by Jenn Faulk
~Cammie~
Winter turned to spring, and spring turned to summer.
And there was sand everywhere.
Camille still wasn’t accustomed to the grainy sand that followed her wherever she went. She’d adjusted to seaside life fairly easily, but she was still surprised to find that no matter how careful she was, how tedious she was in cleaning her space in the house she still shared with Kait, how meticulous she was in keeping the sand from her hair and her body... well, it was still always there. In crevices and folds in her purses and clothes, in between her toes, always under her fingernails, and in every step she took.
It was particularly noticeable after a weekend of camping in the dry bed of the Swakop river. She and David had taken seventy-four teenagers down there, where they spent hours singing praise songs, studying Scripture, and just hanging out, continuing on in the relationships that had been forged since David had arrived in Namibia and in the months that Camille had been by his side, ministering with him.
She had sand in her hair and the smell of smoke from the braai the night before still in her nose as she continued hugging students farewell back in Swakop, unloading David’s truck.
But she didn’t care about the sand. She only cared about the conversation, so familiar now after all these months, that David was having with a student who had just joined their group for the first time that weekend.
She listened inconspicuously as she continued to work.
“It’s a hard thing to get,” David was saying. “How God is judgment and grace, all at the same time.”
“Brother David,” the young man responded, breathless as he’d been towards the end of the time they’d all spent together, as he’d begun to ask questions, as it was evident that God was doing something in his heart, “I’ve done many wrong things in my life.”
“We all have,” David said. “But God is merciful, ready to forgive.”
“Not the God I know,” he said. “It is all judgment and Hell. That is all I’ve ever known of church, of the Bible.”
“God is entirely just,” David said. “And He does judge. And He does send people to Hell. We’re all earning ourselves Hell, every day of our lives, living in sin.”
Tough words. True words.
“Even if I do good, though,” the student said. “Even if I do more good than anyone around me, I still earn Hell?”
“You sure do,” David said. “So do I. My good’s not good enough for God. All the good in the world’s not good enough for God. He’s holy. Perfect. There’s no measuring up to His standard.”
Even tougher words. Still just as true.
“But you said that God forgives!” their young friend gasped.
“He does,” David smiled. “That’s the mystery, isn’t it? That He judges, and that He’s right to do so. But He’s merciful. Grace without reason, without our earning it, all for His glory.”
The student watched him for a long moment. “I don’t understand how He can be both.”
“Think about it like this,” David said, and Camille smiled from where she worked, knowing exactly what he was going to say, having heard him say these words so many times already to so many students as he led them right into hope. “You committed a crime. A bad crime. Think of it in your mind.”
The student thought for a moment. “Okay.”
“And you’re before a judge. He has to punish you. You broke the law. He’d be a horrible judge if He didn’t sentence you to a punishment that fit your crime. So, He does. BAM. Verdict delivered. Then, He comes down from the bench. Comes to where you stand in your handcuffs. And He takes them off of you. And He puts them on Himself. And He says to you, I will take your punishment for you. He pays for your crime. You did nothing to deserve that. You deserve the punishment. You deserve to pay for the crime. But He took it for you. He delivered the punishment, and He Himself took it. That, my friend,” David said, leaning down and looking in the student’s eyes with a smile, “is what God has done for you.”
The student simply nodded, obviously overcome by this explanation. “I will think on this, Brother David.”
“Good man,” David said softly. “And I will pray for you as you think on it.”
Camille turned away once again as David said goodbyes, leaving the two of them alone in his driveway as she continued unloading all the supplies they’d taken with them.
She felt his familiar arm drape over her shoulders and felt her heart kick up a beat and her smile deepen as his familiar drawl very nearly spoke right into her ear.
“I think he gets it,” David sighed.
Camille looked up at him, squinting in what was left of the sunlight, just as the sun was settling down on the ocean. “I think you’re right,” she said, her arm around his waist for just a moment, squeezing in agreement. “But,” and at this she dropped her arm back down and picked up the ice chest she’d just unloaded, “it might take him a while to figure it out.”
“Camille,” he chided, taking the ice chest from her, “let me get that.”
“I’ve already unloaded almost everything,” she said. “Lifted much heavier things than that.”
“You should have waited on me,” he said. “Waited for me to be done talking, so I could have helped you. But –”
“I didn’t,” she said, looking over all she’d done. “I never do.”
“So determined to be a team player,” he murmured, grinning at her.
“I’m a great team player,” she affirmed.
