Nothing was more exhilarating to Ruth than taking a hot shower after walking three miles.

At forty-four, she loved a challenge and managed to fit three days of cardio and two days of strength training into her weekly schedule.

After toweling off, she settled in at her home office computer. The sweet scent of magnolias drifted through the open window. She switched on the ceiling fan and began researching the benefits of swimming. Her friend and coworker, Dafne, had been looking for a swimming partner, knowing that Ruth's competitive nature made her a prime candidate.

The articles confirmed swimming was a full-body workout that torched calories while remaining gentle on her joints. Still, Ruth hesitated. She had avoided learning to swim since junior high because of her hair. Over the years, however, that avoidance had developed into a fear of the water. She stared at the screen, weighing the extra maintenance.

The benefits were simply too good to pass up. It was time to conquer her fear of the water.

She picked up her phone and dialed. When her friend answered, Ruth smiled. “I took the bait. I'm calling the Salvation Army Boys & Girls Club tomorrow to sign up for adult swimming lessons. I'm hoping they have classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

Dafne laughed. “Girl, I knew you would.”

Ruth laughed with her. After saying good night, she ended the call. Her excitement continued to build, making it difficult for her to fall asleep.

When Ruth awakened the next morning, she started her day with praise and worship. After eating a light breakfast, she headed to work. She had mixed emotions about learning to swim—eager to learn but concerned about the process.

Once at the office, Ruth settled into her normal routine of balancing reports. However, discrepancies in several newly created reports made the morning especially demanding. While IT worked to fix the system glitch, Ruth spent the next few hours tracing errors through the data.

Around ten o'clock, grateful for a chance to step away from her desk, Ruth headed down the hall for a cup of coffee and stopped by Dafne's office.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning!” Dafne looked up from her computer. “How are those reports coming?”

“IT is still working on the issue.” Ruth said. “I needed a break from staring at them.”

Dafne smiled. “Have you called about the swimming lessons yet?”

“Not yet, but I'm calling this afternoon.”

“Good.”

They walked together to the breakroom to fill their mugs before returning to their respective desks.

By early afternoon, IT had corrected the system, and Ruth confirmed that the reports were accurate.

Later that day, Ruth called the Salvation Army Boys & Girls Club on North Harvard, where Donna helped her register for swimming lessons. The hour-long classes were held on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 5:30 to 6:30 p.m.

“How will you be paying?” Donna asked.

“I can bring a check on Thursday, if that's okay.”

“That will be fine. Your first class is scheduled for this Thursday.”

“Thank you. I'll see you then.”

By the time Thursday arrived, Ruth felt as though she had been waiting a week.

As quitting time approached, excitement and nervousness competed for her attention. She was relieved when the workday finally ended. When she arrived at the club, she headed straight to the women's locker room and changed into her black-and-white one-piece swimsuit before pulling on her swim cap. She glanced down and smiled. At least this suit looked much better than the plain black one she'd been required to wear in junior high.

Gathering her towel and goggles, she walked to a nearby bench. Once seated, the sounds of splashing water and distant laughter carried her back to Roosevelt Junior High, where she had eagerly signed up for swimming as an elective.

At fourteen, she was schoolgirl-giddy about her first swim class—until water seeped into her swim cap. The pool water and chlorine caused her natural hair to shrink, leaving her with what she bitterly called a nappy head.

She climbed out of the pool, showered, and dressed before hurrying to the mirror to survey the damage.

Ruth knew what had to be done.

Reaching into her swim bag, Ruth pulled out her hair grease, comb, brush, and a handful of rubber bands. She greased and brushed her hair before weaving it into tight plaits as best she could, but there was only so much she could do.

Ruth rushed through the halls of Roosevelt Junior High while students giggled and others stared at her hair. Keeping her eyes fixed on the floor, she hurried toward her next class, every laugh sounding louder than it probably was. It offered little comfort knowing she wasn't the only sister going through the same humiliating experience.

Vowing never to repeat that ordeal, Ruth came to the next lesson fully prepared. She lined her hairline with a protective layer of Vaseline to seal out the water. Then she carefully wrapped her hair in a plastic bag before stretching the tight rubber swim cap over everything like a helmet.

It didn't work.

As soon as she ventured past the shallow end, water found its way inside her cap. Ruth retreated to the shallow water, gripping her Styrofoam kickboard and splashing around where she felt safe. After a few more failed attempts, she declared the kickboard her new best friend—Swim Buddy.

When the semester ended, Ruth passed the class with a C. Considering the circumstances, she was satisfied.

The cost of continuing to learn to swim was too great. It wasn't worth sacrificing her hair. Growing up in a single-parent household, Ruth understood that money was tight and needs always came before wants. Even so, once a month, their mother made sure Ruth and her sisters got their hair professionally done.

