Chapter 1

“Let’s kill all the lawyers,” 

Shakespeare said in his play ‘Henry VI.’ 

“Let’s kill all the infidels,”

Radical Muslims say in real life.

These Muslims aren’t the only ones who want to kill the infidels.

I say, “Let’s kill all the preachers.

Let’s kill all the Southern Baptist preachers.”

Why didn’t Satan kill God when he had a chance?

Shakespeare referred to corrupt lawyers.

Radical Muslims to pure infidels.

I refer to corrupt and pure Fundamentalists.

I’m the Bible and I approve this message.

Preacher’s kids are the worst.  I’ve often heard.  I’m one myself, but I’m pretty good unless I’m writing poetry, at least as far as my Dad and Mom know.

I love my Dad. Mom too, maybe more, even though Dad is a radical himself. Of course, to most Americans, he is as normal as they come, just an ordinary Christian.  But, to a slim minority of us in our little North Alabama town, he is a fundamentalist pastor, a radical.

Dad would probably die if he read my rather revolting poem.  He probably doesn’t know that a poem isn’t necessarily true, or that it doesn’t have to reflect the view of the writer.  After he read it he would say, “Ruthie, this is sick. I didn’t know you were so messed up.  How have I failed you?  I thought you believed in God, loved God, read your Bible, believed your Bible?  What happened to you?  You better be glad tomorrow is Sunday and you have to go to church.”

I guess I would have to say, “Dad, I do believe as best I know how. But, I am also curious and creative. Reading, poetry, words, these things are my breath, my bed, my ball.  It’s a little safer than basketball, football, or hockey.  Don’t you think?  Can’t a girl have a little fun without a ball or a puck?”

I do like a lot of the stories and passages in the Bible.  I really like this one from Chapter 4 of Song of Solomon:

“You’re so beautiful, my darling, 

so beautiful, and your dove eyes are veiled

By your hair as it flows and shimmers, 

like a flock of goats in the distance 

streaming down a hillside in the sunshine.

Your smile is generous and full— 

expressive and strong and clean.

Your lips are jewel red, 

your mouth elegant and inviting, 

your veiled cheeks soft and radiant.

The smooth, lithe lines of your neck 

command notice—all heads turn in awe and admiration!

Your breasts are like fawns, 

twins of a gazelle, grazing among the first spring flowers.

The sweet, fragrant curves of your body, 

the soft, spiced contours of your flesh

Invite me, and I come. I stay 

until dawn breathes its light and night slips away.

You’re beautiful from head to toe, my dear love, 

beautiful beyond compare, absolutely flawless.”

I say a soon-to-be ninth grader can not only be revolting and revolutionary, but also romantic.  Well, I don’t know much about romance, but my Dad might quickly repeat his three questions if he learned my interpretation and application of this beautiful passage from his inerrant Word.

Yes, I’m curious and creative and know that experience and imagination are about all one needs to write a good poem.

Chapter 2

It’s Sunday morning on this hot and humid July day and I’m sitting in church waiting for services to begin. My Dad is the pastor of this Southern Baptist Church here in my hometown of Boaz, Alabama— some say it is a quaint southern town, a great place to ‘live, work, and play.’ There is no doubt it is in the heart of the Bible Belt. Many, mostly Yankee journalists, say that Alabama is the heart of the Bigot Belt.

My name is Ruth, most people call me Ruthie. I am fourteen years old and I will be in the ninth grade when school starts back in a few weeks.  After a thirty-minute song service, including “There’s Victory in Jesus,” “Amazing Grace,” and “Love Lifted Me,” my Dad, the humble and gifted Joseph Brown, walks to the pulpit. “Good morning and welcome to all. It is a great day to be in God’s house and to be worshiping with each one of you. Today, we want to look at an issue that is changing America and the change isn’t good. It’s the issue of homosexuality and gay marriage. Many of us are aware that this week the United States Supreme Court issued a ruling in a case that found a constitutional right for gay couples to be married. Yes, our Supreme Court found that two men or two women have just as much a right to a lawful marriage—and all the rights that bestows—as a man and a woman have.

We all know that God instituted marriage as between one man and one woman.

The Apostle Paul specifically condemns homosexuality in the book of Romans—look if you want to at Romans Chapter 4. Here Paul, speaking for God, says that a man should not lust after another man, nor shall a woman lust after another woman. Neither shall lie with a member of the same sex. Friends, please carefully note that Paul does not see homosexuality as biological—that one is born with the ‘gay gene.’ He is clear, homosexuality and its related lifestyle is a choice. There is no other way to reason but to conclude that homosexuality is a sin—and this is why Paul calls homosexuality a sin here in God’s word. Friends and brothers, homosexuality is a sin and God will deal with it—He will punish the sin and the sinner.

Of course, this doesn’t mean we don’t love the homosexual. We do. However, we as a church, as God’s body, cannot condone the sin. Sin has consequences—and it is never good for the sinner nor society.”

Dad said a lot more during his sermon, including a whole lot about the likely effects of the Supreme Court’s decision, such as loss of religious freedom and the ultimate breakdown of the American family and our society. After Dad finished and stood at the front door of the church and shook everyone’s hand, we came home: me, Dad, Mom, my older brother, and my younger sister.

After we arrived home I went to my bedroom while Mom prepared lunch. I sat in the middle of my bed pondering the words Dad had so clearly and eloquently delivered to all in attendance this morning at First Baptist Church. One thing I knew he was right about, according to the Bible, homosexuality is a sin and a choice. A person is not born a homosexual or with homosexual tendencies.

“Ruthie, lunch is ready,” Mom called from the kitchen. I got up and quickly walked to the dining room. My parents had this crazy rule that whoever was at home at meal times always ate together in the dining room.

“Ruthie, it’s your turn to say grace,” Mom said. 

“Lord, thank you for this day, for church, for Dad’s sermon, for family, and for this food. Amen.” I always was pretty good with prayers. I got right to it and never lingered.

Lunch time was rather quiet today, a little unusual for Sunday’s. Dad tried to start a conversation about his sermon but there were no takers, not even Mom, who usually is faithful to follow Dad off a cliff. The most chatter was over the summer Olympics in Germany and ridiculing computer gaming as a legitimate sport.  The corn casserole generated its usual remarks from Rachel, Jacob, and myself—none of us kids could hardly stomach it but we all finally agreed that a sale on both creamy and niblet corn justified its purchase. We all were willing to sacrifice for the common good—our family unit had to stick together to be a unifying force in our community and, as Dad always said, “a beacon on a hill.”

Youthful attitudes improved greatly with the banana-pudding. I assumed bananas were likewise on sale. It was good and was even better when Mom let us kids take ours with us back to our individual bedrooms.

I sat at my desk thoughtless for a while as I finished my pudding. But, like a lightning bolt, I was suddenly awakened again to homosexuality and the consequences that would surely follow.

For quite a while I, at least subconsciously, had thought I might be gay. I had never talked with anyone about it, especially, not with my Dad. Prior to the sixth grade I knew I was different. I didn’t want anything to do with boys. I thought they were gross especially after I learned the difference sexually between boys and girls.  The boys were just too much like animals.

As to girls, my whole mind and body changed in the sixth grade. Sarah, Heather, Lisa, and I had a sleep over at Sarah’s house. It was during the Christmas holidays. During the night, after her parents were fast asleep, we decided to play a game. Lisa had suggested that we would soon be invited to the Valentine’s dance—our first, and that we needed to learn more about kissing. It was a big dare and it took quite a while for everyone to get on board with it. I do remember not being the last one to agree—I guess that should have told me something about my tendencies.

The game started with us sitting in a circle like a clock and starting with Sarah at twelve o’clock, kissing Lisa sitting at the three o’clock position. The first kiss was easy—it was a kiss to the cheek. The second round was a quick kiss to the lips. It got more intense every round. Each round took what seemed like an hour, but of course it didn’t. After each kiss, there was much laughter and commentary. Also, after each round, we would rotate positions, so everyone would get practice with everyone.

During the last round, it came my turn to French kiss Heather. I was very hesitant at first, but once she gave me her tongue it seemed like something leaped in my gut, like my sexual clock had been plugged in. I then pulled Heather to me closer and closer and we kept our kissing going for quite a while. Sarah and Lisa finally pulled us apart and Lisa said, “well, we now know who has a thing for girls.” Sarah added, “you girls better get a room.”

Here is the thing that now blows my mind. Later that night, after we had all settled down and fallen asleep—scattered over their big den— Heather came and lay down beside me. I looked at her, surprised, but didn’t say a thing. I was glad she was there. She got in my sleeping bag with me and we started kissing, really kissing, French kissing. This went on for what seemed like an hour and then our hands started to explore each other’s body.  Before sunrise, Heather kissed me one final and exciting time and went back to her sleeping bag.

I never saw Heather again. Her and her family moved cross country before school started in mid-August. I never heard from her again. And, I never told anyone about our sexual encounter.

It was too pretty to stay in my bedroom until church services tonight. Mom agreed that I could ride my bicycle to the city park. It was only a couple of miles and there would be several church families there picnicking and playing volleyball and just hanging out most of the afternoon. Mom made me promise her I would be back no later than 4:30. I agreed.

