ohio and Texas. A lot of good that did me. I glanced at my watch. Thirty-five more minutes.
I closed my eyes. Even though my body felt drained, I wasn’t exactly tired. I just didn’t have anything else to do. The man in the window seat started snoring lightly. That wasn’t going to make the time pass more quickly. In front of me, I heard the boy’s father offer him a snack. Typical father. Has no clue about circumstances offering him a parenting break. If the kid was being entertained by the guy next to me, why divert him?
I tried to purge my mind and relax, but it wouldn’t purge. “If you figure that out, you might save your marriage.” The thought kept pressing in on me. I can either let events take their course, or I can try to be proactive about my marriage. I can try to figure out and relate to what’s going on with Nick. Okay, maybe not relate to it but at least understand what’s happening with him. If I can understand it, maybe I can do something about it.
I felt a small sense of resolve awaken within me. Things may be hopeless, but I don’t have to let my marriage go down without a fight. I owe that to myself, and I owe it to Sara.
I couldn’t bring myself to think that I owed it to Nick. Given his performance as a husband, he owed me, big time. But at the moment, that wasn’t the point.
Why would Nick suddenly turn religious? Nick’s a bright guy. Why would he believe that stuff? Or need it? Nick isn’t looking for a crutch in life.
I thought back over our relat
ionship. Had Nick ever showed any sign of taking this direction? He had gone to church occasionally growing up, I remembered, but that was because his mother made him. He couldn’t stand it and didn’t believe any of it. He may have had a basic belief in God, but it was pretty minimal, and it didn’t mean much to him. A couple of times Jehovah’s Witnesses had come to our house. He virtually slammed the door in their faces. He ridiculed the church down the street and their transparent attempts to subtly proselytize the neighbors. He never showed the slightest interest in the New Age stuff some friends of ours had gotten into—except as something for us to laugh about together.
Nick was about as nonreligious as they come. He worked. And worked. And worked. And when he didn’t work, he played golf, watched football, and listened to sports talk on the radio. God didn’t appear anywhere on his radar screen.
It was like I woke up one morning and a new man was drinking coffee at the breakfast table. Did he decide that work wasn’t doing it for him anymore? Actually, he had been working somewhat less lately. But why turn into a Jesus freak? I would have expected him instead to spend more time on the golf course.
The truth was, Nick’s direction the last several weeks simply baffled me. It had come out of nowhere. It just didn’t make any sense to me. Until I momentarily entertained one far-fetched possibility.
Maybe something did happen to him. No…that can’t possibly be true. But overnight Nick went from being completely nonreligious to being a religious nut. He wouldn’t have just decided on his own to do that one day. Would he? It doesn’t fit him at all.
What happened to him? Is it possible that somehow he really did encounter God, or whoever? But what would that even mean?
I heard the familiar airplane ding and glanced up to see the seat-belt sign had come on. The flight attendant announced our final approach into Dallas. The window-seat guy woke up. I looked out over the city. The Dallas area had a lot more water around it than I had expected. And brown haze.
“A lot of pollution down there,” I commented to no one in particular.
“The air has gotten terrible here,” the window guy responded.
The man in front of me straightened his seat, allowing my legs to move again. His son had disappeared back behind his seat. I glanced over to the man on my left.
“I enjoyed talking,” I said. “You gave me some food for thought.”
He smiled. “I’m glad. I enjoyed our conversation too.”
The plane landed and started taxiing to its gate. I sensed the window guy leaning my way.
“You know,” he said to both of us, “I overheard some of what you were saying about religion.”
That’s a shocker.
He continued. “I agree with some of what you said—the stupid stuff about religion. I mean, I go to movies, although not R-rated ones…well, except for Saving Private Ryan, which was great, and wasn’t The Passion of the Christ rated R?”
The aisle guy answered for us. “Yes, it was.”
“That was the bloodiest thing I ever saw. Have you ever seen so much blood?”
Neither of us responded.
“Anyway, people can get a little carried away with religious rules, but”—he was looking at the man on my left—“I think you’re wrong when you say that religion stops people from enjoying life. In my experience, genuinely religious people—Christians, I mean—can enjoy life the most.”
He looked back at me. “I’m not trying to be pushy. I simply think the two of you should consider that.”
The plane stopped, everyone jumped out of their seats, and the noise level rose, effectively ending the conversation. Hallelujah.
Still seated, the man by the aisle leaned over and, in a half whisper, said, “He means well.”
“I doubt that,” I responded.
We remained in our seats as everyone around us stood with the personal items they had rushed to retrieve. Why do people always do that? It’s not like they can go anywhere. The plane finally cleared back to us. The aisle guy rose and stepped away from his seat. He didn’t seem to have any belongings. He grabbed a suitcase from an overhead bin and set it down behind him.
