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by Laura L. Smith

“See ya.’” I wave to my friends and raise my eyebrows. None of them have a clue what I’ve done, or what I’m about to do.

  Dear God, please help me through this. I know it’s all my fault, but I need You so much.

  “So, are you okay?” Noah asks as we sit down.

  I scrunch my nose to push back the tears.

  “Hey,” he whispers and gently cradles both of my hands in his warm, strong ones. “Are you okay? Are we okay?” His voice quivers.

  I nod so many times, I feel like a bobble head. I inhale and look down at our fingers. “It’s the chastity ring thing.” My words come out, but each one feels like it has to climb over a bump to escape my mouth.

  Noah nods and keeps rubbing my fingers, waiting for me to say more.

  “I always thought I’d get one, and now — ” My voice breaks.

  “You don’t need one.” Noah’s lips curve into a half grin. “Wow, Linds, I thought you were going to break up with me.” He lets go and leans way back in his chair. My Noah is back — the relaxed, in-control Noah.

  My words come more freely, since he’s at ease. “I can’t have one.” I shake my head. “Can’t you see, we shouldn’t have . . . you know, we should have waited.”

  “Waited for what? For marriage?”

  I nod.

  “Linds, we don’t need that. You know I love you, and if I haven’t told you . . .” Noah leans forward so close his nose almost touches mine. “I’m going to marry you. I want that with you. I want a house and kids and everything.”

  I feel like I’ve had an extreme makeover! Before picture: I’m nervous, anxious, and scared Noah will never want to speak to me again. After picture: I’m relieved, elated, excited. My whole future, with Noah, is ahead of me. I feel my heart pounding inside my chest like stilettos on pavement.

  “You do?” I eek. A tear escapes my right eye and darts down my cheek. I wipe it, laughing, with the backside of my hand.

  “Yeah.” There are tears in the corners of Noah’s mossy eyes too, confirming his love, melting my concerns.

  All other thoughts fly from my head. Noah wants to marry me! That’s different, God, right? I don’t wait for God’s reply. This is too good to be true!

  “Me too.”

  “So, we’re good. I mean, we’re great!” He laughs thick and full, like his laugh came from all those hockey pads he wears. “I mean, I know the Bible says that we’re supposed to wait, but in the Bible all those people got married when they were like thirteen or something! We’re older than that already, and we’re going to get married. We both want that.” He gives a cockeyed grin. “We both want that,” he whispers.

  I nod. I want that too. It feels like that’s all I want.

  “Making love with you just makes me feel closer to you.” Noah squeezes my hands.

  Brrriinnng!

  Chairs squeak across the floor, shoes pound the ground, books slam, and trash whooshes into garbage cans. Hundreds of conversations buzz around us.

  “I can’t get another tardy in calculus.” Noah grins. “Call me after practice this afternoon?” He leans in to kiss me.

  I instinctively take a step back, smile, and shake my finger.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, no PDA! Whatever!” He turns.

  “I love you.” I blow him a kiss.

  “Me too, Mrs. Hornung.” Noah winks and disappears in the crowd.

  Mrs. Hornung? Wow, he really wants to marry me!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  All week I’m bombarded with sex. My new issue of Lucky calls for new subscribers with, “Feeling Lucky?” Beer commercials, sitcoms, even the novel I’m reading for English, Rebecca, are full of torrid sex. All these allusions to sex make me feel as queasy as if I’ve woken up to a face covered with oozing zits!

  I try to convince myself what Noah said is true. The Bible was written for people two thousand years ago, but that’s not what I’ve grown up believing. I’ve been taught the Bible is God’s Word — His living word. My new pastor, my old pastor, and even Ed at youth group talk about the Bible as the Christian handbook. Jesus ascended into heaven and left His words for us to live by.

  I’m glad I talked to Noah. I mean, at least I told him I’d hoped for a chastity ring. But, I’m still unsettled. He does this thing to me. I feel all straight with God, and then Noah is so dreamy, it’s hard to stay focused on what God and I talked about. What Noah said about getting married turned our talk a one-eighty and added a whole new dimension to our relationship. We’re whispering about weddings at lunch. We’re giggling about names for children and what our house will look like when we study together. I feel even closer to him than when we first slept together. Now we have another secret to share.

