Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father(40)

The time might come for that conversation later.

“Why did you two break up?” Eden looks like she’d be taking notes if it wouldn’t make her look weird.

“He was constantly hassling me for sex. I said no, and he got frustrated.”

“Why’d you say no?” she continues. “I mean, if you haven’t really given the whole not before marriage thing much thought?”

I roll my eyes, but hope I don’t sound too condescending. “There are reasons besides the Bible to avoid sex. Honestly, I just didn’t want to get pregnant.”

That’s it, folks. My driving conviction for avoiding letting a boy’s rough hands wander all over my body as the opening act to the rest of the experience was to prevent offspring. I realize there are more serious reasons, like God or STDs, but pregnancy terrifies me. Especially so young, thanks to my leading role in my mother’s cautionary tale. Sure, my life was great, but at what cost? To her, me, and, as I’m aiming to learn, to Roland?

My roommates accept my answer, and Eden and Bridgette appear eager to move on to getting Jonah and Eden out on a date. We spend the next hour outlining the future love story of Jonah and Eden while I fight an unfamiliar and unwelcome twinge of envy. At what, I can’t be certain.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN


Give Me Your Eyes


“Your sermon was great today,” I say to Roland in earnest on this Sunday morning as we sit, once again, in his kitchen. I ordered turkey today just to be safe.

“Thank you. What’d you like about it?” He sits across from me at the same island that held our failed lunch attempt last week.

Leaning back, I take a deep breath, exhaling as slowly as possible. “I liked that you talked about your…realness.” I shrug and stare at him.

Though I’ve watched Roland’s sermons off and on for quite some time, seeing him in his element gave me a completely different feel for his authenticity. While it’s clear that his once-a-year sermons on his sinful youth are focused on the scary sin part, for the most part Roland appears to be a normal guy just trying to figure this God thing out.

“You admit you don’t have all the answers, but say you know the one who does,” I continue. “That’s pretty brilliant.”

He offers a quick, humble grin. “It troubles me that, in this world today, honesty is lined up with brilliance.”

“People love trying to be someone else,” I add. He nods, and I blurt out, “Tell me about Jesus.”

Roland’s eyes nearly bulge from their sockets and his head lurches forward some.

“I mean,” I remedy, “I know about Jesus. I just want to know about your experience with him. Your…testimony, I guess.”

He inhales deeply through his nose. “I thought you said you’ve watched all the sermons.”

“I don’t want the TV version.”

His eyebrow arches a fraction of an inch. “Kennedy, you just said you liked my honesty. I don’t have two different versions of the story.”

“Just…tell me. Don’t tell a crowd.” I clear my throat. “Tell it to me.”

For the past week, I’ve been hearing lots of my floormates talking about their testimonies, ways Jesus has transformed their life and the lives of those around them. They’re impassioned, brazen, and bold. Each story I hear leads me closer to mine, giving words to feelings that have been stored in my heart. While I don’t yet have a vision of a personal Jesus, I know that there is a God greater than I am, and Jesus came to prove it. But, staring at my birth father, I’m desperate to know if his journey is anything like mine. My mom and I never talk Christianity. Well, we hadn’t until Roland came back into the picture. Sure, we go to church—though I go lots on my own—but we don’t talk about it. I figure if I have a person in my life who has made this his mission, I need to try to put the pieces together.

“I grew up in Michigan, normal life. A brother and a sister, married parents, and I was captain of the high school basketball team.”

An aunt and uncle and grandparents.

An unintentional side effect of this story, I’m realizing too late, is pieces of my genetic history falling into place.

“I went to UConn on a basketball scholarship.”

My jaw drops. “You’re kidding. UConn basketball is, like…Division One.”

Roland smiles all the way to his ears. “You bet it is.”

“How on earth did my mom get involved with a basketball player?”

My mom is liberal, according to her bumper stickers and buttons, but—I’m realizing the more time I spend here—she’s quite close-minded about other things. I’m finding it hard to picture her hanging out with the athletes in between bouts of volunteering at Planned Parenthood and the Women’s Resource Center. She’s open-minded for the underdogs, I guess.

Roland chuckles. “I met her in a Politics of Religion class.”

I choke on my water, and some of it shoots out of my nose, an embarrassing trait I’ve not been able to overcome since I was in first grade. “That’s…brilliant.”

“I started as a political science major, like she was. We met in that class sophomore year when we were grouped together with a few other kids for some project. I don’t even remember what it was now.”