It was a nice ride to the park. I saw the Smith’s, the Williams’, and the Crutcher’s and declined an offer from each family to join them. I headed for my favorite spot beside a small stream just down the hill from the volleyball court. This was my favorite thinking spot. I even had my favorite rock that seemed out of place but was big enough for me to be hidden behind it away from the footpath.

My thoughts returned to my Dad. He is a good man, a good father, a good husband to my Mom. But, he is strict when it comes to the Bible, Christianity, and the church’s role in society. He is a fair man, but he doesn’t have much patience with those whose worldview is different than his own. He believes the Bible is literally God’s word and that it is true no matter the season or the century. He runs his church and his household fairly and firmly, but always in accord with what the Bible says.

Maybe I should go talk to my Dad and tell him how I feel. Even more, tell him that I think I am gay. What would he do? I have a feeling he would condemn me, hopefully gently and lovingly, and pray for me. One thing I know for sure is that he would never accept me as gay. He would always believe that my homosexuality was my choice—my choice to sin. If I told my Dad, I deeply fear that things would never be the same between us.

No, now doesn’t seem to be the right time to reveal any of this to my Dad, or anyone else. I must keep this a secret. Maybe, I am going through a phase. Maybe, I’m not gay. Maybe I am making too much of this. I should recommit to God’s Word and His ways. Lord, forgive me. “You have a good time at the park?  See anyone you know?” Mom said as I walked in the house from the garage.

Chapter 3

It’s now Wednesday, ten days before my ninth-grade year begins at Boaz High School.  I always meet with my Dad around 5:00 p.m. to just catch up and to discuss any questions I have about my middle school girl’s youth group I teach at 6:30 each Wednesday evening.

We always meet in his study on the second floor of the church’s administrative building. As I enter his outer office, “Dad, you here?”

“Waiting on you dear, come on in.”

I walk in and see a man I do not know sitting across from Dad in my chair, where I normally sit.

“Honey, I want you to meet Doug Carter, he is with the home office of the Southern Baptist Convention in Nashville,” Dad says.

“Hello Mr. Carter, nice to meet you,” I say.

“Honey, Mr. Carter and I were just wrapping up a day we have spent planning our next exercise.  I’ll tell you about it later. If you will, give us about 10 minutes to finish up and I’ll be ready for our meeting.”

“Okay Dad, I’ll just sit at Linda’s desk.” Linda is Dad’s personal assistant. She is truly the engine under the deck around here. I sit in her soft leather chair and wait on Dad to get free and can’t help but think about Dad’s early life.

Dad grew up in Selma, Alabama. He was born in the late 60s.

Even though he didn’t witness the dramatic and violent Selma to Montgomery March led by Dr. Martin Luther King in 1965, the happenings concerning this march and desegregation with U.S. Congress passing civil rights and voters rights acts, all affected my Dad in deeply wonderful and troubling ways.

My grandfather was Jacob Brown. My brother was named after him.  My grandfather was a deputy sheriff in Dallas County, where Selma was the county seat. The sheriff was a life-long enemy of African Americans and was instrumental in seeding and fostering black-hate in his Department. My grandfather was one of the deputies who used whips, tear gas, and nightsticks against the black marchers to turn them back as they attempted to cross the Edmund Pettis Bridge.

According to Dad, grandfather was a two-sided coin. He was hard as nails and fully believed that blacks were inferior to whites. He was so hard that he praised his ancestors for fighting the Civil War, often saying the South would be better off if blacks were still slaves. Dad grew up under the same roof with a father who was a bigot and proud of it.

But, there was a good side to my grandfather. He loved his family, my Dad, my uncles Simon and Preston, and my aunts Nancy and Bea, and my grandmother Marion.  Grandfather worked two jobs for years. His day job was as a deputy sheriff, but several nights a week he was a security guard at Somerdale’s Lumber Mill, the largest employer in Selma. Even though he worked eighty-plus hours per week, grandfather spent quality time with his children. Dad was always big for his age and loved football. He played football, starting with Pee Wee, and continued through high school. Grandfather spent countless hours with Dad just throwing the football. He spent real time with each of his children, no matter their hobby and interests.

Two things stuck with Dad, even to this day. It is wrong to hold it against a man or woman who is born black. Even though his father felt totally different, he encouraged his children to think for themselves-and that is what my Dad did. The second thing that stuck with Dad was the importance of family, the importance of working and supporting your family and giving them a better life than you had growing up. Grandfather taught my Dad that the family was the most important government ever created and that the man, the husband, the head-of-the household, was duty bound to keep his family together.

I jumped up when I heard my Dad asking me if I was daydreaming. I told him that I guessed I was. We walked into his office and sat in our normal spots.

“What is your teaching plan for tonight?” Dad asked.

“We are going to the nursing home after I give a 10-minute talk on the elderly and their continuing value to our community and how important it is to spend time with them, showing them how we appreciate all their efforts in making our community and world a better place.”

“I think that is an excellent plan.” Dad said. “Is Ryan going with you?”

“Yes.” Ryan is a dear friend and is the son of the Associate Pastor here at the Church. Ryan and I have been friends all our lives. Associate Pastor Grantham came to First Baptist Church shortly after my Dad did. Ryan and I were both preschool—even though he is a year older than me. He will be in the tenth grade this year. Ryan asked me a year ago if I would help with the middle school youth group. We usually talk or text every day, mostly about the group but we also share a lot of interests, such as books, words, and the outdoors. I think Ryan likes me for more than just a friend, but he is totally shy. I guess that is a good thing for me.

“Are you getting excited about high school and the ninth grade?” Dad asked.

“I think I am, but I’m also a little nervous. I keep hearing how much harder my classes will be and that I will have to work to keep up, and that making excellent grades is an absolute requirement if I want to go to an Ivy League college.”

“Ruthie, you have a great mind and a good work ethic. Just take it one day at the time, faithfully completing your assignments. Also, it is important not to get sidetracked with distractions. Yes, I’m talking about boys here, my dear.”

Dad’s last comment hit me like a ton of bricks. I haven’t thought about my predicament lately and certainly haven’t been thinking of how hurt and possibly angry my dad would be if he knew that I felt and believed I was gay. Oh, how I must deal with this issue, and that includes talking to my dad, face to face, and just getting things out in the open. “What were you and Mr. Carter working on?” I asked Dad.

“We are both in total agreement that the Church’s next exercise must be about our opposition to homosexuality, and the Supreme Court’s ruling that homosexuals have a constitutional right to marry.” “That sounds like a very hot topic,” I said.

“Honey, I’m sorry, but I have to cut our time a little short. I have a meeting with the Deacons before prayer meeting. I hope you will forgive me my dearest. I’ll see you tonight at home. Thanks as always for being such a wonderful daughter and for your work with our youth group.”

After Dad left, I stayed in his study for the next hour before meeting with Ryan and our youth group. I stayed in his private library, which is right next to his study. It is wall-to-wall books with a small round table and two chairs in the middle. It has one entrance–a door from Dad’s study–and one window, a rather large stained-glass one with a multi-colored Christ coming to earth in the clouds.

I pulled John the Apostle, by Clint Bosworth, from a shelf filled with commentaries. I have loved this book for years now. It seems it encourages a belief, a celestial belief, that God is divine and that all men are just a little lower in importance.  It also contends all men are made in His image, with all being unique in individuality, but all being His children, all loved equally, and all with one purpose, that of glorifying Him.

But, I couldn’t read, all I wanted to do was continue my thoughts about my dad. My mind couldn’t get past the thought of Exercise. This was Dad’s word for community involvement. Dad had coined this meaning shortly after he became pastor here at First Baptist Church, some 15 years ago. I believe Granddad had taught Dad something unintentionally. Granddad had inspired Dad to think of those black men and women marching to Selma but in a different vein entirely than Granddad thought. Dad believed blacks had a message for the world and that they were willing to risk their lives to share that message. Dad believed–yes, I know, because I have heard him speak of it so many times–blacks knew they were made in God’s image, and that they were entitled to fair and equal treatment. Dad believed blacks on that Selma to Montgomery march were engaged in an exercise–one of putting feet to their prayers. Dad was planning another exercise—one focused on his and the Church’s opposition to homosexuality. Dad knew his work was righteous work and that God was behind his efforts 100 percent.

Dad had organized and led many other exercises in his role as pastor. I remember him protesting our City’s vote to legalize alcohol. I also remember his stance and demonstrations against teaching evolution in school. This last one had been last year. Dad was a believer, a dogmatic believer, in the absolute truth, without error, of the Bible. Dad could be so reasonable, wanting his children to think for themselves, but he could also be so unreasonable, forbidding his children from disagreeing with the Bible.

Last year Dad had carried a whole bus load of folks to Montgomery to protest the Alabama Department of Education’s ruling that evolution be taught in Alabama public schools. Dad is against evolution in most every way, but he is more for Creationism and his entire protest was over making sure public schools also taught the Bible story of creation.

Dad hasn’t been too concerned with what has been taught in science class, especially biology class, here in Boaz. Mr. Hickson has been the Biology teacher for 35 years and is a staunch creationist–and a faithful member of First Baptist Church. But, Mr. Hickson retired at the end of last school year and his replacement hasn’t been announced. I think Dad is a little worried about this.

I looked at my watch and it said 6:29. I had to leave and hurry down to the Fellowship Hall.  Hopefully, Ryan would already be there.