  But I feel like two separate people. I didn’t resolve the sex thing. I left the cafeteria Monday feeling fabulous, but afterward I realized Noah thinks sex is okay because we love each other. Still, I know in my heart God doesn’t want me to do this. We haven’t been alone again. Noah was out of town for hockey all weekend, so I didn’t have to face it, but the whole idea of sex eats at me. I don’t know if I have enough courage to have another sex talk with Noah.

  When I look in the mirror, I see a girl who’s not a virgin. I think I was prettier before. I had a more innocent look. Now I feel I have a hardness, an edge — the edge Kristine and her crowd wear like a badge of honor, only I don’t feel so proud.

  I still need to come clean with this sin.

  On Sunday Mom, Dad, and I go to church.

  Pastor John is small, probably only five foot seven. He’s round and bearded like a jolly dwarf. Despite his small stature, his voice fills the sanctuary, and his words carry more weight than Mr. America can lift.

  He reads the gospel about the woman at the well. I’ve heard it so many times my mind drifts. I remember back to a Sunday school lesson. We took turns pulling up a bucket from a plastic toy wishing well. On each kid’s pull, the bucket held a piece of candy and a Bible verse. My mind drifts to Noah, and I silently pray he’ll play his best in his game today. I wonder if he’ll be home in time for youth group.

  “Let me tell you a little bit about what was going on here.” Pastor John’s booming voice breaks my reverie. “The woman came at noon. Everyone else would have come in the morning to avoid the heat. This woman doesn’t want to be seen, but who’s there?” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Jesus.” He pauses for emphasis. “Sound familiar?”2 He paces around the front of the room, back and forth, letting this sink into our ears and hearts. “Is there anything you don’t want anyone to know about? Anything you don’t want someone to see about you? Well, Jesus knows about it.”

  My chest burns as if the scarlet A has been branded on to my flesh. I want to cover my ears like I did when I was little and heard an ambulance wailing past. If I can’t hear Pastor John, maybe I won’t have to face what he’s saying. It’s like I’m watching a horror film. I want to look away, yet I’m riveted to the screen. Despite my shame and fear, I need to hear what’s next.

  “Remember, He told the woman everything she ever did. So imagine if tonight you’re watching TV, and in walks Jesus. He looks you in the eyes and tells you everything you ever did.” Pastor John rolls back on his heels. “Would you be okay with that?” There’s a long uncomfortable pause. I don’t think I’m the only person squirming in my seat.

  “But here’s the thing. Did He judge the woman? Did He pick up a rock and start stoning her, as was the custom in the day? Did He spit on her or even walk away?” Pastor John shakes his head. “He asks her for a drink of water.”

  I bite my tongue. That’s not too bad, but what does that mean for me?

  “You see, Jesus knows everything we do, every secret in the darkest corners of our hearts and He loves us anyway!” Pastor John’s voice crescendos. “That’s right. He loves us anyway. He comes to that place in your heart that you don’t want anyone to see, and if you’re willing to turn it over to Him, Jesus will turn that place into love.”

  I’m
shaking now, and I can’t control the tears trickling down my face. I fight to swallow the sob fighting to escape. I brush the wetness from my cheeks.

  Dad discreetly lays his palm on my thigh. “You okay?” he whispers.

  I nod and push back my tears. I need to regain my composure and save these emotions for later, when I can sort them out, when I’m alone. But I continue to weep on the inside. Jesus knows what I’ve done, and He loves me anyway.

  Mom puts her arm around me and kisses me on the cheek like I’m a six-year-old. I know she’s trying to be nurturing, but I feel foolish and obvious. I shrug off her arm.

  “I’m okay,” I whisper.

  I’ve really known all along. Jesus knows Noah and I had sex. He knows everything. But I’ve been too fearful to admit it, because then I would have to face the next part. What does Jesus think of me now? But, He loves me. Still. So what next?

  __________________________

  2. Woman at the well sermon ideas are from father John ferone’s sermon april 2008 on this Scripture reading.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  As soon as we’re in the car, Mom starts in on me. “Lindsey, sweetie, what happened in there? Is everything okay? Is there something you need to talk about?”

