I honestly can’t believe he’s being so transparent with me. I’m grateful, and I don’t want to say too much at the risk of clamming him up.
“It’s okay,” I whisper placing my hands over his. “We’ve all got… crap to deal with.”
He starts walking again and I follow him this time. “I just want you to know I’ve never had sex is all.”
“Okay.” I shrug. “I believe you, you know. Though I don’t know why you need me to know that.”
“Because I need to hold onto a shred of integrity,” he admits sheepishly. He’s quiet for a few seconds—just my breathing and the birds filling the silence in my head—before he continues. “That’s why I can’t date anyone right now. Not for a long time. I’m too screwed up.”
Not this again.
My stomach sinks a little at the speech he’s heading into. My rational mind didn’t even expect Matt to talk to me anytime soon, let alone date me. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that falling into our old ways so easily with him at Butcher Block didn’t ignite that old, hopeful feeling in my chest.
The one where Matt picks me.
“Matt,” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Just listen, okay? I turned you down last semester because I told you that I wasn’t good enough for you. I thought that because of all the behavior I was trying to hide from you. I didn’t want you to find me out.” He pauses to grin for a split second. “I guess I didn’t know you as well as I thought I did. You’re intuitive. What I’m trying to say is I’m not good enough for you. I’m not good enough for anyone. But, it’s not because of all the crap that I’m ashamed of, it’s because of the person I’m working to be and I’m not. Yet.”
I stop because I need to take a breath. Not from physical exertion, but emotional. I can be Matt’s friend. He’s my best friend. I just hope this doesn’t go down a road where he can’t have any girls as friends period because I won’t stand for it.
“What are you getting at?” I ask, looking down.
I almost fall apart as his index finger touches my chin and he lifts my face to meet his eyes. “I’ve got a lot of healing to do from all the junk I’ve seen and done in the last year, Kennedy. And stuff to work out with my dad. I need you to be my friend, but we need to be careful. I’m not good with boundaries here. I’ll either push you away like I did last time, or I’ll want too much from you, whether or not I actually want a relationship. I just need friends right now, okay?”
His finger hasn’t moved from my face, and I feel like I haven’t taken a breath in minutes. I nod slowly. “Okay.”
Matt’s eyes glisten for a split second. The sunny day reflects brighter in those deep, dark eyes of his. Quite the contrast. He’s a contrast. I want to grab his face and kiss him and tell him everything will be fine and he’s fine, but I can’t. He still looks so vulnerable.
“I’ve pushed so many people away in the last year and I’m trying to rebuild those relationships.” He takes a deep breath. “But right now my focus is on getting my heart and soul right before God. If I can’t do that, I’m toast. I need friends, K. Sawyer. You’ll still be my friend, right?”
I nod again, running low on oxygen and emotional energy. His face relaxes and he doesn’t fight when I pull him into a hug.
“I promise,” I whisper. “I’ll always be your friend.”
Two, three…
CHAPTER EIGHT
New Folder
Kennedy
“That is some heavy stuff,” Eden says, filling her mouth with a forkful of pancakes.
“I know,” I agree, after filling her in on my conversation with Matt. “So is the fact that you’re sitting here in Roland’s house with me!”
A couple days after my walk in the woods with Matt, Eden showed up on Roland’s doorstep, surprising me with news that she got wind of my joining Asher’s prison ministry for the remainder of the summer and decided to sign up, too. She’s staying in dorms designed for students doing local volunteer or missions work during the summer, which means she’ll be spending most of her time with me at Roland’s house because dorms aren’t the most exciting place to be.
It’s Sunday morning, and we’re set to start work with Asher tomorrow. But first, church. I’ve slacked on church services in the last several months, and even since I’ve been back in Asheville—which is only one Sunday, but it still feels weird. So, today Eden is accompanying me to New Life’s ten a.m. service. During the school year, all my friends and I would always sit together anyway, but I have no concept of what the make-up of the church is when CU isn’t in session. I’m glad Eden’s here. I suppose I could have sat with Roland’s assistant, Jahara, but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t like me all that much. I’m sure I wouldn’t like me if I was a part-time publicist, either, since I’m kind of a PR nightmare. But, that’s not really my fault or problem right now.
“Stop trying to change the subject,” Eden accuses, swallowing her last piece of bacon. “How are you really feeling about all this Matt stuff?”
I huff and set down my fork. “First of all, you have to promise me you’re not going to tell anyone any of this.”
She holds up her hand. “You know I promise.”
I didn’t use the term sex addict with Eden, because if my search through the Internet is accurate, that’s a pretty divisive term. Incidentally, I’ve seen it used more frequently and honestly on faith-based sites than secular ones, but I refuse to assume I know which side Eden will fall on. I simply revealed the basics of his struggle and that he’s not dating. She’s my best friend. I have to talk about this with someone. Someone who will understand.
“I don’t know how I’m feeling,” I admit. “I did a lot of Internet research on all of this over the last few days and… is it really common for people not to date at all until they’re looking to be married?”
Eden nods. “Don’t you remember the conversation at the beginning of last year with Bridgette? People take courtship to mean different things, but there’s a growing number of people who think it’s best to wait as long as possible to date, if not until you’re ready to be married then definitely as long as possible.”