When I arrived, I was thankful for Ryan.  He is always early and always leading. He already had our group sitting down at two tables, all eagerly creating their individual thank-you cards for a special nursing home resident. Last week Ryan had assigned an individual resident to each student.  He believed in the personal touch. Each of our students would adopt a resident.

“Hi Ruthie, what’s up, you’re normally early?” Ryan said.

“I was in Dad’s library and just lost track of time. You know how libraries can be. Ha.”

“Hey, have you heard about our new Biology teacher?” Ryan asked.

“No.”

“Emily Ayers from Chicago.  The School Board just announced it this afternoon. You know my dad always attends the Board meetings.” Ryan said.

“What do you know about her?” I asked.

“Actually, more than you probably care about right now. She moved here this summer with her husband and daughter. Her husband is a big-wheel with Progress Rail and was transferred here by Cat, you know, the big company that makes bulldozers and other big equipment. Her daughter is Ellen and she will be in the ninth grade with you. Oh, one other thing, teacher Ayers is a former professor of Evolutionary Biology at the University of Chicago. She has her PhD in Evolutionary Biology and apparently is widely published in science journals. Dad bored me with all these details when he picked me up after the meeting to come here. Sure, looks like Biology class at Boaz High School just entered the 21st century.”

Chapter 4

“What time are you planning on going to school to register?” Mom said, standing just inside my bedroom door. I had just opened my eyes and hadn’t yet had a thought, about anything, much less school. Summer-time Monday’s are not supposed to be about work, responsibility, and preparing for my future.

“I’ve decided not to register. I’m skipping this year, but I promise I’ll register this time next year.” I said to Mom. Never would I have said that to Dad.

“Okay girl, let’s finish this discussion at breakfast. I’m just finishing up your favorite–blue-berry waffles and bacon.”

“Okay, that’s a bribe I cannot refuse. Be there in five.” I responded with mixed feelings.

Whether I truly want to or not, I have no choice. Registration is today or tomorrow, and I have plans tomorrow with Sarah, Ryan, and Lisa. So, it must be today. I must admit I am a little excited. Only once in a lifetime does one start high school. Well, I guess I could just fail this year and start over next year. But, that wouldn’t set well for my future, at least according to Mom and Dad.

“These are the best waffles I have ever had, and the bacon is just like I like it, thick and meaty. Thanks Mom.” I said as I chowed down. I was surprised that I was so hungry even though I hadn’t worked out any at all.

“You’re welcome. I thought I might need to do something to warm you to the idea of our Mom and Daughter morning I have planned.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Registration and shopping. You need to register, and I need to meet with Gina McWhorter your school’s liaison with Snead State’s dual enrollment program. After we finish up at Boaz High, we can go shopping for you a few school clothes.”

“Oh great. Like I’m starting middle school again and need my mom to hold my hand as we enter the big and dark prison.” I said.

“It’s not like that at all. You can do your thing and I can do mine. I’ll act like I don’t know you. Of course, our holding hands will be a little suspicious.”

“Funny, funny. I guess I can put up with you at school for such a short and uneventful time, if you will promise to buy me a pair of pink Reiker’s.” I said.

“Deal. Now, get ready. It is already nearly nine.”

Mom and I walked in the main entrance to Boaz High School, without holding hands. I was relieved.

We both went inside the school’s office, which is close to the main entrance and right off the atrium. Mom went straight to Ms. McWhorter’s office beside the principal’s office and I walked over to talk with Mrs. Newsome, the head of registration.

“Hi Mrs. Newsome, I hope you had a nice summer. I’m here to register.”

“Thanks. I did enjoy my time off. Now, let’s see. Ruthie Brown. Here’s your packet. I see you will be in the ninth grade and will have all the required courses: Algebra I, English, World History, and Biology I. All I need is your two elective choices.”

“I have decided I want to take Poetry and Art.” I said.

“Okay, we still have openings in both. One other thing, you probably know Mr. Hickson retired at the end of last year. Dr. Ayers is the new Biology teacher. She asked me to give each ninth grader a copy of a book that will supplement the standard science textbook. Here it is, and I need you to sign this receipt.

I signed the sheet Mrs. Newsome slid in front of me even before looking at the book, Why Evolution is True, by Jerry Coyne.  I was a little jolted to see a book with such a bold and controversial title.  I can already see some interesting dinner time discussions forming on the horizon.  But, what do I know, I was an eighth grader just a few weeks ago.  I took the books and a copy of my new schedule that Mrs. Newsome handed me. 

“Oh, I forgot to give you this,” Mrs. Newsome said. “It is your reading assignment in the supplement.  Dr. Ayers has assigned some homework to complete this week.  Enjoy the rest of your summer.”

I walked out of the school’s office and into the Atrium. I had two competing feelings. I was a little pissed about having to read school stuff during my last week of summer vacation, and I had a sick feeling that I had just been tossed a hand-grenade.

While I waited on Mom I saw Ryan coming down the stairs from the faculty office suite. “Hi Ryan, have you registered?”

“Yes, and I’ll be in your Biology class since I got that special waiver last year and took geometry and trig.  Have you registered?” He said.

“Yes, I just finished.”

“So, you have your new book in Biology?” Ryan asked.

“Yes, what do you make of this?  I doubt if Mr. Hickson would have started us off in this way.”

“I was dumbfounded when I saw the supplement. So, I thought I would go meet Dr. Ayers and find out if she was a witch or an angel. She is neither. Seems very nice. Truly professional. We even had a short talk about Biology and her evolution book.  She said that her philosophy is simple. Expose students to the issues, arguments for and against. Thorough analysis was her words. She said she believes most students are smart enough to reason their way to the truth.” Ryan said.

“Well, that sounds okay. Oh, here’s my mom. We are going shopping. Her payment for me letting her come along. See you Wednesday night at youth group.”

“Did you get the Poetry class you wanted?” Mom asked as we walked outside and to the car.

“Yes, I am glad we came today. If we had waited until tomorrow, it might have been too late.  I’m surprised there are so many 9th and 10th graders interested in Poetry.”

“Great, let’s go check out those sneakers.” Mom said.

After two hours of shopping and a salad at Crater’s we arrived home before 2:00. A good time for a nap. But, I just couldn’t go right off to sleep. Instead, I thought of Mom and how different her life was growing up and how lucky I was to have her as my mom and to have the life that I do.

Mom grew up in New York City. Like my dad, she was born in the late 60’s. Mom’s parents were what I call high society folks. Her dad was a judge hearing mostly civil cases, mainly white-collar type cases. Her mom was educated as a nurse but quit working shortly after her and my granddad married. She became interested in politics and charity. Mom always said she grew up learning, in an intellectual household. But, it was cold as ice. She didn’t really experience a loving relationship with her parents.

Mom went to private schools all her life and then went on to college at Yale, where she earned an undergraduate degree in Political Science.  Her father wanted her to go to law school, but she thought living her adult working life in the courtroom before a judge was only a tad better than marrying a preacher. So much for Mom’s decision-making abilities.

Instead of a law degree, Mom decided to continue her interest in government and political behavior. Rejecting three horribly cold years in Cambridge, Massachusetts and Harvard Law School, she journeyed south to Duke University in Durham, North Carolina where she earned a Master of Arts in Political Science. Fully addicted to education, research, and writing, she came even further south to Atlanta and Emory University where she earned her PhD in Political Science.

It was at Emory that she met Dad and her plans of becoming an Ivy League professor were forever abandoned. I guess love is blind as they say. It is weird, but interesting, what two people in love will do to be together. It’s like all reason goes flying out the window.

Why was Dad at Emory? I think Mom had that question when they first met. He looked more like a logger or oil rig worker than an academic type. But, he proved her wrong–not that he isn’t ruggedly handsome. Fact is, Dad was a student at Emory University, ‘smoking’ his own education addiction in the Candler School of Theology. By the way, Dad had received his undergraduate degree in History with a minor in Biblical Studies at Auburn University in Auburn, Alabama. It seems Dad was destined to be a preacher from age 12.  He someway fell in love with hellfire and damnation preaching.  At age 12, Dad started going with his friend Joey to First Baptist Church of Selma where his father brought down thunder and lightning.

Mom and Dad met in the Divinity School’s library at Emory University. Mom had never been in this specialty library until that momentous day. She always found everything she needed on the shelves of the School’s main library. Dad had been studying at a corner carrel but shortly before Mom arrived his friend Carl had asked him to babysit his desk in the reference department while he took a fifteen-minute break. During this fifteen minutes, Mom had appeared asking about a book that dealt with Christianity’s influence on the U.S. Constitution or Congress, or something I now forget. She said she was shocked by what Dad said and would never forget. According to Mom—Dad adamantly denies it— he said: “Yes, we have that book and I can get it for you very quickly if you will agree to seriously consider marrying me in the next two years.” Dad says he was way too shy to have even thought something close to this outrageous statement. I’ve always liked Mom’s response. “I will consider it, but I’ll need more verifiable and trustworthy information before I will promise to seriously consider it.”

They both agree they had coffee in the School’s main library cafe the next day.  They were off to the races as they say.

Sounds like Mom and Dad had a great start—even if some or all the events and conversation were less than true.

Mom and Dad had a wonderful love story that unfolded over the three years they both attended Emory University. 

I’m ready for that nap.

Chapter 5

“Honey, you need to get up. We need to leave in 10 minutes.” Dad said knocking on my bedroom door.

