Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father(27)

My confusion restricts any response, so I just stare and fiddle with the straps on my backpack.

“It seems like you’ve got some judgment struggles,” Maggie continues.

My eyes bulge. “Me? Are you…no.” My speech gets faster and higher pitched as I wave my hands around, pointing in the direction of my room. “Them. They were judging me. Telling me how I’m not really saved and that I should want my relationship with God to be more than good enough.”

Maggie takes a deep breath. “Well, you should. But that’s for another time. I want you to just take a step back and look at the situation. You’re judging them through your world view, just like they were judging you through theirs. As far as all of you are concerned, you’re stating facts based on what you know to be true, right? You think they’re judging because where you come from. Evangelicals and talk of salvation make people think one thing, and where they come from, not being born again makes them think another.”

“How do you know where I come from?” I huff petulantly.

“I get a stat sheet on everyone on my floor.” Maggie winks and I feel a little violated. What else was on that sheet?

“But they acted like they were better than me.” I continue my playground-style arguments.

Maggie scrunches her eyebrows. “Did they? They came to me very upset, Kennedy, and I need you to know that. They’re worried they’d upset you—”

“Oh, they picked up on that, did they?” I snap, then immediately wince. I didn’t mean—or want—to take that tone with someone in possession of a three-ton bag o’ demerits.

She purses her lips and tilts her head to the side. As she puts her hand on my forearm, she speaks quietly. “Look. I get it. More than you know, I get where you’re coming from. What I need you to promise me you’ll work on is not assuming the worst out of everyone here, okay? I know salvation talk can get really heated. That’s not likely to change during your time here, let alone in any foreseeable decade. From where Bridgette and Eden are coming from, they’re truly concerned about you. Acting out of anger, as you did, only solidifies their concerns.”

“That I’m damned?”

Now it’s Maggie’s turn to wince. “Sort of. For the most part, they’re used to being able to have a discussion when emotions run high. You’re used to isolating.”

“How do you know that?” I demand, crossing my arms in front of me.

She moves her hand back to her lap. “I was raised Catholic.”

A slight breeze could knock me over right now, I’m sure of it. How in you-know-who’s name does a Catholic, of all people, not only end up at Carter University, but be an exemplary enough student to be promoted to the serious position of RA? My mouth hangs open until my tongue is dry.

“So,” Maggie continues cheerfully, “for now I’d love it if the three of you could talk. You can either go do it right now, or we’ll schedule a session where I can be present to facilitate.” She stands and moves back to her desk, placing reading glasses on her nose.

I’m nervous about facing my roommates after our tense parting. “Are you busy right now?”

“Mmm hmm.” She nods passively as she cracks the binding of a novel.

“Doing what?” I challenge.

Maggie looks up without moving her head, her hazel eyes underscored by the black rim of her glasses. “Letting you grow up.” Her eyes move back to her book, which I take to be more of a prop at this point.

“Thanks,” I mumble as I walk out of her room.

“Anytime,” she chirps after me.





It wasn’t so bad, talking with Eden and Bridgette. Despite my negative assumptions about the evangelical pair, the positive assumption that they’d be forgiving was spot on. I told them that I was really sensitive about salvation and baptism and everything, and admitted I felt judged by them.

They looked woefully heartbroken. They spent more time apologizing to me for how they made me feel than I did to them for acting like a wretch. Eden offered up a quick prayer, asking God to help keep our emotions gentle with each other. I squeezed their hands and offered a stern “Amen” at the end. They promised they’d keep praying for me and were quick to add that they’d be praying for peace and clarity. Salvation. They meant they’d be praying for my salvation, but they kept that to themselves, as did I.

The rest of the week carried on much the same, academically speaking. My courses this year flow much like my high school courses did. I have all of my classes every day except Friday. Most freshman course loads looked similar. It seemed to be Carter University’s attempt to facilitate the transition process, and I quite liked it. This meant I had Fridays off; so did my roommates and friends. I assume this is in an effort to offer a day of study and homework, since there’s lots of worshipping to be had on Sundays.

Over a late breakfast in the dining hall on our first Friday as CU students, everyone is discussing their first week of classes.

“My Old Testament class is going to be awesome,” Silas speaks emphatically. “It’s so awesome to see all the seeds of Jesus sprinkled everywhere in those books.”

I eye him curiously. I’m in his class, but his assertions make me feel as though I’ve missed something. I know I haven’t, and he’s just thoroughly more well-versed on the Good Book than I am. His enthusiasm encourages me that I might find some stuffed under my seat at some point.