by Jenn Faulk
~Cammie~
David Connor.
Cammie had taken some time for herself in between the different duties assigned to her that afternoon, and she’d spent the majority of that “herself time” trying her best to forget that she’d seen David Connor.
He looked different, obviously. He seemed to know it as well, as his confidence as they’d said goodbye had suggested.
He’d always been like that, though. Even as a goofy, irritating kid, he’d always had more self-confidence than was warranted. Camille had never seen it as cocky, though. She’d seen it as joy, as genuine confidence in who he was in Christ.
She’d never thought much about it, honestly. Until, of course, she’d run into him on the elevator and spent the rest of the afternoon thinking through who he’d been as a kid, who she’d been, who they were now, and chiding herself for thinking anything either way.
Enough of that. She was tucking every single thought of David Connor and the past into a corner of her mind where she wouldn’t be tempted to retrieve it. Why? Because she was going to the main session that night to hear from a career missionary. This? This was what she lived for, not for random meetings with a childhood annoyance who looked really hot, and –
Tuck it away, Cammie, she scolded herself, closing her eyes as the worship set concluded in the huge auditorium, just as all over the room teenagers were taking their seats, preparing to hear from the mission field, from the missionary.
No more thoughts of David Connor, she silently vowed as the conference director began speaking, heralding all the resume points of the missionary who was about to speak. She kept muttering prayers in her heart, hardly listening as he continued on with his introduction. Just as she finished, telling herself again to not think about David Connor, she directed her eyes to the stage set up in the front of the room...
...just as David Connor took to the pulpit.
For several seconds, Camille wondered if she’d wandered into the wrong room. Sure, the entire assembly from the conference was here, in large numbers, in full attendance, but wasn’t there supposed to be a missionary speaking? David Connor was just from New Life-Dallas.
“Thanks for that great introduction,” David said, grinning, looking over his shoulder at the man from the convention who had just spent a good five minutes heralding the praises of some foreign missionary.
Three years into life in Africa. Youth ministry. Hundreds of teenagers, won to Christ. Discipleship groups. Teens going home to the rural parts of their nation, sharing Christ with older generations. A whole culture coming to Jesus. A missionary on his own, all by himself, seeing it happen.
David Connor? Surely not.
David seemed to be having a hard time believing it as well as he continued smiling at the convention man. “And it was a great introduction,” he said. “Though hearing it, I have to wonder if you were really talking about me.”
You and me both, David, Camille thought.
“Because,” David said, looking out at the sea of teenagers gathered before him, “I’m just the weird, nerdy kid from my church’s youth group, who never really fit in anywhere or was anything special.”
That was the truth. Camille could see him even now, a junior high kid going from youth event to youth event, always just a little out of place, still smiling and grinning, though.
Just as he was now, even as teenagers laughed a little at his description. “But Jesus saw something special in me,” he said. “And He sees it in you, too. Each and every one of you.”
For the next thirty minutes, Camille sat, stunned by the stories he told.
He began with Scripture, and she could hear the strong, conservative, unyielding theology of his father with every word... but softer, more compassionate, gentler, coming from him. Words about Jesus, about the absolute sovereignty, holiness, and power of Christ, about how He sought the least of these, beautifully expressed and delivered in David’s soothing drawl, so different from the squeaky voice Camille had known better than she wanted to back then.
And then, he asked them. What then? If Christ says this, what difference does it make?
And he told them about where he was, never specifying the country, never naming the nation, but speaking in generalities, about people, about their hearts, about the longings everyone has on the most human level, for Christ. No matter where you went or what the story was, every person, at the basest level, was the same.
In need of significance. In need of redemption. In need of Christ.
No one knew it better than Camille, who had been so many different places and could affirm that beyond culture and circumstance, the human heart was the same, at its deepest level.
And as David spoke about seeing lives changed and an entire generation living for Christ somewhere on the African continent, Camille found herself wiping away tears. The stories. Wow, the stories. Lives being changed, a generation being moved to more, and a movement of God half a world away. It wasn’t David’s doing... but he was so much a part of it, as evidenced by the way he spoke about “his” students, that it was impossible to remove him from the situation and all that had gone on.
His heart, his passion, his calling... it all resonated with Camille, because it was so like her own. She connected with his stories and silently praised God that there was meaningful work being done in so many places, all over the world, by men and women set apart for His purposes.
As he prayed over the students there, she bowed her head, too, continuing to wipe at the tears that were all over her face now. It was an ugly cry, like Camille always cried when she heard about the nations, because what David had been sharing, what he’d built his life on, the sufficiency of Christ and His power to change lives? She was living the same reality.
And it cost something. Jesus was even more precious because it cost something to live for Him, the way she did, the way David did.
She only lifted her head long after his prayer was concluded and the convention man was again delivering announcements to the students.
And she sucked in a breath when, just down several seats from her and several rows in front of her, David Connor’s eyes met hers.
And he grinned.