At first, I was clueless what he was talking about but then I remembered I had promised Dad nearly a week ago that I would go with him to WQSB and sit in with him at a talk show.

I shot out of bed, showered, and grabbed a honey bun as we walked out the door.

Dad and I arrived at the radio station right on time, a few minutes before his scheduled air time. Scott Larkins, the talk show host, met us in the reception area.

“Hi Scott, this is my daughter Ruthie. She is an important part of the Church’s exercises and I like her to be in the trenches with me as much as possible. She will be in the ninth grade at Boaz High this year.” Dad said.

“Hello Ruthie, and nice to meet you. I’m glad you came. Are you open to fielding a question or two this morning?” Scott said.

“Well, uh, I hadn’t really thought about that. I just came along to be with Dad and to learn more about the issues as seen by your callers. But, I guess I could, if you and Dad think I can handle it.”

“Great, let’s go on in and get set-up.” Scott said as he led us into the studio where he handed headsets to Dad and me. I felt my stomach turn over when I set down across from Scott and besides Dad with a microphone in front of me.  I wished I were anywhere but here.

Scott then told us how his Call-In Talk-Show works: “Laura, my assistant, is behind the scenes, so to speak, fielding the calls before they reach us. This is to make sure, or hopefully make sure, that we don’t get surprised with some lunatic and or vulgar call. When we are ready for our next call, and assuming she has one waiting for us in queue, Laura will tell me—you won’t hear this over your headsets. She will say something like, ‘we have Jim with a question on line one.’ I will press the line one button on the phone and we will be live with Jim. Please keep in mind that we are live and the listening in world can hear everything anytime that sign up above me is lit up.”

I looked up and saw the large “On the air NOW” sign on the wall up behind Scott. I looked over at Dad and he mouthed “no sweat, piece of cake.” Easy for him to say. Has he totally forgotten that I am a child? I also found it interesting that Scott hadn’t given us any advice whatsoever about what to say and what not to say. I guess that shows the reality of live radio.

“Okay, here we go.” Scott said as the bright green “On the air NOW” sign came on filling the studio with what I suspected were a zillion photons. I imaged this is how a person feels in a hospital operating room when she is lying there waiting to be cut open.

“Good morning to you and thanks for tuning in to Straight Talk here at WQSB Radio. Today we have Joseph Brown and his daughter Ruthie. Joseph is the lead pastor at First Baptist Church in Boaz. Ruthie is a ninth grader at Boaz High School. We are talking today about homosexuality and the recent U.S. Supreme Court’s ruling that gays and lesbians now have a constitutional right to marry. And, of course we are interested in how this affects churches and pastors. Now, let’s take our first call.

Good morning Thomas. Welcome to Straight Talk.  What’s your question?”

“Pastor Brown, will you perform gay and lesbian marriages?” Thomas asked.

“Hello Thomas and thanks for your question. No, I will not. First, let me say that my position is not because I hate homosexuals. I do not.  I, in fact, love them because they too are God’s children, made in His image. But, I do not condone homosexual behavior. The Bible says it is a sin. The Bible is God’s Holy Word, and I believe the Bible.” “Our next question is from Tina.” Scott said.

“Pastor, I have heard and read that homosexuality is not just something someone chooses to be.  I’ve heard it said that it is caused by a gene.  How do you reconcile your belief with this?” Tina asked.

“Hi Tina and thanks for your question. The Bible says homosexuality is a sin. This tells me this type conduct is something someone chooses to engage in and they have a choice. I am not a scientist, but I question whether your gene question has been proven. What you have heard is just someone’s opinion. I believe the Bible is clear, as we see in the book of Romans, people can become blinded to the truth and do all sorts of things that are not in keeping with God’s will. Thanks again for calling Tina.”

“Okay folks. We are going to take a commercial break and be back in two minutes.” Scott said.

The “On the air NOW” sign is no longer lit.

“Your answers are clear and concise Joseph.”

“Here is everybody a bottle of water.” Laura said as she came in and handed Scott a note.

“The next caller, has a question for Ruthie. You up to it?” Scott asked me.

“I guess so. Hopefully, it won’t kill me. Do you know the question?” I asked.

“Yes, your Dad says he won’t marry gays or lesbians. Do you think your Dad would allow you to have gay and lesbian friends and secondly, do you think your Dad would marry one of your siblings if they were a homosexual?” Scott said.

“I guess I can try to answer that.”

“Welcome back everyone to Straight Talk. We have a question for Ruthie from Daron.  Hello Daron, what is your question?” Scott said.

“Do you think your Dad would marry you and your female partner if you asked him to? Obviously, this is just an assumption. I am not saying you are gay.” Daron asked.

“Hello Daron. I truly don’t know what my Dad would do in that situation. I love him and know he loves me and his family. But, I also know he is a man of principal and is fully committed to God and His Word. I suspect my Dad would try to counsel me and show me that I was acting more from emotion than anything. Whatever he decided, I believe we would still be father and daughter. I can’t see that changing.”  I said.

Straight Talk continued for another half hour or so with the most common questions being whether the Supreme Court’s ruling would lead to a deterioration in religious freedom, and the government forcing pastors and churches to marry homosexuals. And, it came up again, the question of whether a person is born either heterosexual or homosexual.

After the program, we chatted with Scott a few minutes and drove home. The only thing Dad said about the program was that he was very proud of me for coming with him and answering my question the way I did. He told me he loved me very much.

Dad dropped me off at home and didn’t get out. He was needed at Church and said that he would see me tonight at supper.

It was almost 9:30. Sarah’s Mom, along with Sarah, Lisa, and Ryan, would be here soon. We were going to Guntersville Lake for the day. Since middle school this had been an annual event—kind of a celebration. Our last real fun day before school starts back. Today, it felt more like a funeral. I kept replaying the question I was asked at the radio station. What played most in my mind was my response to the caller’s question.

I heard a car horn honking just as I closed the front door behind me. I looked out and saw the gang was right on time. I went to my bedroom and grabbed my bag and headed out.

“Where’s Ryan?” I asked, getting in the back seat with Lisa.

“He didn’t complete his chores yesterday, so his dad wouldn’t let him come.”  Sarah said. 

As we drove to Guntersville, Sarah’s mom, Mary, asked me if I had completed my Biology homework. I told her no, but that I had plans to do that tonight. She also asked what my parents thought about the evolution book. I told her I haven’t even told them.

“That surprises me Ruthie. You better show that book to your dad and mom. I suspect they will have quite a bit to say about it.”

“I will. What do you think my parents will say?”

“I suspect your dad will be rather upset. You know Christians don’t believe in evolution. It is totally contrary to the Bible. And, you know how your dad feels about the Bible.”  Mary said.

“I guess you are right. I don’t really know anything about evolution. All I have heard is that it says we came from monkeys.” “Did you bring your pink bikini?” Lisa asked.

“Yes, of course. You know my parents would let me have a two-piece bathing suit. Especially with these boobs.”

“A one-piece, bottoms only, would serve you best most righteous Ruthie.” Sarah added.

“Okay girls, let’s grab a bucket of chicken and fixins and y’all will be set for food.”  Mary said.

After she bought lunch at Kentucky Fried Chicken, she drove to the City Park along the river.  Mary let us out and said she would be back by four.

Lisa, Sarah, and I spent the day wading in the river, sunbathing on the man-made beach, and eating a ton of chicken and biscuits.

“Apparently the river and the Guntersville City Park doesn’t attract any good-looking guys. All I have seen all day were toothless grounds keepers.” Lisa said.

“Well, guys are over-rated anyway.” Sarah added. But, that hot babe over there in your pink bikini would light up anyone’s world.” Sarah said looking at me.  

“She does have an awesome body but the type of special friend we are talking about needs much more than that. I say boys, or as Sarah thinks, girls, have something to offer that guys don’t. And that is heart. You know girls have real emotions and can share their feelings. I like that.” I added.

“Well, it’s obvious for sure now. Ruthie is gay.” Lisa said.

“Don’t say that. I am not gay.” I blurted out in defense. If I didn’t deny this before my best friends who would?  In the pit of my stomach I felt like I had just lied on the witness stand, in the courtroom where Jesus was on trial, and the prosecutor was questioning me to find out if there was enough evidence to convict me of being a Christian. I felt like I was going to throw up.

The rest of the afternoon moved like a snail.

“Sarah, I’m here.” I heard Mary yelling through the pine trees. We gathered up our things and walked to her car. The ride home was quiet. I couldn’t say anything. But, I did think. I thought a lot about that girl in her pink bikini.

Chapter 6

This week is flying by. Registration was on Monday, the radio talk show on Tuesday morning, and our lake trip that afternoon.  Wednesday, Mom, Rachel, and I spent the day on house and yard work.  And then, another trip to the nursing home with Ryan and our youth group last night.   I am flamed out.

Mom and I have just left Snead State and are headed to Nina’s Art Studio in Albertville. Mom is a full professor of Political Science at Snead, our local Junior College. Mom has adapted well from her dreams of teaching at an Ivy League University. Snead State and its students are mighty fortunate to have a teacher with Mom’s educational background. Plus, she is so engaging with her students, always taking a personal interest in each one.

“Okay dear, we are here. Don’t forget your list.” Mom said.

