Just Ask (9 page)

But to be honest, I feel like none of it ever really sunk in. Almost like I've never gone to church at all. Or I just didn't get it. In some ways, I feel like I'm about four years old today, like I'm just starting to figure things out. That is, if I'm figuring anything out. I can't even be sure about that.

I thought I was going to answer some letters for the column today, but it's like my brain (or is it my heart?) is too worn out from last night. Like I've been in this long, bloody battle, and I'm so tired I can't even function. Maybe I should just go back to bed.

It was still morning when Natalie called and asked if I wanted to get coffee with her. I really didn't feel like going anywhere or talking to anyone, but she sounded desperate to get out of the house and away from “the rug rats” (Krissy and Micah), and I couldn't think of any believable excuse to turn her down.

And so we hop in my Jeep and head over to the Paradiso. It just figures that Cesar and Jake would be here. like I need to see more Christians. And it just figures that they'd invite us to join them.

So I get my cappuccino and do my best to act normal as we sit with these guys. I mean, I try to keep things light and tell myself to just chill. I know that I'm emotionally frazzled and really don't need these Jesus Freaks pushing any of my buttons today

But then Natalie has to bring up the movie, and before long she's totally gushing about how amazing it was, how she's never seen anything like that. And naturally, these guys have already seen it, and well, here we go.

“What'd you think of it, Kim?” Cesar asks me.

I shrug and take a sip of coffee. “It was okay.”

His brows lift. “Okay?”

“Yeah. For a church movie, I suppose it was kinda interesting.”

“Interesting?” echoes Jake. “I saw that movie last spring, and it was incredible. I felt like a totally different
person when I walked out of the theater, like I would never take Jesus for granted again.”

Then everyone agrees that it was like that with them too. Everyone but me. I just want to disappear now. I want to slide down my seat, slip under the little round table, and just melt into the checkerboard tiles as I ooze away. But I try to act perfectly normal as I listen to them describing scenes and how it impacted them.

But here's what's weird. As they're talking about Jesus and God and what the death on the cross means to them, it suddenly occurs to me that these same three kids have “really been praying for Jamie.” I know this for a fact since they've mentioned it to each other several times. And I am, in a sense, Jamie. Somehow this thought (mixed with the aftereffects of the movie) are just way too much for me. I mean, seriously, it's like I'm having some kind of meltdown.

“Kim, are you okay?” asks Jake suddenly, and naturally, they all stop talking and stare at me like I'm breaking out in little green spots. Like I need this kind of attention!

“You look sort of pale,” says Natalie. “Are you sick or something?”

I'm about to say, “Yes, I'm sick,” but it's too late. I have tears coming now, just pouring down my face; so many that they're actually dripping into my cappuccino. I reach for the paper napkin and try to blot my cheeks and pretend like it's nothing. But it's useless. I am a perfect mess.

“Kim.” Natalie puts her hand on my arm. “That movie really got to you, didn't it?”

Okay, the charade is over, and I simply nod without speaking. I don't know what I expect these three to do— like maybe start preaching at me or insisting that I get down on my knees right here in the coffeehouse—but I really don't expect them to do this.

Cesar reaches across the table and puts his hand on my other arm, and then Jake actually puts his hand on my shoulder. And the three of them look at each other, then back at me, and right there in the Paradiso, in the middle of the morning, the three of them actually begin to pray for me.

It is like so weird! And instead of making things better, it just makes me start crying harder than ever. I'm going to be hysterical before long. Maybe someone will call the crazy unit to come take me away. Man, this is so humiliating! And so unlike the cool, calm Kim Peterson persona I've worked so hard to create over the years. I want to yell at them to stop this nonsense, but all I can do is sit there and cry. I don't even listen to what they're saying. I just want them to stop. And finally they do.

About that time, I'm feeling like this steaming pile of miserable humiliation, but I'm trying really hard to come up with some smart-aleck remark to make. More than anything I want to lighten this whole thing up, as well as make them feel stupid for what they just did to me. But I can't think of a single line. It seems that the girl with all the witty answers has just been struck dumb.

“You okay?” Natalie asks again.

“I don't know,” I finally manage to mutter.

“It's the Holy Spirit,” Jake says in the most serious tone I've ever heard this guy use. “He's working on you, Kim.”

And Cesar nods as if that makes total sense.

“I don't know,” I say again, stupidly.

Then they all start telling me about how it was when each of them became Christians. And I actually begin to relax a little as the focus of attention shifts from me back to them. They go around the table as if rehearsed, although I know they're not, but each one tells a totally different story. And despite my efforts to resist this kind of “getting saved” talk, I am actually listening to them, and they even seem to make a little sense.

“Do you think this is what's happening to you?” Natalie asks with hopeful eyes.

I just shrug. “I don't know.”

“It's a lot to take in,” says Cesar. Then he looks at his watch. “And it's time for Jake and me to get to work.”

So they say good-bye and leave, and it's just Nat and me.

“It's not like you have to make a commitment to God right now,” says Natalie. And I want to ask her what makes her think I'm going to make a commitment at all. “But you should give this some thought, Kim. It really does seem like God's at work in you.”

And that's when the tears start coming again. Only this time it's not so hysterical. “Yeah,” I manage to say.
“Maybe you're right.” Then I hand her my Jeep keys. “You wanna drive us home?”

She smiles and we leave, and she drives home without even speaking. I really appreciate that she doesn't talk. I don't think 1 can handle any more words right now. At my house, she hands me my keys.

‘I'll be praying for you,” she says, then turns to walk over to her house.

