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This youthful man in his twenties with a boyishly handsome face and kind, welcoming eyes tells us that a lie is like a cage, and honesty is the key that all of us hold. Each and every one of us has that key, but it isn’t enough just to possess the key. We have to dare to put it in the lock and free ourselves to the world. Sure, life in a cage of our own making isn’t so bad. It’s safe. It’s secure. You know what to expect. You don’t have to face challenges. Truth can be a very challenging power, and it can both devastate us as well as enrich us. “Those of us still living in our cages,” Trey goes on, “with the iron bars of dishonesty and lies surrounding us, we grow bitter of the world outside. We resent those who live freely. We come to despise those who do what they want, who live how they wish, who … love who they wish.” Trey smiles. “Those of you who know me—and my husband—at all, know the very personal nature of this dance I describe between lies and truth. Cages and freedom. Locks and keys. Those of us still trapped in our cages, we have also convinced ourselves that we’re trapped because of other people. We tell ourselves we have no power. We tell ourselves they hold the key to our cage, and they won’t let us out. We nurture an instinct to fight against our assumed key-keepers … to grow dark, to rebel.” A look of hurt and sympathy softens his eyes. “You don’t need to rebel. You never did. My friends, you always hold the key.”
With that, he announces that a special guest is going to speak now regarding his own struggle with truth, and relinquishes the pulpit to some muscular hunk in a tight plaid long-sleeve button shirt, tight Wranglers, and boots. I’ve never seen the guy before, begging the questions of where he’s been hiding and how many more random people are tucked away in this town. “Most of you know me,” he says to the room, and from the strained tone of his voice, it’s clear he’s nervous. “I’m Chad Landry, that’s the name. Hello and hi, g’mornin’. Chad. Landry. So, uh … I’m here to kinda support Trey’s whole sermon here about truth and … unlocking locks and … and all that. Shoot, is it hot in here?” He wrinkles up his face as he wipes a sheen of imagined sweat off his forehead, his biceps bulging in his tight plaid shirt. “Anyway, I guess I got a bit of a story of my own to tell. Most of ya know I live out on my ranch with Lance Goodwin, sittin’ right up here.” With my vision of him blocked by other heads, I only catch a glimpse of blond hair. “You know he’s a designer, he’s got a boutique openin’ up, thanks to the generous funding of Mrs. Cassie Evans.” She smiles and gives a light nod of appreciation toward him. “So you all know that much. But … But I don’t think any of you know my … the journey … the journey it took to get where I am.” He clears his throat. “More specifically, the journey of how Lance, the sassiest darned guy in all of Spruce, came to be such great pals with me. The truth is, we weren’t always pals. Back in grade school, I … I didn’t treat him so great. I was awful. I was mean. I was a bunch of words I can’t say here in this church.” Chad gives his friend Lance in the front row a knowing smile. “I didn’t realize I was in a cage. There was a lie I kept tellin’ myself back then.” He faces the room. “It’s never too late to set yourself free. So in the name of honesty, I’ve got a thing I wanna say. I’m turnin’ the key. Here goes.” He takes a breath and grips the podium, then says it: “I gave up beer.”
The room erupts into laughter, the tension broken. Even Trey, who stands at the side just off the pulpit, shakes his head with a smile on his face.
Chad exhales with relief. “Phew! That was tough to do! I was pretty sure there was a moment there when I was gonna chicken out. But hey, look at me now! I just set myself free, and I feel … I feel so dang good, I could dance.” Then he peers down at Lance in the front row. Something changes in his face, his eyes hardening with resolve as the room settles back down. “Right. One other cage I gotta open.” He takes a breath, then smiles and says: “I’m gay.”
The room stills. Some heads turn, as if wondering if this is still part of the joke. A few others nod to themselves, as if they already knew or suspected. I even spot Mrs. Strong off to the side nudging her husband with what seems to be a told-you-so smirk before she beams up at Chad, appearing proud of him.