“It hasn’t flown out of my pocket since you reminded me five minutes ago.”

We walked into Nina’s and were surprised to see several students I knew, at least their faces. Kent Jones was with his Dad. Kent won last year’s regional championship in pencil sketching.

We gathered up two sketchbooks, a basic set of water paints, an easel with paper flip board, and ten pencils. We were looking at a display of some of Nina’s paintings when a woman about Mom’s age walked over and said, “Nina is very talented, isn’t she? I think she could do well in a big city studio.”

“Yes, I agree. So many in our community cringe every summer worrying that she will be wooed away by some art institute or big corporation. We all breathe more easily when we learn in the summer that she is still with us. I think she serves every school in the county in some way. We are fortunate in Boaz to have her two days per week.” Mom said.

“The more I learn about the talent in this community, the prouder I am to live here.” The other lady said.

“Hi, I’m Becky, Becky Brown.  Nice to meet you.”

“Same to you. I am Emily Ayers.”

“And this is my daughter Ruthie.” Mom said.

“Hi Ruthie. So nice to meet you. I think it is wonderful for young people to be interested in art. I assume you are a student at Boaz?”

“Yes, I’m just about to start the ninth grade.”

“Oh, and here is my daughter Ellen,” Mrs. Ayers said as a young girl about my age walked up with an armload of supplies. “Ellen, please meet Becky Brown and her daughter Ruthie.”

I had barely seen Ellen’s face when she first walked up, with the easel blocking my view. But, when she set everything down on the table behind her and turned towards us saying she was glad to meet us, I saw the most gorgeous girl I have ever seen. I know my mouth must have dropped open fast and probably with loud verbal exclamation points rolling off my tongue. There is no doubt that my heart, forgive the cliché, skipped a beat. It seemed my mind woke up, for the first time in my life, telling me that I was truly alive and that it was time for me to be me, to be my own person. I will never be able to explain exactly how I felt the very first time I looked into Ellen’s eyes.

“Ruthie, Ellen will also be in the ninth grade at Boaz. It appears you will be classmates in your art class since there is only one art class for 9th graders.” Mrs. Ayers said.

“I take it you and your family have just moved here.” Mom said.

“Yes, my husband, Travis, was transferred here from Chicago. He works at Progress Rail Services in Boaz. And, our dear Ellen will be a student at Boaz High.”

“And Mom will be a student of sorts at Boaz High herself.” Ellen said.

“Funny Ellen. But, you are right, as the new Biology teacher I will definitely have a lot to learn.”

“So, you are taking Mr. Hickson’s place?” Mom said.

“Yes, I hear he was a wonderful teacher. I have big shoes to fill.”

While Mom and Mrs. Ayers were chatting back and forth, Ellen and I exchanged direct eye contact a couple of times. It was as though we had known each other our entire lives. It was like a non-verbal exchange of secret thoughts.

“It has been very nice meeting you two. I’m sorry we have to run.” Mom said.

“No problem, Ellen and I need to go also. We have a lot of errands today, as I’m sure you two do.”

“It was very nice to meet you Ellen. I look forward to getting to know you.” I said.

“The pleasure was all mine, as people less goofy than me have said before. Seriously, I hope to see you again very soon.” Ellen said.

Mom and I turned toward the checkout lane and Mrs. Ayers called to me, “Ruthie, please don’t forget to complete your reading assignment before next Monday.”

“I’m planning on doing that today.” I said.

“You already have homework?” Mom said as we stood in line to checkout.

“I have to read the first chapter in a book Mrs. Newsome gave me when I registered on Monday. It is a supplement to our Biology textbook. The syllabus said to read the introduction and Chapter One before school starts.”

“What is the name of the book?” Mom asked.

“Why Evolution is True.”

Mom just stared at me, not saying a word.

Mom and I spent the rest of the day running errands for school, with Rachel joining us after Mom and I returned from Nina’s. It seems Rachel was completely out of clothes, or at least, the right type of clothes. Mom indulged her most every desire. Mom whispering to me that Rachel doesn’t know what she is getting into by starting middle school. I told her I agreed. I sure hope starting high school isn’t as hard as my first few weeks in the sixth grade.

We arrived home at 4:00 and could smell the roast beef Mom had been slow-cooking all day in one crock pot along with pinto beans in another. She had promised Dad last Sunday that she would serve him his favorite meal on Thursday evening: roast beef, pintos cooked with jalapenos and onions, cornbread, mayonnaise-based cabbage slaw, and peach cobbler for dessert. He said this was what his mother would cook on special occasions when he was growing up.

I helped Mom finish up. She gave me my first lesson in how to cook cornbread. Normally, Mom had rather cook by herself, but she acted rather clingy towards me all day, especially after we met Mrs. Ayers.

Dad was 15 minutes early getting home. Totally unusual. But, not surprising. He never forgets his favorite meal.

Dad truly enjoyed his meal, going back for seconds, twice. I do a good job making Dad believe that I love each dish as much as he does. Rachel and Jacob are not so deceptive. Mom eats slowly, with small bites, always saying she is saving room for dessert.

After dessert, and right as Rachel and Jacob both had mystery calls to make, Mom dropped the bombshell.

“It looks like we are in for an interesting school year.” “How so?” Dad said.

“Ruthie and I met the new Biology teacher today when we were picking up art supplies at Nina’s. Seems like a very nice lady. Seems like she is going to make her students think about a lot of stuff. Things like evolution.” Mom said.

“Evolution? Why? How do you know this? Evolution is just a theory.” Dad said.

“Dr. Ayers is her name. She has chosen a book to supplement the standard Biology textbook. Ruthie was given her copy when she registered Monday. And, she has to read the Introduction and Chapter One before school starts.” Mom said.

“What is the name of the book?” Dad asked.

“Why Evolution is True.” Mom said.

“Ruthie, please go get me your book.” Dad said.

I went to my bedroom and picked up the book from my night stand and returned to the kitchen handing it to Dad. He continued to sit, looking at the book, front and back, inside, reading or scanning the first few pages. The Introduction I suppose.

“Well, someone doesn’t have to read much, just the first paragraph of the Introduction, to know where this is going. Listen to this: ‘Evolution unites us with every living thing on Earth today and with myriads of creatures long dead. Evolution gives us the true account of our origins, replacing the myths that satisfied us for thousands of years.

Some find this deeply frightening, others ineffably thrilling.’

We believe that Genesis Chapter 1 tells us the true account of our origins.  And, Christianity is not a myth. Evolution is just a theory. One which I know very little about. I just know that it is totally opposite of what we believe. We didn’t come from monkeys. God created us. Where is this Mrs. Ayers from anyway?” Dad said.

“Chicago, she said her husband was transferred here. He works at Progress Rail.” Mom said.

“Ruthie, see what you can find on Google.” Dad said.

I went again to my bedroom and grabbed my laptop. I returned to the kitchen while it was booting up.

I kind of zoned out from Mom and Dad’s voices as I did my searches.

“Here it says Mr. Travis Ayers has joined Progress Rail Services in Boaz, that he has worked for CAT in Chicago for 15 years, that he is married to Emily Ayers, a former professor at the University of Chicago, and they have one daughter, Ellen.” I read.

“Here is a post on the University of Chicago’s website about Mrs. Ayers. Apparently, she was a widely known and published evolutionary biologist. Says they are going to miss her and wish her the best as she moves to Boaz, Alabama with her family.” 

“Well, that is pretty clear what she believes. She is an evolution apologist. But, how can it be legal in Alabama to teach evolution in public school.” Dad said.

“I actually remember seeing the headlines of an article a couple of months ago about the Alabama Department of Education changing its Science Standards. Ruthie, Google that if you will.” Mom said.

“Here it is. I’ll read the first part: ‘Alabama is updating its decade old Science Standards to require that students understand evolution and learn about climate change, topics that can still be controversial in the Bible Belt state. Educators say the new rules — part of a major change that includes more experimentation and hands-on instruction and less lecturing — doesn’t require that students believe in evolution or accept the idea that climate is changing globally.’”

“I guess that explains it.  The City School Board wants to be progressive and submissive. You can bet your bottom dollar Mrs. Ayers will make sure students do, truly do, believe in evolution.” Dad said.

“Honey, let’s go for a walk and get some fresh air.” Mom said.

“I’ll clean up the kitchen.” I offered.

“Thanks, dear. We love you.” Mom said.

Chapter 7

I finally read my Biology assignment on Saturday afternoon.

I would need to reread it before class on Monday, but I sure got the feeling that religion and evolution were like oil and water.  They were incompatible.

I couldn’t help but feel like I had been living under a rock my entire life. I felt overly protected, especially by my Dad and the church. It seemed odd but quite interesting, even a little exciting, to think that anyone could say there was another viewpoint on the origins of life and that religion was a myth. My religion? My Christianity? A myth?

The Introduction and Chapter One was, unsurprisingly, about evolution.  The author’s understanding and related beliefs got me to thinking that maybe the Bible isn’t all I thought it was, maybe not all I had forever been told it was.  If life, plants, animals, fish, birds, bacteria, have a common ancestor that originated billions of years ago, then it seems rather clear that there could be no Adam and Eve, or any other life forms spoken into creation by God as the Bible describes.

This all makes me wonder what, if anything at all, in the Bible is true, truly happened.

Dad would die if he knew what I was thinking.

