Eden shrugs. “They just want to give him a chance to do better, I guess. To show him a better way. We can’t spread the word of Jesus by only talking about it with people who already believe.”
I nod. A month ago that statement would have either offended me or not made much sense. I get it now, and passively wonder if that’s how Bridgette and Eden view me. Someone to set an example for. Again, a thought that would have incensed me a month ago doesn’t bother me at all now. Whether that’s what they did/are doing, I don’t care. I know that I’m on a journey and need all the help I can get.
“How do you two know so much about what’s going on with the guys?” I ask. “Just from Silas?” Apart from classes and meals, I haven’t heard of much co-mingling happening.
“The Bible study group,” Bridgette answers matter-of-factly.
“The what?” I respond, eyeing both of them curiously.
Bridgette retrieves a sheet of paper from her desk drawer. “Flyers all over campus. They’re on Saturday nights and you work then.”
Now that I think about it, I guess my “put your head down and get through the year” mentality has left me at a social disadvantage. One I didn’t think I’d care about, but now I do.
“Does Matt Wells go to this Bible study?” My wheels are turning slowly now.
Eden shakes her head. “No. We’d like him to, though. The guys have asked him a couple of times, but they don’t want to be pushy.”
I take a deep breath. “I’ll talk with my boss, Asher, and see if I can come in an hour earlier on Saturdays so I can leave in time to join the Bible study.”
“Really?” Bridgette’s face lights up.
I nod. “After all, I want my relationship with God to be more than good enough, right? I can’t get that out of my head since you said it, Bridge.”
It’s not a lie. Despite my cynicism when she said it, she was right. Is right. I want my relationship with God to be more than good enough. I want it to be more than a part of my life. All of my friends and classmates are always asking God to fill them and to guide their will. They might be onto something.
Bridgette’s face doesn’t look as relieved as I expected it to be.
“Kennedy,” she says softly, “I didn’t mean it in offense…”
“Oh!” I walk over to Bridgette and grip her upper arms, pouring as much sincerity into my gaze as I can. “I didn’t take it as offense. Well, I did when you first said it, but not now. Not only do I want my relationship with God to be more than good enough, I want it to be a relationship.”
A firm rapping on the door interrupts our moment. “Knock knock!”
“That’s my mom.” I give Bridgette a quick squeeze and walk to the door.
Stellar. My roommates haven’t met my mom yet, and I haven’t gone out of my way to “prepare” them for anything. They know I grew up with her, and I’m sure they’ve pieced together enough theories in their heads.
“Mom!” I plaster the smile on my face before I open the door all the way, but the real thing comes into full wattage when I see her face. I’ve missed her.
“Look at you!” She slides into our room, Dan trailing behind her, and pulls me into a tight hug. “You look amazing,” she whispers into my ear.
I don’t know if this is a compliment to me or some sort of reassurance to herself.
“Dan,” I say, stepping back from Mom and walking into his embrace.
“Hey, sweet girl.” He kisses the top of my head and gives me a solid squeeze.
He’s thinner than Roland. Roland is fit, and doesn’t have a bit of extra flesh on him from what I’ve seen, but Dan is ultra-marathoner skinny. He does one every other year or so. I feel his muscles and bones against my cheek as we hug. Something I didn’t feel when I cried on Roland’s shoulder.
I shake my head to rid my brain of the unnecessary comparison.
Stepping back, I introduce my parents to my roommates, who are as enthusiastic and gracious as they were when they met me for the first time.
“Eden,” my mom says as she sits on my bed, “that is truly a beautiful name. And Bridgette, Kennedy tells me you have a twin brother?”
Bridgette nods, folding her hands. “Silas.”
“You’re from the big family, right?” Mom adds, and I begin to blush. While it’s just plain information, I’d hate for my roommates to feel like I’ve been gossiping about them.