  Where to start? Of course everything’s not okay! Duh! And I do need to talk about it, but not with my parents. I love them and all, but they’re not the ones to chat with about this one. Who can I talk to? Emma might understand, but she’ll probably laugh at me. I don’t want her to feel like I’m preaching chastity to her. She was freaked about possibly being pregnant, but she didn’t seem worried about having sex. The gears in my head turn and churn. We’re at a red light and Dad looks back. “Lindsey?”

  I need to answer.

  “I’m fine, really. It’s just Emma. She has some stuff going on right now that’s kind of private, but I just thought about her when I heard that sermon, and I’m so whipped and I’m PMSing. I think my emotions are just whacked.”

  “I’ve been praying for Emma,” Mom says.

  She seems to have fallen for it. I hate to lie to my parents. It makes me feel feverish, but I was thinking of Emma just then, and I am PMSing, and my emotions are absolutely whacked, so it’s not a complete lie. Who am I kidding? It will have to do until I can get a handle on all of this. Sorry, God. Again!

  “I won’t pry into her affairs, but if she needs someone to talk to, let her know I’d be her substitute Mom.”

  This time my words are genuine. “Mom?”

  “Um-humm,” she says, digging in her purse.

  “You’re the best.”

  She reaches back and squeezes my hand. In her grip I feel love. Pastor John’s words ring in my ears. “Jesus will turn that place into love.” Jesus is here with me now, showing me it’s okay. He’s going to help me through this. I could talk to Mom and Dad about it, and it might be okay. I don’t think I will, but I could.

  “What am I? Chopped liver?” Dad laughs, breaking the weightiness of the moment.

  “I love you too, Dad.” I laugh.

  When we get home, I snatch a Diet Coke from the fridge and a pack of frosted cherry Pop-Tarts from the pantry and head to my room. I grab my iPod, go to Artists, and select Todd Agnew. I slip my earbuds in, turn the volume down low, and flop onto my bed.

  Okay, God, I pray. I need You. I need You like I’ve never needed You before. I love Noah, and I love You. I know there would be no Noah without You. I truly believe You brought Noah into my life. I take a deep breath.

  I also know now You did not intend for us to sleep together. That is not Your plan. Not yet.

  “I cannot believe I’m this dirty. I’m ashamed to even ask to be clean. I can’t think of anyone less worthy. I have nothing to offer or to bring.”3 Todd Agnew’s husky voice etches my own thoughts on my brain. A film of tears veils my eyes.

  So what now, God?

  You have to tell Noah. You have to lay it out completely and not get distracted, no matter what he says or does, a Voice whispers into my heart.

  Will I lose him?

  You have to tell him and go from there. Trust Me.

  I want God to say everything will be all right. Noah loves me, right? He wants to marry me. Doesn’t that mean he’d do anything for me? I strain my ears and my heart listening for more direction, but all I hear is Todd Agnew. I wiggle my earbuds and wait for more from God.

  Trust Me.

  I want more. I want a guarantee! God isn’t giving me any guarantee on my hockey girlfriend status. Am I willing to risk Noah to please God? I know in my soul I don’t have a choice.

  I’m sorry, Jesus. I’m so sorry. I get it. What I did was wrong because it defiled You. I gave away a gift that You gave me. Sleeping with Noah wasn’t wrong because society thinks it was slutty. It wasn’t wrong because I could have gotten pregnant or an STD, although either of those would be hideous. It was wrong because I threw away Your gift, because I went against Your Word.” Tears pour out of me, washing my face as the confession washes my soul.

  Thank You, I whisper. Thank You for loving me, for forgiving me. Please give me the strength to do What I need to do next. I’m going to need You. I exhale, and my shoulders let out the guilt they’ve been trying to balance for weeks.

  __________________________

  3 “Wait for your rain” Written by Todd Agnew © 2003 koala Music (aScaP) all rights reserved. Used by Permission.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  My legs feel like Jell-O. My hair is stringy and sweaty and matted to my head. Todd worked our tails off at practice today, and I’m starving.