As often is the case on Saturday night, Lisa, Sarah, and I hang out at Ryan’s house. Mrs. Grantham met me at the front door and said she liked my hair pulled back and then said everyone was already in the rec room.  She told me to head on down since she knows I already know my way around.  

“Hey there wonder girl.” Ryan said as I walked into the rec room.

“Back at you wonder boy, here’s some chips, dip, and a case of Evian natural spring water. You know I gotta have my mountain minerals.”

“The gang is out on the patio with a potential recruit. Let’s head out.” Ryan said.

As we walked out the sliding glass doors onto the patio I seemed to freeze. There, once again, was Ellen, the drop-dead gorgeous Ellen. At Nina’s, I had some way missed her curly black hair, maybe I recall she was wearing a baseball cap. But, I had not missed her oceanic eyes, deep blue, dazzling, penetrating my heart. Or, it seemed. And, something else I had missed, she was much more developed than me. Baggy clothes like she had on at Nina’s had hidden her figure. Now, she had on shorts and a sleeveless blouse, a little lower cut than my mom would let me wear, even to family dinners with only family present. She was smiling at me. That same mysterious smile I remembered when we were parting at Nina’s, when she said she looked forward to seeing me again.

“Ellen, I doubt if you have met Ruthie.” Ryan said.

“Are you always behind with your facts, Mr. Ryan? Ruthie and I met days ago. That’s when I learned you two were lovers.” Ellen said.

Ryan was so embarrassed, he is naturally shy, and now he had been so directly besmirched. It seems Ellen was quick on her feet and quite open with her thoughts.

“Ryan, have you been two-timing me?” Lisa just had to throw in.

“Okay, enough, enough. Ellen, you are too much.” Ryan countered.

“Well, Mr. Hotshot, love is a multifaceted thing. You and Lisa quickly jumped to the wrong but natural conclusion. Couldn’t it be true that you love Ruthie and that Ruthie loves you. You guys are friends aren’t you, and long-time friends at that from what Sarah tells me? So, don’t you two love each other, at least in a just-friend’s kind of way?” Ellen said.

“Well, I guess you could say that.” Ryan added.

“Just when I was beginning to think my dreams had come true. Just when I had believed that Ryan was my favorite of all my many lovers.” I added.

“Oh, so you are funny and quick yourself?” Ellen asked.

“Not really, just finally getting a chance to tell Ryan how I feel, how I’ve been feeling about him for a long, long time.” I said, giggling along with Ellen and Lisa.

“Okay, again, enough.” Ryan holding up his hands as though he was warning us to stand put, to shut our mouths. His face was just turning from red hot to warm pink when Sarah walked up with Sam, Ryan’s golden retriever.

“Hi Ruthie. Ryan, your creek is just about dried up. You need to buy more water, so we will have our natural soul music when we build our fire.” Sarah said.

Ryan and his family live out in the country. Their place has a back yard that backs up to a big creek that usually has quite a bit of water flowing through. Unfortunately, it hasn’t rained much this summer and the creek has about dried up. The creek is lined with big oak trees at the back of Ryan’s yard.  We built a fire ring out of big rocks we pulled from the creek.  We love sitting around the fire away from the world, down by the creek, out under the stars.  It is one of our favorite pastimes.  We do it every week, or at least every Saturday night that we can.

“I know, I know we need water. I’m praying for rain but still waiting.” Ryan said.

“So, when it rains, will you believe it was because of your praying?” Ellen asked Ryan.

“Wow, what a question. Are you making fun of my praying, of my religion?” Ryan asked.

“No, not at all. I just was trying to learn a little more about how you think. Maybe I was just warning you a little, tossing you a softball. Warning you that my Mom in Biology class will be trying to teach us critical thinking. She has this policy that nothing is too fragile, too off-limits, to talk about if it could be relevant to the current issue.” Ellen said.

“Okay, thanks for the tip.” Ryan said looking at me as though he was about to faint, as though he needed a wall to lean against.

“I’m starved. Let’s eat.” Lisa said with perfect timing.

“I brought Smoky Q’s famous chicken wings. You guys can thank my mom later.” Sarah said as we all came back inside the rec room from the patio.

After we all made our plates and sat down at the big round table Sarah asked Ellen if she missed Chicago.

“In a way, I do. It was a great place if you like living with a million-other people and like always having something fun and interesting to do. But, so far, I like Boaz. It is such a simple place, a laidback place, a place that I feel I will be able to get to know myself much better. Also, it’s a great place to meet new friends.  Thank you, guys, for inviting me and including me tonight in your special group.” Ellen said.

“How was school in Chicago?” Lisa said.

“I went to a private school in my sixth, seventh, and eighty grade years. A lot of private schools are religious schools. This was not. It was a private secular school. Now, don’t think it was therefore atheist. It was a great school with great teachers. It was all about education. You were treated with respect and expected to contribute.” Ellen said.

After we ate, Ryan’s mom asked him if he would go pick up his sister across town at a friend’s house. He asked Lisa if she wanted to ride with him. She did. Sarah, Ellen and I started cleaning things up.

“You two go on down to the fire. I’ll finish up here and be down in a little while. I have a call I need to make.” Sarah said.

Ellen and I walked down to the fire. Ryan, an Eagle scout, loved fire. He always built the fire before we arrived. He said that none of us knew how and that a good fire takes time and needs to settle in.

“It’s a little warm for a fire, don’t you think?” Ellen said as we pulled our chairs back a little.

“You won’t get any argument here.” But, it makes good light and it makes for good conversation. There is just something unifying about sitting around a fire.” I said.

“I don’t know much about sitting around an outside fire, but I suspect it could also be quite romantic with the right person.” Ellen said.

“I suspect you are right. Darn, I know you are. I guess it is every girl’s dream to meet just the right person and start a journey to love.” I said.

“I like that, journey to love. I might use that in a poem or some other writing.” Ellen said.

“Do you like poetry?” I asked.

“Yes, it is my anchor. It is what gets me through the rough spots in life. Maybe it will be my way to love. Maybe I will soon start a journey to love.”  Ellen said.

“Wow. I love poetry too. I’m taking poetry class this year, with Mr. Johnson.” I said.

“Awesome. Me too. I chose it and art as my two electives. Of course, you know already about me being in art class.” Ellen said.

“Seems like we have quite a bit in common.” I said.

“Yes. Maybe we will start our own journey to love in poetry class. Funny me. I guess I was trying to say, you could start your journey to love with someone, and I could start my journey with someone else.” Ellen said.

“Or, you could have been saying that we could start our journey to love together.” I said, surprised that I would have said something so bold, especially to someone I barely knew. 

I was shocked that I had said this. It just came rolling off my tongue. Just like I had known Ellen forever, and that we were mighty pals or mates and could say anything and everything to each other. But, something deep inside me was thrilled that I had said this. It was like there was a something deep inside me that was trying to connect with Ellen. It felt like that something that appeared at Nina’s, the first time I laid eyes on the gorgeous Ellen.

“Oh, I think you might have some reasoning ability. I sense you are a thinker. Please note that I didn’t say you were wrong in your conclusion.” Ellen said. 

“You guys want to roast some marshmallows?” Sarah asked, suddenly appearing from nowhere.

“I’m just fine with right now. I have food to eat you know not of.” Ellen said.

“I sense a little poetry brewing.” I added.

“Maybe, these words will brew up, start up, a wonderful journey.”

I looked at Ellen and saw the fire reflected in her eyes for a split second. Then she turned a little more towards me and looked and smiled maintaining her gaze a long time. I could see the brightness of her baby blues. Journey to love is all my heart would say.

Sarah, Ellen, and I sat around and tried telling ghost stories for another 30 minutes or so, and then Ryan and Lisa joined us. 

The next two hours went by in a blur. It was like I was in a fog. Great for me, Ellen was in that fog with me. Many times, during these two hours, we caught each other’s eyes. I felt, seriously, confidently, that we had stepped together on a path. I hoped it was for real.

Chapter 8

“Good morning to all. Thanks for coming out to worship our Lord and Savior this glorious Sunday morning.” Dad said.

It was now my last day of summer vacation. Tomorrow, my 9th grade school year will begin. I have a feeling my old life is ending, my childhood even.  My race to adulthood will start. I am scared and excited.  Starting high school is not the pivotal moment here. I am speaking mainly of Ellen. She has walked into my life and already changed the computer in my mind and the heaven in my heart. Part of being scared is what I feel happening in my faith, my faith in God, and my faith in Dad.

This is scary because this has been my life so far. Was that my childhood? Were these things just a pacifier until I was ready to walk on my own?

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are at a key point in history, a major crossroads. Not since the days of slavery here in America have we, the church, and we Christians, faced such a threat to our religious freedom. We know that America dealt with slavery head on during the Civil War but also during the 1960’s. The result of the Civil War was legal freedom for slaves. But, it took over 100 years for real laws to provide real freedom to slaves. I’m speaking of the civil rights laws, including voting rights for blacks, in the 1960’s to truly make a difference for every black man and woman here in America.

Today, the tide is reversing. The law-making government is still in business. And now it is making laws to take away our civil rights and give so-called civil rights to homosexuals. Will these freedom-making laws start the next Civil War in America?