That was non-negotiable.

The first Saturday of every month, from the moment they stepped inside the beauty shop, the familiar scent of shampoo and Royal Crown hair grease filled the air.

As the beauticians styled their tight curls, the steady click-click-click of the Marcel curling irons became the shop's familiar musical beat.

Laughter and animated discussion flowed from one styling chair to the next as skilled beauticians worked their magic. The shop served as the neighborhood's gossip column, and the secrets shared there were seldom kept.

Ruth remembered sitting perfectly still, holding her ears beneath the heavy plastic hood of the dryer because the air blasted too hot, all while straining to catch the whispers over the roar of the machine.

Around her, many of the grandmothers proudly wore aqua-blue hair—a familiar sight in the beauty shop. For Ruth, those monthly visits meant receiving care and leaving with her hair looking its finest.

Between appointments, she and her sisters relied on a stove-heated straightening comb, hair grease, and a brush.

Someone cleared her throat, pulling Ruth from the memory.

“Ruth?”

Ruth looked up. “Yes?”

The woman smiled. “I'm Polly, your swimming instructor. You ready for the water?”

A short, full-figured woman who appeared to be about forty-five poked her head into the room.

“Give me five minutes.” Ruth replied.

Her warm smile immediately put Ruth at ease.

Polly nodded and stepped back out.

Ruth slipped on her swim shoes and stepped into the shower stall. The cold water made her shiver. She fumbled with the faucet until warm water finally flowed.

As she entered the pool area, she pumped her fists in the air and declared, “Let the games begin—here I come!”

Grabbing her towel and goggles, Ruth pushed through the thick door and headed toward the pool.

Polly smiled at Ruth's enthusiasm.

Some things were exactly as Ruth remembered: the sharp smell of chlorine, the echo of voices bouncing off the walls, and the anticipation of stepping into the cool water.

“Put your face in the water.”

Polly began the lesson with a single instruction.

“Girl, you're not going to drown in three feet of water.” Polly teased gently.

“With my eyes open or closed?” she asked.

Polly smiled. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”

Ruth hesitated as she pulled her goggles over her eyes.

Ruth closed her eyes.

Sensing Ruth's uneasiness, Polly eased her into the exercise. She had Ruth walk through the shallow water, splash water on her face, and practice holding her breath. When Ruth seemed ready, Polly instructed her to briefly lower her face into the water.

Ruth slowly lowered her face into the water. Five seconds later, she burst to the surface, gasping for air as though she'd seen a shark.

Chlorinated water seeped into her goggles, stinging her eyes. After adjusting the rubber strap several times until the suction sealed tightly against her skin, she took a deep breath and tried again.

By the end of the class, the nervousness that had followed Ruth into the water had begun to ease. She was much more comfortable putting her face underwater. Polly's gentle, patient approach had made all the difference.

After watching Ruth struggle through another attempt, Polly called out from the deck, “Raise your hips.”

The following lesson focused on floating. Ruth learned how to float on her back—with assistance. On her own, however, gravity won. She kept sinking. Every. Single. Time.

Ruth forced her hips upward.

“That's what I'm talking about.” she whispered, staring up at the ceiling tiles.

She was floating.

She made a mental note: Floating—check. Closing her eyes, she prayed, Lord, help me.

The words came clearly: Go deeper.

Ruth frowned. I’m scared.

But the victory was short-lived. Her next challenge was leaving the safety of the shallow end.

Standing in three feet of water, she stared toward the eight-foot marker. “Girl, that's a long way.” she whispered.

She heard nothing but silence.

Holding Swim Buddy, her kickboard, with one hand and the edge of the pool with the other, she slowly made her way forward. Kick by kick. Breath by breath. Whenever she grew tired, she steadied herself against the side of the pool before continuing.

At the end of the lesson, Polly smiled. “I'm impressed.”

Ruth couldn’t help smiling. She lifted one fist triumphantly. “You go, girl.”

She made it past the six-foot marker. Her heart pounded as the pool floor sloped away and her feet could no longer touch the bottom. But she didn't stop. Before she knew it, she had reached the eight-foot marker. Polly walked along the deck, keeping pace with Ruth the entire way.

At her next lesson, Ruth discovered that reaching the deep end had only been the beginning.

From that day forward, every lesson stretched Ruth a little farther. One week she learned to control her breathing. The next, she practiced coordinating her kicks with her arm movements. Then came the different swimming strokes, each one demanding patience she didn't know she possessed. Whenever frustration threatened to overwhelm her, Polly quietly reminded her to keep trying. Ruth did. Lesson after lesson, week after week, she kept showing up.

Gradually, the fear that had followed her since junior high loosened its grip. Over the next twelve months, Ruth continued practicing until she learned to swim.