“I get it,” I say, hesitantly. “I get that what’s different here from the way I grew up is that where I come from people seem to get into relationships as a stepping stone in the way they get to learn about themselves. From what I’ve seen, it seems like evangelical kids are encouraged to know themselves, know God, learn how to be the best partner, then go look for one.” Eden nods as Roland rounds the corner, fixing his tie.
“Or,” Roland butts in with a smile, “people could just not date at all.”
“Yeah?” I challenge. “Like what people?”
He shrugs, still grinning, and pours himself some coffee. “People who are under twenty, living in my house, and biological offspring.”
Eden falls into a fit of giggles while I roll my eyes. “Is eavesdropping biblical?” I challenge, taking mine and Eden’s plates to the sink.
Roland puts his hand on my shoulder. “I’m just teasing you,” he says. “But, I think it might be.” He winks.
“How much did you hear?” I ask, nervously. I can’t pretend Roland doesn’t know all about what’s going on with Matt from conversations with Matt’s dad, Buck, but I promised Matt I’d be private about this.
He gives my shoulder a slight squeeze. “Just enough to remind me that we have to have a dating rules conversation sometime soon.”
“Ew,” I respond, wrinkling my nose.
Roland laughs. “I know. So ew. Come on, ladies, we’ve gotta head over.”
Roland’s house is on New Life property. It belongs to the church. So by “head over” he means walk two minutes.
“You’re so weird,” I comment, closing the front door behind us. “I thought priests and pastors and stuff got to church early to pray and stuff before the sermon.”
“I pray here,” Roland says. “I get nervous if I spend too much time there before the service
starts.”
“Really?” Eden says. “I never thought you’d get nervous over anything.” Her knee-length navy blue dress has a pleated, flowy skirt covered in tiny white daisies that seem to twirl as she walks.
“Me either,” I admit, glancing at my own attire. I follow the dress code, but plainly. I’m thinking I need to have Eden take me shopping where she goes, so I can find feminine clothes and not monastic garb.
Roland chuckles as we march toward New Life’s massive structure. Cars are already filling the lot and we’ve got a half hour before the service starts.
“I’m only human,” is the only thing he says for the rest of the walk.
***
“Spending time in the Word isn’t an optional exercise,” Roland says with fierce reverence as he stands at the podium. “Psalm one-nineteen tells us that the Word of God is a lamp for our feet and a light for our path…” he trails off and surveys the crowd with intense eyes. In a low, somber voice, he asks, “How many of you are wandering in the dark?”
Goosebumps.
I haven’t really listened to many of Roland’s sermons because I’ve often been analyzing both him and the things he says through the filter of my background. But today, I seem to have let my guard down and I’ve been listening. Hearing.
“How many of you,” he continues, moving to the front of the “stage” and pacing slowly, “are lost?”
A host of yes’s and amen’s are heard throughout the full house. During the school year, New Life adds an eight a.m. service in addition to its ten o’clock one to accommodate the overflow produced by the students. While both services are typically full, today’s single service is almost standing-room only
“Isaiah forty tells us that even the grass withers, and the flowers fail. But do you know what endures forever? The Word of God. Friends, tomorrow there are a group of students from Carter that will be starting a four-week volunteer mission with Rays of Hope prison ministry. They need to have the Word before them and behind them in order to share their gifts and the heart of Jesus with all the people they’ll be coming into contact with.”
“Amen,” a few people call out.
If we’re going to be expected to evangelize, this is news to me. Asher said he was putting me to work with the prison’s literacy program. Unless someone happens to be reading a Bible, I hadn’t planned on discussing what little of scripture I know.
Roland picks up his pace across the floor. His smile widens, as do his eyes. He’s always in the zone but he seems particularly passionate this morning. “Church, I’m going to ask you to pray for these kids. They’ve chosen to give up part of their summer to reach out to prisoners. Drug addicts, violent offenders, and prostitutes. Sounds like Jesus’ kind of crowd doesn’t it?” At this, the congregation hoots, hollers, and chuckles. And my stomach sinks. “What an opportunity they have!” he exclaims before walking back to the lectern.
“But,” Roland continues with a heavy sigh. “While we must pray for these kids to be rooted in the Word. To have God go before them to light their path and to guard their backs, we must also think of those students who have backslidden, or are backsliding. It can happen throughout the year, of course, but we all well know that for the college population, summer is a time of freedom. For some it means complete freedom from the guidelines CU offers. Freedom from structure. Some students can handle that, having developed a strong relationship with God through their time on campus. For some… for some it means they’ve thrown themselves to the wolves.”
My eyes widen as I look to Eden, but she seems thoroughly engrossed in Roland’s message. I take a quick look around and realize there’s a group of suits in the front right-hand portion of the sanctuary taking careful notes. Both men and women, ages thirty to fifty would be my guess.
“Hey,” I whisper to Eden, despite being in the second row right in front of Roland. “Do you think those are network people?” I nod in their direction.