“Silas and I are three and four of fourteen.” Bridgette smiles and picks up her phone, which has buzzed a few times. “Oh, you’ll have to excuse me. It’s Silas texting that our parents are meeting us in the assembly hall for the welcome speech. They’re here. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer.” Her voice hesitates slightly over the “Mr. and Mrs.” bit, but she exits with swan-like grace.”
“I’m going to head over, too,” Eden says while gathering her things. “My parents and brother are meeting me there, too.”
“Your sister’s not coming?” I ask.
Eden shakes her head. “She’s got some project for school she’s working on, so she’s staying with a family friend this weekend. Truthfully, I think she just doesn’t want my parents to spend all weekend pointing out how great this place would be for her to attend.”
After saying goodbye to my parents, Eden leaves with a smile. It’s the first I’ve heard of her sister not wanting to attend CU, though we haven’t talked much about it. I wonder, idly, if Bridgette knows more about Eden’s family life, and vice versa, since I’ve done a heck of a job of keeping both of them at arm’s length.
“They seem nice,” Dan says as a matter of breaking the silence that follows Eden’s exit.
“Yeah,” Mom snorts, “they do seem nice.”
“Behave,” I beg with a slight irritation in my voice. “They are nice.”
Naturally, I leave out the bit about our conversation surrounding my salvation, or the difference between “real” CU guys and those farmed in for athletic purposes. That has little to do with how nice they are as people, though I don’t have the energy to enter that debate with my mother—who would undoubtedly assert that how people act all the time, and everything they say, goes into their “niceness” equation.
Mom puts up her hands, lifting her eyebrows in amused defense. “Sorry. So, tell me what’s been going on.”
Where do I start?
While I talk with her at least once a week on the phone, there’s a lot that goes unsaid in our conversations. My feelings about CU, about God, and about Roland are the top three on that list. And each one is bigger than the last, with no good starting point for discussion.
I decide that the easiest hill to climb is my contentment with Carter University. I assure Mom that while I know my upper level sociology classes will likely have huge moral roadblocks for me, the classes I have now are pretty basic. Even the Old Testament class. “Like Sunday school,” I tell her. That the students are welcoming—especially my RA—seems to settle some worried tension around mom’s eyes. Dan nods in approval when I discuss the “non-traditional” CU students. “Not your garden variety Holy Rollers,” I assure him, pulling on his terminology.
“I think it’s great you’re settling in, Kennedy.” Dan says when I’ve finished my impromptu CU plug.
Mom twists her lips. “I’m happy you’re comfortable.”
“Even if you’re not?” I challenge.
Her shoulders rise in a huge breath. “Even if I’m not. You’re no less willful than I was at your age, so I’m not sure what I was thinking trying to tamper with your desires to come here. Anyway,” she lets out a long exhale, “what’s on the schedule for today? I heard your roommates mention an assembly?”
Oh no.
I’ve assumed that her not discussing the assembly with me had to do with the keynote speaker. Roland. I haven’t brought it up, because in WASP families, you don’t bring up the uncomfortable things. You just go through them side-by-side and never talk about them again. Her question makes me a little dizzy. I look
at Dan, whose serious and somewhat apologetic expression suggests he knows exactly what the next words to come out of my mouth will be.
Why didn’t he tell her?
No, why didn’t you tell her?
“Uh…” I clear my throat and lift my chin. I have to lift my chin when I’m feeling unsure of my own emotions. It helps balance me. “It’s a welcome assembly sort of thing. Roland is the keynote speaker.”
I watch my mom’s chin move north about two inches while she swallows hard. The last time she lifted her chin toward me was when I told her I was coming to CU. The time before that was when I told her I was applying. Before that, when I told her I wanted to meet with Roland by myself.
Here we are again. At a lifted-chin standoff regarding Roland Abbot. I don’t move my eyes from her, but notice from the corner of my eye that Dan is cracking his knuckles. Something I’m sure the orthopedic surgeon tells his own patients not to do.
“Well then.” Mom clears her throat and rises to her feet with a faint smile. “I guess we better get going. We don’t want to be late.”