Ruth hugged Dafne and Polly. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without your encouragement.”

At the end of the course, she proudly received her swimming certificate in the club manager's office. Dafne attended the presentation, peacock-proud of Ruth's success. Afterward, the two women agreed to swim together twice a week.

Polly couldn't stop smiling. During her eight years as a swimming instructor, she had taught only children. Ruth was her first adult student, which made the accomplishment especially meaningful.

During Ruth's year of lessons, she and Polly had gone from instructor and student to friends.

“You really should give online dating a try.”

Ruth laughed. “I don't know.”

“You'll never know unless you try.”

Now that Ruth had conquered her fear of the water, Polly decided it was time for her to dive into another challenge: her love life. Polly and her husband, Brian, had met through online dating, and their happy marriage convinced Polly that it could work for Ruth too. “All right.” she said. “I'll try it.”

After a moment, Ruth surrendered.

Delighted, Polly helped Ruth create an account on the online dating site Friend Finders and set up her profile. Before long, Ruth received a response from a man named Ron Langsley. After several pleasant phone conversations, they agreed to meet at Joe's All-You-Can-Eat restaurant.

Once at the restaurant, Ron greeted her with a polite handshake and held the door open for her. After they placed their order, Ron proudly handed the cashier a crinkled Buy One, Get One Free coupon with an expiration date that had obviously been changed in blue ink. The cashier studied the coupon, looked at Ron, sighed, and accepted it.

Ron scanned the dining room before nodding toward a secluded booth in the back. “Let's sit back there.”

Ruth dropped her head, too embarrassed to make eye contact with anyone.

He led the way. They left their cups and silverware on the table before heading to the buffet.

Ruth filled her plate with fried catfish, okra, meatloaf, and mashed potatoes. Ron, on the other hand, piled his plate high with everything that caught his eye. It wasn't long before he was back at the buffet for seconds.

He looked at Ruth. “Put this in your purse.”

When he returned to the table, he set his second plate down, unzipped his leather man-bag, pulled out a large freezer bag, and began transferring food from his plate into it.

Shame on me.

Too stunned to argue, Ruth slipped the greasy bag into her purse. Her purse was too small to close around it, so she removed her sweater and draped it over the top, hoping to conceal the evidence.

All Ruth could do was stare at Ron as he ate his dessert.

To add insult to injury, Ron made no move to leave a tip.

Afterward, Ron walked her to her car. “I enjoyed tonight.” he said. “We should do it again soon. May I have my freezer bag?”

Ruth quietly slipped the server a tip, hoping Ron hadn't noticed.

“Thank you.” Ron said.

Without a word, Ruth handed him the bag.

Ruth smiled politely, got into her car, and drove away. Halfway home, she burst into laughter. She couldn't wait to tell Liz.

As soon as she arrived home, Ruth called her sister and told her everything—from the altered coupon to the freezer bag hidden inside her purse. By the time Ruth finished, they were both laughing. After they hung up, Ruth thought about what she liked about Ron.

He had a kind, gentle side. During their phone conversations, he listened without interrupting and seemed genuinely interested in what Ruth had to say. She enjoyed talking with him.

Was food smuggling really a reason to end a relationship? Maybe I’m being too critical. After all, everyone has flaws.

Several weeks later, while relaxing on the patio, Ruth thought about the last few dates. What had seemed odd the first time had become a pattern. Before they left every restaurant, Ron somehow produced another freezer bag—and somehow it always ended up hidden in her purse. Ruth rose and watched the birds perched on a nearby power line.

“I remember your profile said you liked movies.”

“I do.” Ron replied.

Ruth smiled. “So do I. How about I come over Friday and we watch a movie?”

“I'd like that.”

She picked up the phone and called him. Everything is going to be okay. A relationship is a give-and-take.

After saying good night, Ruth settled onto the sofa in her den. She let out a slow breath and smiled.

But Friday nights soon settled into a frustrating routine. Ruth usually picked up dinner on her way over. More often than not, Ron had another reason he couldn't reimburse her. If he paid anything, it was only for his own meal. Then came the interruptions. Calls from his mother or sisters regularly paused the movie for twenty or thirty minutes while Ruth sat alone waiting.

As the weeks passed, their relationship also became physically intimate, even as Ron's lack of consideration continued to trouble her.

Later that night, Ruth knelt by her bed. “Lord, help me.”

Ruth had reached a crossroads: accept being treated as an afterthought or value herself enough to walk away. Four months was long enough. She knew she needed to end it.

“Work on your wedding.”

Ruth gasped, sitting straight up in bed. “Lord, I don't want to marry him!”

Another question came immediately.

“Then why are you sleeping with him?”

