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I hung back and watched the service from the last row. It was so different from the Sunday services Daddy had forced on me. In those services Daddy preached hellfire and told me if I didn’t change my ways I’d burn forever. He was never very clear on what I needed to change, so I would run up to my room after his Sunday service and pray for forgiveness for hours. I wanted God to forgive me for everything since I wasn’t sure what I’d done wrong.
I remembered praying that God would forgive me simply for being me.
This service was the complete opposite of that. The pastor read verses that I didn’t even know existed in the Bible. At first I thought she was making them up, because they sounded so…nice, so I snuck the Bible out of its holder in front of me.
It felt like sneaking because Daddy never let me read the Bible. He said that women weren’t allowed to touch such a sacred thing, lest we dirty it with our whorish hands.
I opened the Bible, feeling like I was doing something wrong, but when I looked around I saw that everyone was doing the same thing. They were all following along as the pastor read from it. Their voices echoed as they repeated the verses, one after another.
“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kind
ness, goodness, faithfulness.” I stared at the verse, echoing around me, in awe. Love? Joy? Kindness? All of these had been absent from my household. The church continued.
“Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” Once the church finished reciting, I read the verse again. I couldn’t believe it was actually in the Bible. I felt my heart clench in my chest. I flipped the page and prepared for another verse, my grip tightening on the book until my fingers were white.
“A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” I stared in disbelief. Emotions swirled in my chest, the sensation like heartburn. I turned the page again, preparing for the last verse.
“Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins.” I felt hot tears form in my eyes, tears of betrayal and tears for the years I’d lost to my daddy's religion. He’d taught me that God was vengeful and unforgiving, and he’d read from this very Bible. Now these people read from the same Bible, but they read verses of love and forgiveness.
I realized in that moment how very little I knew about anything. How easily I had been manipulated by one who claimed to be my family. Who claimed to love me. I’d known that my daddy had anger, I’d known that he had his problems, but I hadn’t known that he’d been betraying me with every word he spoke.
I’d thought that deep down he loved me.
Yet he’d read from this Bible and purposely ignored the verses that told him to love.
To love me.
What did that mean? What did that say about me? About the world I walked in and thought I knew?
My hands gripped the leather book. I was so caught up in my memories, in my past and in my hurt, that I didn’t realize there had been a break in the service. People were standing up and shaking hands with one another. Fear overwhelmed me as an elderly woman approached me.
I was certain she was going to kick me out. I was dirty and smelly, having not showered in weeks. I clearly didn’t belong in that place.
“Peace be with you.” The woman put out her hand to me.
“I’m sorry I don’t…” I looked at her hand, confused.
She smiled at me. “I’m offering you peace. You shake my hand and say ‘and also with you’. If you want to offer me peace, that is.”
She wanted to shake my hand? My obviously dirty, smelly hand? I put out my hand, dumbstruck. “And also with you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. The woman smiled and continued along her way.
After staying for the service, I decided to spend the night. The church often hosted people and families who were down on their luck, so they even had showers and a kitchen. I woke up the next morning before their alarms and made the bed. I wanted to leave no trace of me behind.
Next, I showered in their facilities. Hot water poured over me. It was sublime. I hadn’t had a hot shower since leaving Georgia. The dirt washed off me and swirled into the drain. Tears streamed from my face with the hot water, undetectable save for the salty taste in my mouth.
It was hard to accept that I’d become this person: dirty and homeless and relying on others’ charity. When I was finished I dried off with the towel provided to me and changed into the spare clothes I packed in my backpack. I wanted to stay for another service, but I was on a mission. The pastor had asked if my path had changed and before I hadn’t been sure. Now I was.
I quickly wrote a thank you note for their hospitality and left out the front door. It was dark outside, the sun still below the mountains, but that didn’t matter. My path was still the same.
I was getting to California.
“Pull over.”
“What?” Eli quickly glanced at me before returning his attention to the road.
“Just pull the truck over.” Eli screeched to a halt on the side of the highway. A few cars honked, but I didn’t care. I needed to get out of the truck. Suddenly it was all too much. Walking around with Eli I’d been able to act like everything was fine. For a moment, my memories had left me. For a moment, I’d been able to pretend that we were normal.
We weren’t normal.