  Mom sets dinner for two and pours Diet Coke in fancy wine glasses with lemon wedges on their rims. I plunge into my chair. “Just two?” I ask.

  I stayed to myself most of yesterday. I needed time to think and pray about what to do next. Mom and Dad didn’t seem to notice. They went on a walk and chopped and simmered the ingredients for Wiener schnitzel, laughing and talking in low voices while they made an authentic German family dinner. They really do seem to still love each other, even though they’ve been married for a million years and Dad travels all the time. I hope I have a marriage like that some day.

  My brain flips to a movie of Noah and me in our twenties, riding bikes down a wooded lane, laughing on a picturesque fall day, and then to another scene of us clinking coffee mugs in a cozy breakfast nook with a newspaper spread out on a wooden table. I try to shake these reveries from my head. These are the images I can’t allow myself to delve into.

  “Dad had a day trip to Chicago. He’ll be home tonight, but not until late.” Mom places forks and knives by our plates. They clunk lightly on the farmer’s table.

  “Kristine’s eating at Wes’s house.”

  I nod. I’ve never eaten dinner at Noah’s. How long after you’ve been sleeping with someone does that invite get extended? I slap myself inside my brain for my sarcasm.

  “Lindsey, do you want to say the blessing, or should I?”

  “You can, Mom.” I put my napkin on my lap. The savory leftover Wiener schnitzel Mom heated up smells delicious. My growling stomach sounds louder than my hairdryer at full blast.

  “Dear Lord, thank You for this time Lindsey and I have together. Please bring Dad home safely. Please be with Kristine.” Mom’s voice chokes. I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to embarrass her by seeing her cry. I hear her softly exhale.

  “And please be with Lindsey’s stomach. Apparently she’s hungry.” We both laugh, breaking the nervous mood constantly surrounding Kristine.

  “So, what’s the most important thing that happened to you today?” Mom quizzes, using knife and fork to cut the meat.

  “Most important?” I’m stumped. The rich gravy trickles down my throat. “I don’t know.” Then it hits me. The most important thing that could happen to me today is to resolve this sex situation with Noah. I take a sip of my Diet Coke. The bubbles jump up and down on my tongue, urging me to spit out the words.

  “Mom?” I as
k.

  She looks up from her plate.

  “Well, you see, it’s like this.” I can’t stop now, not even for air. “Noah and I disagree about something, and we agree about almost everything, and he’s wonderful and kind and funny and treats me like a princess, but there’s this one thing, you see? And, I just don’t know what to do about it.” I inhale and take another sip of soda.

  “Well, I guess it depends on what you’re disagreeing about.” Mom leans back in her chair.

  I nod. Please don’t ask, Mom. Please don’t ask, Mom. I silently plead.

  “If it’s something little, I’ve learned to let it go. If Noah is as wonderful as he seems, then you have to overlook the little stuff. That’s how a relationship works. I certainly excuse a lot of Dad’s quirks, and thankfully, he ignores mine.”

  I nod and chew and nod and chew.

  “But, I’m guessing it’s not something little?”

  I shake my head. I can’t speak. Anything I say at this point will be wrong. Mom hasn’t asked, and I’m not ready to tell.

  “Well, if it’s something big, you need to talk to him about it.” Mom’s eyebrows do that crazy crooked thing they do when she’s thinking really hard or is super worried. “Lindsey, can you tell me what it is?”

  “Never mind,” I mumble with my mouth full of food. It would be better to not hear the end of her advice than to divulge my secret.

  Mom lets out a long sigh. “I wouldn’t tell Noah that you’re right and he’s wrong. I’d just tell him this is something important to you and how you feel about it.” Mom takes a bite of green beans. “Noah should respect your opinion and at least be open to discuss things. If not, I’m afraid he’s not the young man you think he is.”

  Her words weave through my head like the stitches on my jeans, all precisely spaced and in a perfectly straight row.

  “Thanks, Mom.” I swallow. “That’s what I thought, but it’s weird . . . it helped to talk about it.” I smile weakly. I never thought I’d consult my mom on sex.

  “I’m glad.” She cuts another bite of schnitzel. “I just wish I knew what we just talked about.” Mom’s laughter fills the room.