She leads the way out of my room and Dan puts a hand on the small of my back. I decide to put my suspicion of his knowledge surrounding the keynote speaker behind me and lead my parents across the stunning campus to the grand lecture hall.
I’ll deal with him later.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Need You Now
After welcoming remarks from the school president and the Dean of Students, my pulse beings to race. I had no idea two years ago when I started researching CU that this—my freshman year—would basically be the Year of Roland at CU. He was tapped to give the freshman address, and now the keynote speech for Parents’ Weekend?
Although, fast-forwarding to today, I can’t say I’m all that surprised. Word around campus is there are several new members on the Board of Trustees at CU that are pushing the school to stretch its staunch position on nearly every issue. Again, Roland seems like a decent common ground here. While I’ve not heard him make any remark that would count as “liberal,” he certainly doesn’t rain fire and brimstone down on a land of sinners. Roland seems to be the draw for both sides—it’s like they’re both watching him to decide which group gets to claim him and parade him around as their Christian poster boy.
As luck would have it, we’re sitting next to Joy’s family. I kid you not. I’ve done my best to avoid her. I haven’t seen her since the day I dragged her out of Word. She sits with different kids during any mealtimes we share together, and frankly, I’m fine with that. I haven’t really tried to be nice to her, but she hasn’t tried with me, either. I’ve got a lot going on in my head and zero space for Joy and her dirty looks. Except now, of course.
As her last name suggests, her adoptive parents are of Hispanic descent. I can’t remember where she’s from, but I do remember her sharing that her parents are missionaries who rescued her from a sin-savaged land. Or something like that. My parents fall into easy conversation with hers as we take our seats, leaving Joy and I to stand awkwardly by their sides and smile the tightest smiles known to man. She’s polite enough to my parents, and I to hers. They seem like perfectly normal people.
Seem is the word my mother would focus on. I shrug and turn my gaze away from the Martinez family. For all I know, they’ll have a heated prayer session after the assembly, begging God to save my soul and the souls of my parents.
Whitewashed tombs?
While I’m not technically in a New Testament class, I’ve been spending evening quiet time brushing up on the words of Jesus for my own social sake, and I can’t help but wonder how many whitewashed tombs surround me on a daily basis. Sure, skeletons in one’s closet is a perfectly fine secular analogy, but being a tomb full of dead men’s bones? Leave it to Jesus to drive it home in such a spectacular way. Charisma, thy name is Jesus.
And Roland, who is now taking the stage.
Somehow, in my internal rambling, I missed his introduction, but looking to my left and seeing the statue-like appearance of my mother tells me she heard every word, each one acting like cement for her muscles. Unmoving and with a perfectly political grin on her face, Mom stares straight ahead. I’m not even sure she’s blinking.
Please, God, let this be an easy pill to swallow. I kinda really need you here. Now.
Luckily, we’re sitting to the left of the stage, about three quarters of the way up, and I expect to be out of view from Roland. Though, he really does have an uncanny ability to spot me no matter where I sit during his church services. I pray, once more, and ask God to keep his eyes away from us. He asked me last week if my parents were coming this weekend, and I told him yes. He said “parents” without much difficulty, and I still haven’t decided if I’m relieved or offended by that.
Roland starts his speech with a short, light prayer that seems to break something in the room. Uncertainty of this “radical” pastor? Maybe. Maybe it was just something breaking in me. Either way, I instinctively lean my head to the left and rest it on my mother’s shoulder. I feel her catch her breath as if she’s caught off guard, then she wraps an arm around my shoulders and squeezes me close.
Roland doesn’t mention the sin of his youth during this speech. What he does do is encourage the students and their families to fully commit their lives to Christ. It strikes me that this speech is more evangelical than his last sermon, which was more than the sermon before that. It’s like he’s easing us into a place where we’re somehow ready to hear what he really wants to say.
“Jesus didn’t suffer and die on the cross for you to have one foot in the world and one in the Word, friends. He wants hundred-percenters.”