“Isn’t this yours?” he asked me.
“Thanks.”
I took my suitcase and stepped into the aisle. As I was extending the handle, I heard him say, “Until next time.” I looked as he turned and walked toward the exit.
“Yeah,” I said, wondering what he meant.
It took a second for me to get my bag situated on top of my suitcase. I pulled it down the aisle, through the jet bridge, and into the terminal. I scanned left and right but couldn’t see the guy in either direction. Why am I even looking for him?
I started walking toward my connecting gate. I passed all the airport staples: newsstands, gift shops, bookstores, food places. I popped into a bookstore. In the “Top 20 Bestsellers” area, I couldn’t help noticing six religious books. I glanced around—Who am I afraid is going to see me?—before picking up one and leafing through it. I put it down and read the back cover of another. I returned it to the rack. What are these things really going to tell me?
I ambled over to the paperback fiction section and got a copy of Nicholas Sparks’s latest novel (I had adored his book A Walk to Remember). I pulled my suitcase over to the cash register and placed my book on the counter.
“Just this, please.”
The cashier placed the book inside a store bag and rang me up. I grabbed it and my own bag and balanced them atop my suitcase. I continued down the terminal and across a long walkway into the next. Just about the time I saw my gate in the distance, I passed a Starbucks. Exactly what I want. I had more than an hour until takeoff—plenty of time for a latte. I entered the Starbucks and got in line behind two men. The first ordered a Frappuccino. The second requested the coffee of the day and some coffeecake. The voice sounded familiar. He paid, then turned around. It was the aisle guy.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” I replied. “Fancy meeting you here.”
The cashier gave him his items, then motioned toward me. I stepped forward slightly. “Nonfat grande vanilla latte, please. Decaf.” I was dying for the caffeine, but I wanted to be good. “And an apple-cinnamon scone.” I handed her a ten.
I turned to the man from the plane. “You have a layover?”
“Yes. How about you?”
“Just over an hour left.”
She gave me my scone, and we slowly moved toward the serving island. The employee making the drinks placed one at the hand-off point. “Nonfat decaf grande vanilla latte,” he said. I reached for it.
The aisle guy grabbed a couple of napkins. “Care to join me at a table?”
“Sure.”
He headed for the sole empty one, near the entrance. We sat and sampled our coffees. It felt a little awkward, accepting this invitation. I was still married, after all. But what’s the harm in having coffee with some guy I met on a plane? I won’t see him again. And it’s not like I was looking for him…exactly. Besides, he is a counselor.
“So,” he asked, “did you buy something at the bookstore?”
“How did you know I stopped at the bookstore?” I responded suspiciously.
“The bag you are carrying.”
“Oh.” I glanced over at it. “Yeah. I did. Nicholas Sparks. I’ve been wanting something good to read.”
I took a bite of scone, then washed it down with some of my latte. A question was forming in my mind. Given our previous conversation, I knew how he would answer. But I wanted to talk it through with someone, and this guy seemed safe, in more ways than one. And I valued his opinion. So…
“I was wondering…”
“Yes?”
“I was wondering, and I feel kind of stupid asking this, because of what we were talking about before…”
“Sincere questions aren’t st
upid.”
“Well…” I couldn’t make it sound any different than it did. “Do you think it’s possible for someone to connect personally with God?”
IT WAS THE LAST QUESTION I ever expected to hear myself ask. I didn’t even know if God existed. Now here I was asking this guy about personally connecting with God. He seemed to take it entirely in stride, however. Which is what I wanted, actually—someone with whom I could safely explore possibilities.
“Why do you ask?” he responded.
“Well,” I answered, “given what we said before, about religion, you’re probably going to think this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard. But after we talked, I started thinking about what’s been happening with Nick. Him and his religious stuff, I mean. And as I thought about it, it still didn’t make any sense to me. It doesn’t at all fit who Nick is or what he would normally do. And, I don’t know. I just got to thinking, maybe…maybe Nick really did have an encounter with God. Or Jesus. Or something.” I paused for a second. “I know—that sounds pretty far-fetched.”
“No, not really.”
“But you don’t even believe in God,” I said.
“Your husband does, and he is the one focused on connecting with God. It seems to me, then, that it’s worth your exploring.”
I was surprised by his answer, but I was glad to have someone willing to talk it through. At least, I thought he was offering to talk about it.
“So do you think it’s possible?” I asked. “Someone actually connecting with God?”
“What do you think?”
“Well, since I’m not sure there even is a God…”
“Are you saying that you don’t believe in God or that you just don’t know what to think about the possibility of God?”
I thought about that for a second. “I just don’t know what to think about it, I guess.”
“Then you think it’s possible there is a God?”
A Day with a Perfect Stranger Page 3