Ruth froze. “I guess I'm trying to please him.”

Days passed. Then one night she was awakened from a deep sleep. The words were clear, firm, and unmistakable.

Conviction settled over her like a heavy weight.

Her thoughts raced faster than she could sort through them. Hours passed before sleep returned. Work on your wedding.

Over the next couple of weeks, God's words became impossible to ignore.

As Ruth reflected on their relationship, she realized she had tolerated a lack of consideration, mutual respect, and genuine care. Lifting her chin, she resolved never again to accept disrespect simply to say she was in a relationship. She gathered everything Ron had left behind—his CDs, a baseball cap, and, yes, those infamous freezer bags. It was time to clear the slate entirely.

When he opened the door, his face twisted in confusion. “What's this?”

“It's not working.” Ruth said, her voice steady as she handed him the box.

She drove straight to Ron's house.

“Go ahead and answer it.” she said, turning on her heel. “I can see myself out.”

Right on cue, his cell phone began to ring. “Ruth, wait! I don't want to lose you.”

She stopped and looked back at him. “I'm choosing to be celibate, Ron.”

“You've got to be kidding.” He scoffed, looking for a loophole. “What about... outercourse? You know, foreplay... without—”

“I know what it is.” she interrupted. “And no.”

For once, he ignored the ring. “Try it... you might like it.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice into a smooth plea.

“That's not the direction God is leading me.”

Ruth pressed a hand against his chest, keeping space between them.

Without another word, she walked away.

Once home, Ruth sat down to dinner and enjoyed every bite without freezer bags or Ron's constantly ringing cell phone. The silence wasn't lonely—it was peaceful. She smiled and thought about calling Polly. Instead, she let it go. Polly had meant well.

She would never again settle for a relationship that cost her peace.

Lord, You know the end from the beginning.

I know You love me unconditionally.

At this time, my love is not unconditional—but it is true.

I want to.

Is wanting enough? No, it isn't.

I trust You, but not in all things.

I want to.

I see Your love daily in all You do;

why can't I trust only You?

I want to.

I want to be sexually pure, Lord—I do.

Please do not grow weary with my "want to" life.

You know in the end it will be all right.

I no longer want to.

I do.

Later that night, before bed, she wrote in her journal:

Before falling asleep, she sensed the familiar message: “Work on your wedding.”

She stared at the page for a long time. Slowly, she nodded. She didn't just want change. She was choosing it.

Ruth welcomed the beautiful Saturday morning, grateful to be free from a relationship that had no future. Later, she met her sister Liz for breakfast.

The downtown restaurant buzzed with morning energy—the clinking of silverware, bursts of laughter from nearby booths, and the cheerful chatter of friends and families. As always, Liz was impeccably dressed, not a hair out of place.

Their pancakes arrived quickly. For a few minutes, they talked about ordinary things, but Liz noticed that Ruth seemed distracted.

“What's wrong?” Liz asked.

Ruth's eyes suddenly filled with tears. She reached across the table and took her sister's hand. “I'm not crazy, and I don't have an overactive imagination. Please don't laugh at what I'm about to say.”

Liz set her fork down, her gaze steady. “I'm not going to laugh at you.”

Ruth wiped her face with her napkin, setting it down with a shaky hand. “Here goes. God told me to work on my wedding, and I'm supposed to remain celibate.”

Liz took a slow sip of her water, processing the words. “Ron?” she asked, her voice rising into a high-pitched squeak.

Ruth let out a slow breath. “Girl, no. I broke up with him last night.”

Ruth couldn't help but smile through her tears. “Really? Then who?”

“That's the million-dollar question.” Ruth answered.

Liz leaned forward, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I've never heard of God asking someone to prepare for a husband they haven't even met.”

“That's exactly what I said.” Ruth agreed.

Liz's face was etched with concern. “What are you going to do?”

Liz sat quietly for a moment, thinking through everything her sister had just shared. “Prepare for my wedding.”

Liz squeezed her hand. “If you ever need someone to listen, I'm here.”

Ruth's voice trembled. “Thanks, girl.”

Ruth smiled. “Girl, you got one of those freezer bags?”

Ruth stared at her for a second, then they both burst into laughter. Still laughing, they stood and hugged.

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

As they walked toward their cars, Liz shook her head. “I love you, girl, and I'm here for you—but I'm glad God gave that assignment to you.”

Ruth laughed. “Thanks a lot.”

As Ruth drove home, she thanked God for Liz. Her sister's encouragement had lifted a weight from her shoulders.

Once home, Ruth watched Soul Train until the television started watching her. Her eyelids had finally grown too heavy to stay open.

For most of her life, Ruth had learned to stay where it felt safe—where her feet could still touch the bottom. This time, she wasn't turning back.