So she’ll know if I’m faking it.Swell.
“Today we will read the introduction and opening verses together.” I bob my head, knowing when I’ve been cornered. “Then let us pray.”
She holds out expectant hands toward me, palms up. I slide my hands into her warm ones as she wraps her long, wrinkled fingers around mine. Our eyes meet and she waits patiently until I lower my chin and close my eyes.
“Dear Heavenly Father, we thank you for these gifts you have bestowed upon us. For the precious young man you have sent to me.”
Cue eye roll.
“Please continue to allow him to heal quickly and feel better in no time.”
Wait, what?
“Give him the strength to battle his demons and be bathed anew in your love. And provide me with your words so that I may be a guiding light. In Your name. Amen.”
And we’re back to our regularly scheduled programming.
Taking my hands back, I place them in my lap, rubbing them up and down my thighs anxiously. I’m a little afraid of what sort of Bible study she’s picked for me if I’m supposedly tobattle my demons.
“Rami,” Grandma Julia’s voice softens; which sort of creeps me out.
The hair on my arms stands up straight. Her blue eyes meet mine, full of shame and pleading.
She blinks and the stoicism returns to her eyes. “This is not a punishment, despite what you may think. I want to help you by teaching you how to help yourself.”
My molars grind together so hard I worry they may crack. But I keep my thoughts to myself. She may think she wants to help me, but she wants to help me to be like her. And I can’t get behind an act, or a God, that does anything less than celebrate each other’s differences.
Whether she wishes to acknowledge it or not, thisisa punishment.
So, I keep my mouth shut. Grin and bear it, if you will.
“You read the opening verse,” she continues when I offer no discourse.
With a shaky hand, I reach for my copy of the workbook and slide it closer to me. That’s when I see the title in a large, obnoxious font.
Following the Lord’s path to free you from addiction!
And there it is, folks. My path to freedom paved in the Lord’s light.
Gag!
Though I don’t fight it nor do I say the words that are burning like acid on my tongue. Instead, I open the front cover and read the Bible verse printed there.
“Matthew, chapter 6, verse 24,” I start. My words are hollow, my eyes are glassed over, and my shoulders are rounded in defeat. “No one can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and mammon [addiction].”
Either unbeknownst to the piece of me that just died or unfazed, Grandma Julia reads through the introduction. Her tone is hopeful, and her eyes sparkle with barely contained excitement.
I don’t actually register the words that are coming out of her mouth, only picking up bits and pieces.
“Addiction is a form of idolatry.”
“We should be addicted to God.”
“His love is stronger than any drug.”
But none of that truly clicks into place. My eyes hone in on her copy of the Bible study to see it already highlighted, underlined, and notes written in the margin.Fuck. That’s what she’s going to be expecting of me to do in mine.
There will be no faking my way through this.