There is no argument that our Bible says that homosexuality is a sin. That is, if you believe the Bible. Let me ask you. Do you? Do you believe in an inerrant Bible?  Assuming we do believe in inerrant and infallible scripture, what difference does it make?  We have to ask ourselves, are we willing to die for our faith? In other words, the past is over, today is here.  Are we going to provide sufficient evidence for our persecutors, for our children’s children, that they could easily conclude we were in fact Christians?  This is where we are. We must decide if we are going to live out our faith, or continue to be satisfied being called a Christian, just showing up for church on Sunday morning.   Are we going to spend the rest of the week going about our daily lives without stepping onto the path where the enemy is steadily marching with laws, lasers, and loud chants that they will not be denied their right to marry?  Are we going to stand by the roadside and let the enemy steal a non-existent right to equal treatment under the law, including the right to be married by me right here in this church?

I said earlier today the tide is turning in reverse. Think with me carefully. Blacks are real people. They didn’t choose to be born black. They were born black because of God, because of God’s plan. They are of inherent value. They are just like we are. They are human. If we as whites have, as our Declaration of Independence says, inalienable rights, then blacks do too. For many reasons, blacks have been persecuted by whites.  We finally, after way too long a time, got it right. Yes, there is still racism, but much progress has been made to give blacks the respect they deserve. Now, don’t say that I am satisfied that blacks are treated today as equals with whites in every way. No, we have miles and miles to go. But, what was the catalyst that repositioned blacks to have the power to be treated as humans, equals with whites?  It was the law.

Note it is the law, American law, law as stated by the U.S. Supreme Court, that is now repositioning Christians and taking away our power, the power of religious freedom. The common argument out in secular land focuses on the homosexuals, the gays, that the new law is providing them with the right to be treated as equals. But, gays are not blacks. We have seen why blacks were being persecuted. Nowhere in scripture do you see that blacks are inferior, that they are not human, that to be black is a sin.  However, the Bible does say that homosexual behavior is sin. Ladies and gentlemen, we must stay with the Bible. Homosexuality is a sin. It is a behavior that a person chooses to engage in, like adultery or stealing.

What our government is doing, through its Supreme Court decision, is attacking our Bible. No, it is rewriting our Bible. It is saying that the Bible has it all wrong–that homosexual behavior is not a sin, that homosexuals have an inalienable right to be homosexuals, like blacks have an inalienable right to be blacks and be treated equally with whites. Our government is telling us Christians, that your day is over, that your beliefs are outdated and that things must change if we are going to progress.

Ladies and gentlemen, I see dark days ahead. The government, under pressure from the newly enlightened, will not stop their lawmaking with giving homosexuals a constitutional right to marry. I truly believe this is the tip of the iceberg. I believe your freedom to worship how you want is about to be denied, that public worship will become a thing of the past, that your only right to worship will be behind your bedroom door and silently in your heart. I believe that the Christian church as we know it is about to become the new slavery.   We Christians will be the new slaves. We will be told what to do, how to do it, and when to do it. Churches will no longer have their special privilege under our tax law. Our tax exemption will be destroyed.

What do we do? Do we sit by and let this happen? Or do we, like the early Christians, take a stand for what we believe?  Are we true Christians?

I have tried this morning to lay out my understanding of what is going on and what I believe is about to happen. Some of you, maybe many of you, will disagree. We can have disagreements over things that haven’t happened, things we might call speculations. But, friends, family, we absolutely know that the U.S. Supreme Court has already ruled that gays have a right, a constitutional right, to marry. This is not speculation. This alone should wake us up. This alone should motivate us to take a stand.

This is what I think we should do. I have been meeting and talking for several weeks with Doug Carter from the home office of the Southern Baptist Convention. We have delved deeply into what is going on. We have tried to come up with a response, a visible and vocal response to the Supreme Court’s decision. Here is what we propose.

We will organize a march from Boaz across the big bridge in Guntersville. Why a march? For one reason, it is symbolic. It symbolizes the Selma to Montgomery march led by Dr. Martin Luther King in 1965. That march was a march for black freedom. Let us never forget the opposition that those brave black men and women faced on that march and on the Edward Pettis Bridge when confronted by law enforcement and white citizens who used violence to try and turn back the marchers. But, they were defeated themselves, because of the faith and commitment of the black leaders and followers.

Our march will be for religious freedom, and we too may face opposition. I pray it not be violent opposition, but we must be willing to face even that. Hopefully, our church will not be alone on this march. We will be inviting every Christian church in the area to participate. We will also allow any other Christian church, those out of the area, to come and participate. What do we hope to accomplish? Exposure to begin with. But, the goal is to influence our nation and our leaders to return to Christ, to return to God’s law, thereby restoring religious freedom to this country, the very reason this country was founded.” Dad said.

In a strong sense, I am proud of my Dad. He is a man of conviction, a man of action. He is true to his beliefs. I am also scared. I can’t put my finger on it but all that Dad said in his sermon seems foreboding, like it is predicting something in my own life. A battle? My own battle? Hopefully, I am wrong. Hopefully, that feeling is just my stomach ready for Mom’s famous taco salad we plan to have today for lunch. How silly I am. That was the old me talking, the child in me refusing to die. Well, like it or not, my childhood days are over.

Mom’s taco salad was great as usual, even though I think I like it better with chicken instead of hamburger. Dad didn’t press things, hardly mentioning his sermon, although I did learn that Mom herself will be involved in helping organize Christian voters.  Mainly we talked about last minute things we needed to do to get ready for school tomorrow. After dessert, leftover peach cobbler from Thursday night, I came to my room. I needed a nap.

I lay across my bed, but the thoughts of Ellen flowed like the waves of water across Niagara Falls. I remembered last night’s talk about poetry and got excited that we would be together in Mr. Johnson’s Poetry class.  Journey to love was such a peaceful and satisfying phrase. I got up and sat at my desk and opened my poetry notebook to an empty page.

Where are you my love?

I am thinking of you.

Do you hear me?

Do you feel me?

How can I call you my love?

We have just met.

But, haven’t we known each other forever?

Wasn’t I there, silently, secretly, last winter when you were lonely, and longing to find me, longing to touch my face and kiss my lips?

Oh, my dearest Ellen, be honest with me, please have been honest with me last night by the fire.

Your words about a journey to love with me, with you, with us, were the start of our lives together.

I meant every word.

I pray you were wholly honest with me.

You have already changed my life and I have never held your hand, I have never lay in your lap and considered your blue eyes. I have never walked with you, swam with you, biked with you, but maybe I have.

Yes, my life has changed already by you smiling at me. You, all of you, the you that this world cannot contain, is penetrating my mind, it is shaking up old pillars of faith, I thought were immovable.

I am yours my dearest Ellen.

I give you every right to me.

I give you the right to love me. I give you the right to know me through and through.

I give you the right, us the right, to walk together, me with you, you with me, forward, hand in hand, arm in arm, heart in heart, no matter the fight, no matter the law, God’s or man’s.

I am reaching for you

my love,

reaching my hand

out to you.

Take it my love,

and let’s start our

journey to love.

Well, these words just came. Simple words, to some, silly words. But to me, words from my heart, words that I meant for sweet and lovely Ellen.

I rewrite my words, my poem, on good paper, heavy bond, and seal them up in a matching envelope, a white envelope, one of innocence and purity.

I will give it to Ellen tomorrow in poetry class.

Chapter 9

Monday morning was a monsoon. Mom dropped me off at school and my second shower was much faster than my first one earlier this morning. As we were leaving home Mom had offered me my raincoat and an umbrella but cool me, ninth grader me, budding adult me, refused.

I headed to the left down the long hallway towards the gym to pick up all my textbooks. This is somewhat of a tradition here at Boaz High. The worst part of it is to be here by 7:00 a.m.  I’m not sure when it got started but the teachers work all weekend to set this up. Tables are arranged alphabetically in a semicircle around the basketball court with mounds of books behind each table. The students find their table and pick up all their books. Lucky for me I had not refused to bring an empty backpack to hold all my books.

I packed them in tightly and left to find my locker. It was on first floor–all lockers on first floor are for ninth and tenth graders. Lockers on the second floor are for eleventh and twelfth graders. Classrooms follow this schema also. After finding my locker I unloaded all my books except my Biology textbook for first period.  Dr. Ayers here I come. As I walked down the hall to my classroom I couldn’t help but wonder if Ellen would be in my Biology class.

I didn’t have to wonder very long. When I walked in, she was standing with Ryan and Lisa at the back of the classroom. I laid my books and notepad on a desk and walked back to them taking in the sight as much as possible without being totally conspicuous. Ellen wore perfect-fitting jeans and an elegant, black silk blouse not too tight but tight enough to reveal her mature bust line. And, pink Reiker’s shoes. I couldn’t believe we both had on the exact color and brand of shoes.

“Hey Ruthie,” Ryan said giving me the stare down as though he was warning me or telling me to tread carefully with what you say.

“Hi to you Ryan, and to all.” I said.

“Look at the blackboard.” Lisa said.

I did, and it said, “Select a team-mate to work with on projects. This obviously needs to be someone you can work with in a productive way.”

“Ryan and I are now steady friends, like boyfriend and girlfriend, and, well obviously, we are now Biology class team-mates.” Lisa said.

“We were hoping you and Ellen would agree to be team-mates. What do you think?” Ryan asked me.

“Fine by me.” I said looking at Ellen. “Is that okay with you?” I asked, looking at Ellen.

