Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father(38)

Me: Hey. Just wanted to let you know I got the job at Word. Thanks for the heads up.

BF: No problem. Glad I could help. Will I see you tomorrow?

I find his question interesting since we’d discussed months ago that I’d attend my first service of his after the first week of classes. I’m feeling a little guilty about it, actually, since my actions are clearly causing him to question my word. How is he to know I stand by my word? We don’t know each other.

Me: Yep. That’s still the plan.

BF: Great :)

Oh. He sent an emoticon. It’s the first one I’ve received from him. I guess I can appreciate it, since we have no formal way of saying goodbye to each other. We don’t say I love you, but just saying “bye” seems a little informal. Or something.

I briefly consider sending one back, but decide against it in favor of using the bus’s WiFi in order to log on to Facebook for a few moments free of the CU internet police.

Sweet Jesus.

I have over a hundred notifications since last logging on a few days ago. I’ve mostly avoided the site due to the aforementioned internet militia, but I realize I need to stay connected to my friends and my old life even if it means eating up a chunk of my data plan to circumvent the monitoring. There’s nothing graphic on my page—posted by me, anyway. But I want to do my best to keep BF under wraps.

I sort through all the notifications, which consist mainly of group invites and comments on rare statuses, before I decide to make a post.

Me here, reporting from Planet Jesus. Everything is good. Just got a job at a local coffee shop. Praise the LORD for that.

I click to post it, and immediately feel a little guilty. My attitude really does suck about this place. I can’t immerse myself if I think I’m better than everyone. The problem is, I realize when the bus pulls to a stop in front of our dorm, I don’t think I’m better than everyone. I think I’m worse. Sinfully so. I’m feeling condemned and underprepared to fight for the words in the Bible, as so many of the students around me are doing.

As my roommates and I walk the flight of stairs to our room, I decide to go for it. To dive in and become one of the students here. I know who I am outside of these walls, but I need to learn who I am inside of them to decide, for sure, if I want to stay here. If I want to get to know Roland. If I want to call him my dad.

You can do this.

Maggie’s words make more sense now. This doesn’t mean sucking it up and getting through. This is discovering who I am. Maybe who I am in Jesus, though that question seems dangerously scary.

What am I afraid of?





An hour later, I’ve set my fears and questions aside and am engaging my roommates in a stellar round of girl talk. So far, I’ve learned that Bridgette always wanted blonde hair, so much so that she had a bad run-in with hydrogen peroxide and sunlight two years ago and Eden tried to straighten her hair with an iron when she was twelve. All things normal girls go through. Also, Bridgette got her period when she was twelve—like me—but Eden was sixteen.

“I thought there was something wrong with me!” Eden laughs between breaths. “I never wanted an older sister so badly in my life. Can you imagine me asking my brother?”

My stomach hurts from laughing so much, and I’m feeling my shell soften at the idea of diving in. All the way. Speaking of all the way…

“Eden,” I ask in as serious a voice I can manage with all the chuckling, “do you have a crush on Jonah?”

Eden’s face flushes and she goes silent. Bridgette covers her mouth with her hand and her shoulders shake with giggles.

“I…” Eden seems flustered.

I put my hand on her knee—Maggie’s tactic for calming—and try to be supportive. “I mean, it’s obvious you do, but does he know?”

“It’s obvious?” Eden takes her pillow and covers her face with it as she curls into the fetal position on her bed.

“Kinda…” Bridgette bites her lip as she shares my opinion.

Eden sits up in a flash and eyes me in near horror. “Did you say anything to him?”

“What? No. When the heck would I have said anything to him, anyway?”

She runs a hand through her hair. “I don’t know, you two seem all friendly.”

“I’m not like into him, if that’s what you mean.” I feel defensiveness taking over and I wish I hadn’t brought it up at all. No matter how nagging the question has been in my head.

“You’re not?” Eden asks, stunningly surprised.

I shake my head and look at Bridgette, who seems equally shocked. “No, guys! Come on. I’m not in to Jonah. I assumed you two were dating, Eden. Or whatever it is you do…”

Eden points to Bridgette. “She courts. I date. Or…would if the opportunity came up.”

Drawing my knees to my chest, I rest my chin on my knees. “I thought you all, like, courted. Isn’t that an evangelical thing?”

Eden and Bridgette look at each other for a moment, then Bridgette starts. “Not really. It’s more of a family and personal decision thing.”

“Courtship is where you find someone and get engaged and then just hang out, right?” I pull on references from reality TV shows. Though, admittedly, it’s hard to keep it all straight.

Bridgette shakes her head. “That’s also different. For instance, we have friends of our family who had zero physical contact before marriage. No kissing, and no holding hands.”