Well, he’d seen the ugly cry, then, as evidenced by the way he mimed wiping away tears as well. Had he been watching her the whole time? Little weirdo. Okay, so grown up and gorgeous weirdo.
Just as she was preparing to frown at him and mouth some choice words (just like she’d done on occasion as a teenager), he held up a finger, then pointed to where she sat.
Hey, Cammie, meet up with me after worship, okay? I mean, right where you’re sitting and all. I’ll come to you!
She could hear his squeaky voice even in the gesture.
Figuring she wouldn’t get away from him since he knew where she was staying anyway (right across the hall from him, of course), she nodded and looked away again.
Ten minutes later, the hall had very nearly cleared out apart from the small group of students that were gathered around David, asking him questions. He was captivating them all with more stories, and Camille, with her hands in her lap, doodling in a notebook, was nonchalantly listening right along with them. She was amazed to find that she was disappointed when the last student left, wishing that she could hear even more about what God was doing on the other side of the world.
“Hey, Cammie.”
Not the squeaky voice in her head. And not the boy he’d been, as she looked up at him, even as he was sliding into the seat next to her.
“I mean, Camille,” he said, grinning as he corrected himself.
“Hey, David,” she answered.
“Gotta tell you,” he continued, still smiling, “that’s the first time my preaching has ever brought someone to tears. Well, apart from my mother.”
Camille thought of Phoebe, daintily wiping away tears at her son’s words. No ugly crying on that perfect woman’s part.
“Was it that poorly done?” he asked, laughing. “Was my handling of the Scripture so
dismal that you were weeping on behalf of the Lord?”
“It wasn’t that at all,” she said, surprised that he’d jump to this conclusion. “I just... the stories. What you’re doing. It’s... I get it.”
He watched her for a long silent moment, apparently taken aback by the sincerity in her words.
“So,” he eventually said, “I’m not working at my dad’s church.”
“I got that,” she said. “I mean, I didn’t, when we ran into each other and I just assumed that’s what you were doing.”
“Most people do,” he said, nodding and grinning again.
“You didn’t correct me,” she said, just a trace of annoyance in her voice. For his omission, for her assumption, for the crazy way her heart was pounding as he looked at her.
David Connor. Well, this was unexpected.
“Figured you’d figure it out on your own,” he said, smiling.
“Yeah,” she said. “David Paul Connor. Missionary to Africa. What in the world?”
“Who knew, right?” he said. “I can see why you thought what you did. But I’ve never worked at New Life. I’ve been on the field now for three years. Went straight out of college. Career appointment.”
“How?” she couldn’t keep from asking, thinking about how the board worked and how career appointment, with its greater benefits and better opportunities, only came after short-term assignments and their successful completion. “You’re not old enough.”
“They appointed me anyway,” he said, shrugging. “How about you? I’m assuming since you’re here that you went overseas, just like you said you would when we were teenagers.”
He remembered that. How had he remembered that?
“Uh, yeah,” she said. “With the board, obviously.”
“Career as well?” he asked.
“No short-term. One appointment after the other. I’ve been hesitant to go career.”
“Why is that?” he asked.
And she almost told him how she hadn’t found the right place yet, how committing to one place, still unmarried and without prospects, felt like resigning herself to this forever.
But that sounded weak, honestly. And for some reason, she actually cared what he thought.
What in the world? Exactly.
“Just keeping my options open,” she said instead.
He nodded, accepting what she offered and prying for no more.
“And just where did you come from to join us here in Dallas?” he asked, that familiar drawl back in his voice.
“Japan,” she said, focusing on the last assignment. “Tokyo.”
“Wow,” he grinned. “I’ve always wanted to go to Japan. What kind of ministry do you do there?”
“Student ministry,” she said, smiling as well, hesitantly, almost shyly. “Girls’ ministry mainly. English teacher at a high school in the city, which led to opportunities.”
He smiled at this. “That’s why you get it, then.”
She looked at him for a long moment, disturbed yet comforted by the look in his eyes. So familiar, yet so different...
“Yeah,” she breathed. “I get it. And not just for the type of work. But the why behind it. Jesus. Being everything. Being worth giving up everything.” A pause as she thought about this, at all she felt that she was trading in for Christ and His purpose for her. “I get it.”
And neither one of them said anything for a long while, looking towards the empty pulpit together, the room silent.
“You grabbed dinner yet?” he asked, glancing over at her.
“Not yet,” she said softly.
“Wanna have dinner with me?” he asked. Then, a little self-consciously, “I mean, I can catch you up on all that you’ve missed at New Life and in the exciting lives of Hope and Charity since you’ve been in Japan.”
And she stopped herself from saying that she would have gladly had dinner with him without the reminiscing, simply for who he was right now and the words he’d spoken to her very heart right there from the pulpit –
No, wait. This was David Connor.
She very nearly shook her head to clear out these disturbing thoughts, even as she murmured, “Sure.”