Eden and I have only spoken in rumor-speak regarding the show. It’s true that no one really knows anything that’s going on for sure, but we know they’ve got to solidify plans over the next couple of weeks if they hope to catch all the back-to-school splendor.
She shrugs and whispers back, “Maybe. I don’t recognize them.”
One of them makes eye contact with me and offers a polite smile. I’m not convinced of its sincerity.
Because you’ve become increasingly paranoid over the last year.
“Of course I have,” I whisper.
“Huh?” Eden asks, facing me with a confused look.
I stare at her for a few seconds before realizing she hadn’t said anything to me. No one had. No one human, anyway.
“Nothing,” I mumble, returning my attention to Roland.
“Keep praying for the students of CU,” Roland implores to the crowd. “They are the next generation of disciples that will go out and make disciples. When the school year starts,” Roland’s tone shifts from urgent to softer in a split second, “I will resume the best part of my on campus work at CU, which is teaching a New Testament course. I get to have direct contact with students every single day. To preach the gospel constantly, and use words only when necessary.”
That statement couldn’t be more accurate. I’ve heard it before, but it perfectly describes Roland. Unless we’re in a scripture-specific discussion or I’m listening to one of his sermons, I don’t hear him going around proselytizing to anyone. Yet week after week, more and more students and community members walk through the doors of New Life to hear what this unique pastor has to say about Jesus Christ. It’s beyond charisma, I’m coming to realize. It might just be what everyone around me refers to as being “filled with the Holy Spirit,” but I don’t know enough about that phrase just yet to let it slide into my vocabulary. Still, there is something remarkably enticing about this whole Jesus thing when you’ve got a guy like Roland presenting it to you. He makes it real. And, for some reason, that scares me.
What if none of this is real?
Lord, help my unbelief.
I gasp as a line of scripture comes into my head. I remember it so clearly from prayer sessions throughout last semester. There was this boy that a father brought to Jesus. He had “evil spirits” in him and the father wanted help. Jesus told him that anything is possible for those who believe. The father, desperately seeking help for his ailing son proclaimed, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”
The man was so sure of his belief for Jesus, yet also so aware of his sinful, human nature that he knew there were parts of him that didn’t believe, even if he couldn’t feel them in his heart. He knew unbelief lingered and he asked Jesus to cast it out.
“I spent a lot of time in the temple praying for Matt,” I admit to Eden when the New Life worship band finishes their closing song.
She looks around as if I’ve spoken out of nowhere. “I’m glad. I think a lot of us have been praying for him.”
“I know in my head and even in my heart that God can help him. He’s really the only one to help him at this point. And as I prayed, I asked God to clean the unbelieving parts of my heart that bred skepticism that any of this would work for him,” I say, gesturing to our surroundings inside the church.
Eden leans forward and hugs me in the quick, tight way she’s perfected. “That’s awesome,” she says, smiling broadly as her deep green eyes twinkle. I swear to you, they twinkle
“Ugh,” I roll my eyes, “you’re so stunning. Could you not be? For like a second?”
She laughs, linking her arm through mine. “Me?” she questions. “You. You’re stunning. And sophisticated.”
“Eden,” I say dryly. “You’re talking to a preacher’s daughter who spent half the summer hiding in a Buddhist temple. Not so much the high point of sophistication, if you ask me.”
She gives my arm a tug. “I’m dying to know what it was like. I would have freaked out.”
I remain planted in my spot. “Freaked out? Why? It was the most pe
aceful place I’ve been in a long time.”
“It’s based on a polytheistic religion,” she starts. “Even if they deny a God, Buddha himself held Hindu beliefs. They don’t believe that Jesus is the way to salvation, they believe in reincarnation, and all kinds of levels of heaven and hell.” She catches herself panting a little and takes a deep breath.
“You’ve… given this a lot of thought,” I say, looking around at all the chatting people around us.
Eden grabs my forearm and gives it a small squeeze. “I had to know what you were up against once I knew where you were. I prayed like crazy for you, Kennedy.”
I’m taken back by the fervent pitch in her voice. “Oh,” I reply for lack of anything else to say. “Thank you. But… who told you where I was?”
“Your mom,” she answers plainly. “But don’t worry. I didn’t tell anyone. Except Jonah, and he doesn’t gossip anyway.”
“Jonah?” I ask, surprised.
She nods. “He was really worried about you after you disappeared. I didn’t want him failing finals or anything.” She winks. “I think he likes you, you know.”
I raise my eyebrows. “I think you’re insane.” Scanning the room, a familiar all-American face catches my attention.
“I’m not crazy,” Eden demands. “I know a crush when I see it. I had one on him for over half my life.”
“Jonah?” I say, mostly under my breath.
“Yes. Jonah,” she says slowly as if I’ve gone dumb.
I playfully smack her shoulder. “No, fool. Look!” I point behind her to the worship band area. “It’s Jonah!”
Once she catches up, Eden shares in my excitement and we nearly skip over to the band.
“Ah!” I shriek as I’m greeted with his smiling face and hug him. He gives me a tight squeeze back before hugging Eden. “What are you doing here?” I exclaim, breathlessly despite myself. “Are you doing the prison ministry, too?”
The Broken Ones (Jesus Freaks #3) Page 7