I am so thankful that my parents aren't home. It's Dad's golfing day, and Mom just started this knitting class at the mall, so I have the house to myself. I walk around for a while, feeling kind of like a zombie, like something or someone has sucked all the emotion right out of me and I'm this empty shell. But I just keep walking, almost as if the movement alone will get me through this thing. Pacing and pacing.

Finally I am tired. I stop in the den and sit on the sofa. I see my mom's Bible on the coffee table. She usually has her “morning devotions” in here with her cup of green tea. Her Bible is lying open, and I lean over to see if anything interesting is going to jump out at me. I mean, who knows? With the way things have gone lately, anything can happen. She has one of those Bibles where some of the words are printed in red ink, and for whatever reason I start reading right where the red starts.

And I stop reading right there. It's like I cannot possibly take in one more word. But after a bit I go back and reread those same sentences. Only this time I read them out loud. I know they are Jesus’ words because the heading before this section says so. But it feels as if He's actually saying those words to me. Like I cannot pretend this isn't real.

And now I am crying again. But these tears don't hurt like the others. These feel like tears of relief, like I've been out in the desert dying of thirst and blistering in the sun, and suddenly I'm in this shady oasis drinking a cool glass of water. It's like I've come home.

I officially committed my life to God today. My parents did a fairly good job of concealing their shock when I came downstairs and announced that I wanted to go to church with them this morning.

“That's nice,” my dad said with this odd look on his face, like he'd just bitten down on a rock in his oatmeal. And I'm sure he wanted to ask what's up with me. Thankfully, he didn't.

My mom just smiled and gave me this little squeeze like she always knew I was going to “come round” someday. And then we got in my dad's car and all went to church, the three of us together, just like we used to do.

Our church is old and small, one of those denominations where you stand up and sit down and
read from a little black book. But toward the end of the service, while the organist was playing quietly and the sunlight was making colorful patterns through the stained glass, I bowed my head and silently gave my life to God.

Okay, I may have to do something more—although I'm not sure what—and I'm perfectly willing when and if I figure it out. But I did remember something today. I remembered how I gave my heart to God back in the fifth grade, or at least I prayed a prayer like that during Sunday school. To be honest, I'm not so sure that it took, at least not as far as I was concerned. And I got to thinking that even though I didn't really understand what I was getting into back then, and even though I never took it seriously, God must've been just waiting for me to remember what I'd promised, He must've known that I would one day come back to Him.

I think that's what I've done today. I haven't told anyone about any of this yet, but I'm sure my parents suspect something. And it's not like I want to keep this a big secret or anything. It's just that it seems kind of strange and out of character for me. I mean, I was so anti-God for a while. And I was all into the Buddhism thing. I'm not even sure what people will think. Probably that I'm a little flaky. But I don't care.

I'd already started to realize that Buddhism doesn't really work. The reason is actually quite simple—there's no way that you can be perfect enough or keep from blowing it. As a result, you have all this crud that never
goes away—like a pig who's rolled in the mud but is never allowed to take a bath. You're just stuck with it. And the reason we're stuck is because Buddha never died to remove our sins. He was never whipped and beaten and nailed to a cross for us. If anything, Buddhism expects you to do these works for yourself. Because it's clear you can never reach the highest levels or heaven or nirvana or whatever you want to call it without becoming sin free. But how is that even possible?

I mean, I'm a pretty good person, but I still make lots of mistakes. Like I'm not always honest, and sometimes I say stupid things that hurt people. So how do you make up for this kind of daily crud all on your own? And how could I ever be good enough to reincarnate into anything bigger than a gnat or an ant or a pesky mosquito? How can anything I'm able to do ever equal what Jesus did on the cross?

And then when you consider that Jesus really is God's Son—and I have reached the place where I truly believe this—and that God expressed His love for us through Jesus…well, how can you argue with that kind of love? Jesus came to earth, did nothing but love people and teach about God, and yet He was brutally murdered—for me. It just kind of blows my mind.

And here's another flaw in the whole Buddhism thing. When Buddha died (reportedly from a bad case of food poisoning), he never rose from the dead. But Jesus did. Okay, I'm not totally sure what all this means and I
still have some questions, but I do find these comparisons interesting. And I seriously wonder how I missed something this big before. I guess I was just blind.

The biggest thing is that I've invited God back into my life. I've accepted Jesus’ forgiveness, and I feel more peace than I've ever felt before. I can't even explain how that is; I just know that it's true.

So does this mean I have all the answers now? I wish. But maybe having all the answers isn't that important. Maybe having God in your life is what really matters.

Now I don't feel so intimidated by my JUST FORGET IT box. I'm ready to take it out from under my bed. Oh, I don't think I can possibly answer all those letters, but I will attempt to answer some of them. And I'm really hoping that God will help me with this first one.

Amazingly, I still haven't told anyone about committing my life to God yet. (Well, other than Jamie's anonymous confession in the newspaper, which I think my parents understood although they haven't said as much.)

There are a couple of reasons why I'm keeping this news to myself for the time being. 1) I've always been kind of a private person, and I think I want to live this thing out for a while without getting all the feedback from family and friends. 2) After making that “confession” in the column, I realized that I need to preserve my anonymity by not looking like I, Kim Peterson, discovered God at exactly the same moment
as Jamie. And 3) Okay, to be perfectly honest, there's this tiny part of me that's afraid what I've experienced might not be real. I mean, what if I was just having a little emotional breakdown or something? Although I really don't think that's the case, I do want to keep a low profile for now. And as usual, I'm pretty good at that.