Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father(12)

The people around me certainly have magnetic personalities, and I begin to wonder why some of them, no doubt, have chased people down the street with their Bibles, spewing the horrors of a life without Christianity. If their easy smiles and calming personalities are a result of Biblical living, why not show people that?

Maggie sets down her clipboard. “Why don’t we go around the circle and introduce ourselves. Share your name, where you’re from, your major if you have one, and a hope you have for this year.”

A girl who identifies herself as Melanie starts. She’s from Texas, with a thick drawl to boot, and she’s an education major who hopes to grow in Christ and strengthen her relationship with her unsaved family members.

Tough act to follow.

Around the circle, though, most of the women state similar wishes. Growing in Christ, getting closer to God, and spreading the gospel to the unsaved are all standard hopes among the freshman class.

I zone out for a minute, wondering what my friends from high school are talking about in their own floor meetings right now. No one else is attending a university like this. No doubt they want to join sororities, attend great parties, and have late-night study groups with their friends—boys and girls. They’ll be able to do all those things, too. I let that thought sit with me as I consider what it is I really want.

I feel eyes on me, and I look up to find the Asian girl who questioned the sexuality of my bishop, or rather why my church would support him, staring at me. I hadn’t noticed that she was in the group, mainly because I’ve spent most of the session with my eyes closed in either prayer or avoidance. She’s watching me as the girl to her right identifies herself as Sarah. Sarah’s a music major who wants to marry a man of God and plant a church.

A lot like Eden, though I can’t focus as the girl to Sarah’s left continues to study me. There isn’t any darkness in her eyes, but there are buckets of caution and skepticism.

She’s on to you, I think. I quickly banish that thought from my brain as I realize I have nothing to be on to.

Finally, I learn her name.

“My name is Joy Martinez,” she chirps with a smile on her face.

Naturally…

“And,” she continues, “I’m from South Carolina. My parents adopted me—rescued me, really—from China when I was three. I’m eternally grateful that they saved me.” Joy takes a closed-eyed pause before continuing. “I’m a New Testament major and I hope to spread the gospel to as many unsaved as I can while I’m on this Earth. Even while I’m here at Carter.” She clasps her hands and her eyes shoot to me as if I’m a marked target.

I shrug off the feeling as I listen to the introductions of the girls leading up to me. There’s one girl from way north in Maine, and another from Western New York, but the rest of my floormates hail from south of the Mason-Dixon line—a geographical point I’d heard only in movies until Dan mentioned it when conversation of my attending CU sprung up in the house. It’s a real thing—an invisible set of railroad tracks—and while I don’t necessarily reside on the “wrong side,” Biblical real estate agents would beg to differ.

“I’m Kennedy,” I say quickly when my turn comes. “I’m from Southern Connecticut, and I’m a Social Sciences major.” I leave out the bit about how my mom forced me to choose a major that would transfer easily to any other university in the United States.

Taking a deep breath, I continue. “This year I hope to develop friendships with women who love God as much as I do.” I avoid looking at Joy. She’s suspicious of me and I don’t need to see the look that’s certainly on her face.

This isn’t a lie, by the way. I do love God. I can’t remember a day in my life when I haven’t thought of him, or prayed, or written about him. Regardless of my church attendance or my knowledge of the Bible as a text, I have a deep respect for God, and want to learn more.

I conclude with that. “I want to grow in my relationship with Him.”

I do make eye contact with my roommates, who are both beaming at me. Frankly, Eden seems to be buzzing, like she’s ready to tackle me and pour as much of her knowledge about God into me as possible. Honestly, I wish she could.

“Thanks, everyone,” Maggie says after the rest of the group has spoken. “Now, tomorrow is our first service that everyone is required to attend. Well, you’re required to attend church every Sunday,” she corrects herself, “but tomorrow is the first one, and you must attend at University Chapel.”

Students are given the option of attending Sunday services at either the University Chapel—UC, the reverse of CU—or another local fundamental church. There seem to be plenty to choose from in a 30-mile radius. I haven’t decided where I’m going to attend, though I assume it will be a mix depending on how my relationship with Roland goes. But I’m grateful that tomorrow’s service will be at the UC so I’m not forced to choose between my birth father and someone else.

“Who’s the welcome speaker? I didn’t see one on the website,” Bridgette asks as we all stand and side conversations spring up around us.

Maggie’s ever-present grin widens. “Pastor Roland Abbot from New Life Church.”

Dizzy.

“Really?” Eden cheers. “That’s awesome! I thought I’d have to wait until next Sunday to hear him speak when I went to New Life.”