This gets a rise out of the assembled body. Choruses of “Amen! Hallelujah! Preach!” sprout up around us, and I feel Mom chuckle. I don’t ask her to behave this time, I just don’t want her to break down. If she wants to laugh, she can laugh.
Interestingly, I note the distinguished panel of trustees and university higher-ups nodding and seeming altogether pleased with Roland’s sermon topic. I wonder, lifting my head and crossing my legs, what “hundred-percenters” means to each of them.
“One hundred percent might be a scary proposition,” Roland starts as if he’s heard my thoughts, “but no one said following Jesus would be an easy ride on a rainbow road.”
Chuckles speckle the crowd, even from Dan.
“We might be asked to pack up and leave our lives, like the Apostles did. Like many missionary families do. We might be asked to love the unloving, befriend the unfriendly, help those who scorn at us.” Roland paces faster, his voice rising with every step. “We might be asked, church, to step back and accept responsibility for our actions. To live with consequences.”
Here we go. I fear he’s headed toward talking about me. Dan seems to sense this, and places his hand over mine.
“But at the end of the day, church, all we’re truly asked to do is follow Him. To follow someone doesn’t just mean to walk behind them with your heads down. No, it means to follow their ways. Jesus called himself The Way. Anything else is a dangerous back road to nowhere.” After a roaring applause, Roland returns to the podium, places his hands on it, and looks to the crowd after a deep breath.
“You can’t Mapquest this route. No Google map will take you there,” he says before reaching for his Bible. Lifting it, he continues in a soft voice, like he’s speaking to parents holding a sleeping baby. “This. This is the only map you need. The Way. One hundred percent. Make a commitment before leaving here today. If you’ve backslid, turned away, or are ready to make a commitment for the first time. Do it today. Here’s your map. Trusted and unfailing for over two thousand years. Let’s pray.”
I close my eyes and lean forward, holding my head. At this point in the service, and all services I’ve attended, the preacher makes a plea for those who are still searching for Jesus. Asking by a show of hands—anonymous to the rest of the crowd thanks to the bowed heads—who is ready to make a commitment today. I always
fight the urge to lift my head and look around. I’m not yet fighting the urge to lift my hand, though I know that day will likely come. I’m just not there yet.
I’m startled when my mother feels around for my hand, grasping it and giving it a squeeze as she says “Amen,” with the rest of the assembled parents and students. I’m shaken, once again fighting tears while listening to Roland’s prayers. This time, by my mother’s side. A woman who has far more history with this man of God than I ever intend anyone around me to know.
“This place has great-looking food!” Dan bellows as we cross the threshold to Mission Hall.
True to convention, Mom didn’t mention the hand-hold during the closing prayer, and none of us directly discussed the speech-sermon hybrid offered by Roland. The only pleasantries shared on the walk to the dining hall were, “That was a nice ceremony” or, “What a gorgeous looking group of boys at this school,” courtesy of my mother.
“It is good,” I admit, leading them to the center of the large hall. “Over here is the salad bar, over there, the Hibachi station…” A shriek of epic proportions from behind me overrides my flight attendant-like speech.
“Kenedeeeeey!” Turning, I find Eden race-walking toward me with the biggest smile I’ve seen on her to date. And her entire face is flushed and glowing.
“Hi!” I say, trying to match her excitement as she barrels me with a hug. “What’s, um, up?”
Eden takes a step back, retaining a grip on my upper arms. “He asked me! Jonah asked me on a date. Finally! He waited until today because our parents got in last night and we all went out to dinner and apparently he asked my dad while I was in the bathroom or whatever, but I’m so excited!” She hugs me again.
Admittedly, my first thought is thanking God that Jonah hadn’t spilled that I pushed him to ask her out. I don’t think I had to push that far, honestly, since they’re so clearly suited for one another. My second thought is how archaic and sweet—at the same time—it is that Jonah asked Eden’s father for permission for a date.
Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father Page 15