“You’re half the team all by yourself,” he agreed. “I’ll start dragging all this stuff in if you’ll get the house opened up.”
“And start cooking dinner?” she asked. “There was some leftover beef from the braai in that ice chest. And I just might have stocked your pantry before we left with some very special items from my last care package.”
“Care package,” he scoffed. “What did your church send this time? Gold and diamonds?”
Her church was always sending her care packages. David had never even gotten one from New Life-Dallas. He wasn’t bitter... just very curious about all the packages she got, claiming that he loved living vicariously through a real missionary.
The thought made her smile even as she looked at him.
“Better,” she said. “Tortillas and salsa.”
His mouth dropped open. “Get out.”
“Well, if you don’t want me to share –”
“I didn’t say that!” he protested, a slow grin building on his face.
She loved that smile. She loved that face. There wasn’t much that she didn’t love about David Connor, honestly, all these months later.
Love... really?
So strange, feeling this way, battling with this, wondering what she was even thinking when she looked at him and felt herself falling, more and more, every day.
It had been a slow thing, building with time. But it had been easy. So, so easy.
Those first few weeks of working alongside him, her attention had been entirely devoted to the teenagers she’d gotten to know, and in the times she would prepare for events and to organize things with David, her focus had been on the work entirely.
Except, of course, for those moments when they’d talk about home, about growing up together, about the same vision they shared for the work here.
He’d been a friend. A really good friend. Camille had assumed that they’d spend most of their time as a foursome – Kait, Piet, David, and Camille. But Kait and Piet had their work all over the country, and as their responsibilities increased, the time they all spent together had lessened, leaving Camille with only David.
It made her wonder how lonely his work must have been before she came along. And it made her lean on him more and more as they saw lives changed, as they lived life together, and as she found herself dreaming of the life she might have with him.
Crazy. All of it. But the feelings were there. On her part, at least.
Who knew what David Connor was even thinking half of the time..
.
“What are you thinking, David?” she asked even then, as he had closed his eyes, right there in his driveway, smiling.
He was weird like that sometimes. She could see in his grownup face, darkened with three days worth of beard, ash from the fire, and, yes, sand, the same kid he’d been.
“I’m thinking about fajitas,” he said, laughing out loud.
“Where are your keys?” she said, laughing with him. “I’ll go in and get it started.”
“In my pocket,” he said, still holding onto the ice chest.
She looked down at his pocket briefly, wondering at the wisdom of just reaching out and fumbling around in there.
“My bad,” he mumbled, obviously considering the same thing as he put the ice chest down and fished them out of his pocket for her. “Here you go. Fajitas straight ahead.”
After turning and unlocking the door, she made her way into his cottage with him following her close behind.
This place was like home with all the time she spent here, honestly.
She knew where everything was. She knew just where to put his keys so he’d find them, right next to where he kept his phone charger, right beside where he’d plug in his laptop. She knew just where he kept the cookware she’d need to fix dinner for him, right under the cabinets that held the truly hideous dishes he’d bought at the Namibian equivalent of the dollar store his first week here. She knew how many steps (fifteen) he’d have to take to go and throw his bag of sand-filled, soot-covered clothes into the laundry hamper in the bathroom. She knew just how he’d look as he did so, glancing at his face in the mirror, predicting the words he’d say just as he shouted them to her –
“I’ve got a beard! I’ve turned into Paul Connor!”
She’d heard this before. These weekend camping trips were a regular thing.
“Mercy,” she heard him mutter.
And she smiled as she could see him in her head, gaping at just how much he did look like his father as he stared at himself.
“Shave, then! Right now!” she called to him. “The world can only handle one Paul Connor!”
“No need to yell at me,” he murmured, just over her shoulder.
And there he was, fifteen steps later, smiling at her in the kitchen.
Even looking just like Paul Connor, his smile was all David. The sight of it connected a thousand memories together in her mind, each of them sweet and perfect, all of them centered around him and how much he meant to her now...
“Seriously, David,” she said, forcing her gaze from his, looking into the ice chest, and pulling out the meat. “It’ll take me a while. You can get cleaned up while I cook.”
“I’ll get the rest of the stuff in,” he said. “You can start washing your clothes here, if you want.”
“That’ll make for a late night,” she called after him. “I’ll be here for hours finishing it up.”
“I don’t care,” he said, already outside grabbing more things. “I like having you here.”
And she liked hearing that.
Even as she heard the shower start a few minutes later, she smiled and went to work.