Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father(7)

Eden’s hand tightens around mine. “That’s a great idea. Bridge, do you wanna start?”

Bridgette nods. Both girls take deep, shoulder-raising breaths, and lower their heads along with their eyelids. This posture is familiar to me. Prayer is familiar. For me, it’s usually confined to church settings and alone in my bedroom at night, though. And I can’t remember a single time I’ve ever prayed with friends. Especially without a priest at the helm.

I breathe through the turning in my stomach as Bridgette begins.

“Heavenly Father, I want to thank you for these two wonderful roommates, Eden and Kennedy. Thank you, Lord, for bringing me to Carter University, and I ask that you let your light shine through me while here on campus and out in the world, Lord…” she trails off, leaving an opening for another speaker. I pray, silently, that Eden will go.

I like immediate positive answers to prayer.

“Thank you,” Eden speaks a hair above a whisper. “Thank you, Jesus, for these women in my life. These wonderful, godly women that will help strengthen my faith. Let me help strengthen theirs, too, Lord. Help me stand firm against temptation, Father. I know it will be all around, on and off campus, and, Lord, I just want to please you.” Eden’s voice takes on an urgent undercurrent, still remaining quiet. “I want to please you and let you use me for your purpose, Lord.” She squeezes my hand. “Please wrap your loving arms around Kennedy as she struggles with the ramifications of a broken home, Lord Jesus. Let some good come from this situation…”

Broken? Some good? I clench my teeth together, growing angry at the assumptions spewed by Eden. Well intended or not, the rage bubbling through my chest is undeniable. I take a deep breath, reminding myself I know about as much about her past as she knows about mine, and I need to keep an open mind.

“Bless us, Lord, and guide us in our studies and in our social lives…” Eden finishes, and it seems both girls are waiting for me to go.

Me. Don’t they know I don’t do this? No, of course not. Everyone here does this, and I have about three seconds to prove that.

I clear my throat and take another deep breath. I have a feeling I’ll be taking a lot of those this year. I’m nervous. I feel…embarrassed, somehow. Naked, maybe? Will I say the right thing? Silently, I beg for help, and my mind goes blank but my mouth moves.

“Thank you, God,” is all I can say before tears flood my eyes. If I felt naked before, it’s like I’ve removed my skin and have been ordered to walk through town that way. Skinless.

I can’t say Jesus for some reason. It’s too real, too close. I know I should. I’ve read the blogs, the books, and watched the movies. I know that’s what you’re supposed to do in prayer. Talk to Jesus. These girls on either side of me seem to be best friends with someone I know I’m supposed to be as close to, but, suddenly, I feel a million miles away from.

I can’t say Jesus.

Seeming to sense my loss of words, Bridgette closes for us. “In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.”

“Amen,” we say in unison, an odd quiet settling around us.

“Sorry,” I chuckle and decide to stretch the truth slightly, “prayer makes me emotional sometimes.”

Eden’s face carries an almost drugged calm. “I totally get what you mean. Prayer is amazing.”

“Are you majoring in Ministry?” Bridgette asks of Eden as she leans back on her elbows.

Eden shakes her head. “I want to be a pastor’s wife.”

Then, I blurt it out. “Funny. I didn’t see that on the course offerings.” I slap my hand over my mouth, my face raging with heat.

By some force of grace, Bridgette and Eden burst into laughter.

“I know.” Eden giggles. “I just meant that I don’t want to pastor. Well, I don’t feel God wants me to pastor. I want that in the man God chooses for me…if that’s what God wants, too. I’m majoring in Music and Worship Studies, though.”

“A perfect match,” Bridgette asserts.

A lot of the blogs from PKs—Preachers’ Kids—I read this past summer seemed to indicate that their mothers were somehow involved in the musical portion of Jesus’ street team. This allows me to nod along with Bridgette in confidence.

And, frankly, Eden just looks like she’d be a perfect pastor’s wife. She’s charismatic in a soft manner. And, I mean, come on—she almost got me to say Jesus in prayer. She’s good.

“Come on,” Eden stretches as she stands, “let’s go get dinner and meet up with the guys.”

“Guys?” I question, feeling like a late invite to the party.

“Mmm hmm,” Bridgette nods with a mischievous smile. “All the guys.”

The excited looks on the faces of my roommates make me blush and laugh along with them. As we near the large dining hall in the center of campus, however, my nerves take over.

In a tiny dorm room with two champions for Jesus, I nearly lost my wits—almost spilling about my dad and my general lack of knowledge of anything they were talking about ever. How am I going to fare, I wonder, when plunked in the middle of several hundred? Of them.





CHAPTER THREE


Strong Enough


Upon entering Mission Hall, the largest dining hall on campus, my ears are suddenly those of superheroes. I’m not hearing a gentle hum of conversation. Rather, I seem to be picking up on nearly every conversation around me all at once.