not your fault. People do bad things sometimes. And although God brings good even out of the worst circumstances, most often, we don't get to see the results."
Everything he was saying made sense to me, but then, my common sense had already told me that. However, it did nothing to silence the overwhelming feeling that I somehow caused every painful memory in my life. "But what if I could've prevented these things? This wasn't the only incident this year. There was another incident when I was standing at my locker involving a girl named Anna. She was the girlfriend of one of the most popular guys in school. I didn't know her personally nor did I know anything about her, other than her name. But one day when I was pulling my books out of my locker, she came up behind me, reached through my legs, and grabbed a handful of something she had no right grabbing. It startled me so bad that I jumped off the floor as I turned around, and she just laughed and waved at me as she walked away."
"Could she have been interested in you?" Doc asked. "Granted, that's certainly not the way to express such interest, but did you ever consider the possibility?"
"No, because it wasn't a possibility," I told him. "I didn't share any classes with her. I didn't know her other than seeing her occasionally passing through the halls. I don't even remember how I knew her name. And she never tried to speak to me, never acknowledged me in the halls in any way, and after that day, I never heard a peep from her again."
"And you blame yourself for what she did as well?"
"It certainly drove home the feeling that I needed to be more aware of what was going on around me. To this day, I get very anxious whenever someone is behind me. Whether I'm walking through the aisles at work or standing in line at the bank, I get very jittery if people stand too close to me. I feel like I need to be ready in case they try to do something. Do what? I don't know. But that panic is there, and I believe it is because of the kinds of things that happened in middle school. It's where my paranoia and anxiety about people in general really began to grow to unhealthy proportions. God wants me to love and help other people. I can't do that if I'm terrified of them."
"Have you ever tried?"
More unhappy memories came to mind. "I did. During my first year of high school, I did."
"I thought you said you kept to yourself in high school," Doc said, cradling his chin with his thumb and forefinger like a scholar deep in thought.
"I did. But that was in school. Outside of school, I forced myself to go out on a limb and join the local church's youth group. I thought maybe if I found people who believed in Jesus the way I did, I'd finally find a place where I could be accepted and loved. But what I found there did not represent the Spirit of God at all."
"What did you find?"
"Hypocrisy."
Monday – Day 6
The common misconception amongst most non-Christian circles is that we believers are nothing but self-righteous hypocrites eager to dish out judgment upon the rest of the world but uninterested or unwilling to be judged ourselves. For a large part of the Christian population, that is very true. But their actions and opinions do not represent the whole of the Christian faith, nor do they stand for the values of love and forgiveness that Christ taught. It hurts when people lump me into the same groups of extremists who killed pagans and their children years ago. Murder is not an act of love. Murder is not an act of forgiveness.
I also do not enjoy being lumped in with the priests and ministers and other Christian leaders who've been convicted of child molesting. Yes, it is a horrible crime. Yes, they should face punishment for what they've done. But just because I believe in salvation through Christ Jesus does not mean that I have some twisted desire to molest children. I want to see these criminals brought to justice just as much as anyone else. I don't condone, accept, or promote their actions. Such acts do not display God's love.
The fact that there are Christians who do not follow God's commands does not mean that God, Jesus, the Bible, or Christianity must be lies designed to milk the public out of their cash. People are imperfect. We make mistakes. We make bad decisions. We don't always do what is smart, fair, or right. We are imperfect beings, and we always will be imperfect beings. None of that has any bearing on whether or not God and His Son are real or whether or not He loves us.
But looking back, I can't help but wonder if society's perception of Christianity played a part in the responses I was getting from fellow students as I tried to be a better person. Perhaps my previous sins just weren't forgivable in their eyes. Or maybe they didn't trust that my intentions were genuine. I don't know, but whatever the reason, they didn't want anything to do with me or my newfound kindness.
So I started to wonder if I'd been going about things correctly. All I knew about God was what I learned from Pastor Hoskins every week. And that was only on Sundays when I was able to watch his sermon before Mom or Dad came in to shut it off. What if there was important information that I wasn't getting from Hoskins? I didn't own a Bible or know where to get one. Was that something you had to buy? Would churches give them out for free? I didn't know, but with my paranoia and anxiety about meeting new people growing by leaps and bounds as the days passed, I really wasn't in any frame of mind to just walk into a church and ask.
Then, after one particularly hard day of sitting alone at lunch, having spit-wads shot at me all day, and having my shirt used as a hand towel for the jocks during gym—yes, the one I was wearing—I finally got up the nerve to walk into a church. I just kept telling myself that nothing worse could happen to me that day. I figured I'd go inside, sit down in the back, and not bother anyone. If I stayed out of everyone's way and just blended in with the background, I might be able to hear the message of Christ without being targeted for one reason or another.
Now, keep in mind that I had never been inside a church before. I had no idea how they worked. I just assumed they had services every day so that people always had a chance to come hear about Jesus. And I figured they had to have some sort of service at night as well, because otherwise school kids wouldn't have a chance to be included.
So when I walked eight blocks down to the local church after school, I was surprised to find that it was empty. There was a woman at a desk just inside the door, but there didn't appear to be many others in the building. She asked if she could help me, but fear got the better of me. I said, "No thank you," and left. On my way out, there were two stacks of fliers by the door. I didn't even look at what they were; I just took one of each and closed the door behind me. It wasn't until I got home that I read them. The first was an announcement regarding some kind of women's group meetings, but the second was an open invitation for young people to join the church youth group.
I didn't know the church had a youth group. I didn't even know what a youth group was! But the flier said that they held meetings every Tuesday night. There were games, music, and Bible studies. The ages welcome were from thirteen through nineteen. I was in eighth grade by this point, so I wasn't eligible for the group just yet. That didn't matter, though, because I wasn't in any way ready to put myself into a room full of teenagers. I was going to need some time to build up some sort of courage.
But when I finally turned thirteen, I told myself I was ready.
On a side note, I must say that watching Herbie grow up over the past few days has been remarkable. Today, I could almost see the little man inside beginning to take shape despite the baby fat in his cheeks.
Doc and I were waiting at the top of the church steps when he arrived. He looked more than a little apprehensive. Puffs of steam streamed from his nostrils as he marched through the winter evening. I could see the anxiety in his eyes; he was not looking forward to this. But, despite all odds, there was hope in his heart that he'd finally find a place where he would be welcomed, accepted, appreciated, and loved. I almost pitied him as we followed inside. He had nothing but disappointment waiting.
The youth group met in the ca
feteria below the church. Most of the tables were folded up and lined against the rear wall, though two were set up along the far end. To the left, four rows of chairs sat before a podium. Other than that, the floor was left wide open. I remember everything about the first time I walked into that room. It was an anxiety nightmare. And it was about to happen all over again.
Herbie stepped through the open doors and looked around. A group of teens had convened around one of the two tables. A few more peppered the chairs to the left. In the center, a group of teens stood in a circle tossing a ball back and forth. None of them looked familiar; they certainly didn't attend the same school as Herbie. And not one of them acknowledged his arrival.
I remember that I had considered leaving at that point. My nerves were going crazy. I mean, what right did I have to be there? All those kids seemed to be pretty comfortable with each other. This was their established group, and I was just an outsider intruding on their territory. I know that doesn't really seem to be a logical conclusion to make, but that's how I felt. And I didn't want to intrude on their space.
Come to think of it, that is still a feeling that I get whenever I am somewhere unfamiliar. I feel like I don't