“Of course, I’d love to be your team-mate. I just wanted to make sure you were okay spending time together working on Biology work, especially since you haven’t known me for very long.  I was afraid I might have scared you the other night sitting by the fire.” Ellen said.

“I think I know you well enough.” I said to Ellen, looking deep into her eyes. “I wasn’t scared at all, still not.”

“Okay everyone, it’s time to begin, please take a seat.” Dr. Ayers said with a strong and confident voice.

There were thirty students in class. After introducing herself, Dr.

Ayers made sure everyone had a Syllabus.

“Biology is a very difficult course, but a very enjoyable course if you allow it to be. I have high expectations for each of you. I ask you to take seriously my requirement—you can see all of them in the syllabus— to invest a solid hour per day outside class studying. It is imperative that you keep up. If you feel you are falling behind, please see me immediately.” She said.

“You should have a team-mate by now if you read what’s written on the blackboard behind me. If not, before you leave today, please make sure you and one other student here in this classroom agree to work together as team-mates. The purpose of teams is two-fold, although we could think of many other sound reasons. First, each student will have someone to help keep them motivated to work at a high level. Second, each student will have someone to discuss the issues with. This will help each student see that they don’t have a lock on all the good ideas, that there is another side to the issue, that their own ideas may be elementary or even wrong, and that it is important to be able to openly discuss things without fearing embarrassment or ignorance.” Dr. Ayers said.

“You will notice in your Syllabus that we will be using Blackboard, the electronic version that is. Many of you may be unfamiliar with Blackboard. I have provided detailed instructions on how to set-up your account and how to sign in—see your Syllabus. Briefly, Blackboard is like Facebook, but for the classroom.  In Blackboard, you will post your written assignments, you will ask me questions, you will take certain exams, and you will engage in discussions with your other classmates just like you will here in our physical classroom. Please follow the instructions carefully, including those dealing with teams and submitting team-work through Blackboard.

I was beginning to panic but Dr. Ayers continued, “Let’s close out today’s class with an assignment. You should have completed your reading assignment for today in Why Evolution is True, the book supplement that you were given when you registered last Monday or Tuesday. I suspect that most of you are not quite ready to fully discuss the Introduction or Chapter One. So, I’m giving you a team assignment. Each team is to write an essay, not to exceed two-thousand words, on what evolution is and why it should be taught in public schools. Please post your essays to Blackboard no later than this Friday at midnight. Again, I am delighted to be your Biology teacher and look forward to knowing each one of you. I hope you have a nice day.” Dr. Ayers said.

I made it through my other morning classes, English, Algebra I, and World History. Lunch was a circus. Two years ago, the City School Board built a new lunchroom. The cafeteria is big, so big I think it could hold the entire school, all one-thousand students, at once. I bought a salad and a bottle of water and didn’t attempt to find a friend or two to eat with. I thought of Ellen but knew she wouldn’t be here. When leaving Biology class this morning I overheard her mom, aka Dr. Ayers, tell her that she would see her at lunch and that it would be a surprise. From that overheard conversation, I assumed they would be eating in the Biology classroom or in Dr. Ayers office in the faculty suite on second floor. I finally decided to eat alone at an empty table next to a large group of teachers. I guess no other students wanted to sit here. I didn’t really blame them, but I just wanted to be alone.

As I finished my salad I felt in my back pocket for my envelope. It was there, thankfully. I felt very hesitant about giving my poem to Ellen, but I revisited my thoughts of what it contained and knew I had no choice. I absolutely knew how I felt about Ellen and knew it was time to be bold and confident in my feelings for her and my growing recognition of who I was becoming.

I walked out of the lunch room and headed to Poetry class.

Ellen was already there when I arrived. I walked in and looked at her.

“I saved you a seat right here. I hope that is okay with you.” Ellen said as soon as I looked at her.

“Wonderful.” I said. As I put my bag under my desk I sat down and turned to Ellen. There was no one else close to us.  There was only a handful of other students in the class at all, and they were all hovered by a book cart in the back of the room. “I’ve been thinking a lot about our time at the fire Saturday night.” I told Ellen.

“Me too. I loved us talking about poetry.” Ellen said looking at me and smiling, not a sheepish grin, but a simple smile with an oddly curling lower lip.  It was a sly little smile.

“I hope you don’t mind me giving you this.” I said, pulling out the envelope from my back pocket.

“That’s not a pink slip in there is it. Already?” Ellen asked.  “You already telling me I’m fired?”

“No silly, it’s a poem I wrote you yesterday after lunch.  I tried taking a nap, but all I could do was think of you and the night before at the fire. So, I got up, went to my desk, and wrote this … for you.” I said. “Please know it is so very uncomfortable and unusual for me to be this bold.”

“Maybe that can be something good for you.  Thanks a lot for the poem.” Ellen said. “I can’t wait to read it.”

“Maybe not read it now? Maybe just wait and read it later?” I asked, fearing embarrassment coming if she opened it up right now and read it.

“Whatever you want, I will move the world to do.” Ellen said.

“Beautiful words from a beautiful mind.” I said.

“Hello, everyone, could I have your attention?” I heard Mr. Johnson say from the front of the room.

“I’m Mr. Johnson. Let’s jump right in. ‘Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.’  That’s a quote from Leonard Cohen.”  Mr. Johnson said.

“Let’s talk about that just a little. Poetry is ‘evidence of life.’ Someone, talk to me about what that means to you. But, before you respond, you must know the first rule of poetry. There are no rules. Therefore, your response here will be right.” He said.

Clark Benson raised his hand and said before Mr. Johnson could acknowledge him, “evidence is something we can see, feel, touch, smell, or hear. They talk a lot about evidence on Law and Order and NCIS and other law shows like that on TV.”

“Good, very good.” Mr. Johnson said. “And as to the second part of our focus phrase, ‘life.’ Who will share a thought about that?”

“Life is more than what we can know or acknowledge with just our senses, life is certainly my breath I exhale onto a mirror or glass. It is the dream I had the night before of climbing the imaginary mountain behind my house to sit closer to the stars. And, life can be my faith that love is real, mysterious, and exhilarating, even though I cannot see it or reach out and touch it like I would an apple or this desk.” Ellen said.

“Also, good.  Also, very good.” Mr. Johnson said. “Right for Clark, right for Ellen. And, thank you to you Clark and to you Ellen for speaking up, for speaking out. Make careful note here, it is imperative that we all hear from each other. This is a relatively small class, only nineteen students, which is also very good. Please do not be inhibited. Let’s support each other, listen to each other, encourage each other. This class can be the most fun class you have. Here, you get to be creative, you get to pursue creativity.  I want each of you to trust me that this class can inspire you to learn more about yourself and the world around you.

Think of this class as play instead of study.”  He continued.

“Please copy down Mr. Cohen’s words that I quoted earlier. They are up here on the blackboard. And, please ponder the second phrase. We didn’t discuss this part but think hard about what you want the ashes in your life to look like, and how big a pile of ashes you want to produce this year.” He said.

“I see we have about thirty more minutes in today’s class. I ask you to spend this time writing a poem. Whatever you write will be a poem, no matter what type writing you do. You can choose anything, just write. This will be just for you. I will not take up this writing. I will only see your writing if you choose to share it with me.” Mr. Johnson continued.

I took out my notepad and strained and struggled to write anything. I couldn’t help but be excited that Ellen still appeared to be interested in getting to know me. Maybe I should have written that.

A new friend is neat,

especially if in a seat,

right next to me,

especially if she is free,

to run with me in flowery fields, fast, hand-in-hand toward silky seals.

I giggled to myself. Here’s my poem. Mr. Johnson said whatever I wrote would be poetry. That seals it. A different seal.

The bell rang, and everyone left, including Mr. Johnson.  Ellen and I both got up from our seats and walked towards the door.

“Do you have a cell phone?” Ellen asked.

“Yes, do you?” I responded.

“Yes, I too am blessed with such an extraordinary device.” Ellen said.

Before we went our separate ways, we exchanged phone numbers.

“I can’t wait to read your poem.” Ellen said.

“I hope I haven’t said something that will either offend you or embarrass you.” I replied.

“I doubt that will be the case.” Ellen said. “See you later.” “Bye for now.”

Chapter 10

The first week of school had finally ended last night a little before midnight when Ellen and I uploaded our Biology paper to Blackboard. We had worked separately throughout the week, doing our own readings and making our own notes and rudimentary outlines. We came together at her house right after school yesterday afternoon. Between a long afternoon and early evening of making chocolate chip cookies, watching Ellen on TV—my Ellen’s hero of a sort—and a nap on my Ellen’s bed, we finally settled down to serious and diligent attention to our team project. Our essay wound up being 1997 words and many of them were difficult to write because they made me acknowledge head-on, for the first time in quite a while, that I was at a crossroads in my life. I was now solidly on a journey, on a pathway with Ellen’s hand in mine—I hoped— and this path was far down the hill from the path I had been on, or at least I thought I had been on all my life. After completing our paper, I realized the only thing that had truly kept me on the upper pathway was my Dad’s strong and relentless hand of faith.

After pressing the SUBMIT button, Ellen and I realized we were exhausted. We fell across her bed and were both in our dreams before we could exchange a verse of poetry or ponder the progress we both believed the week’s walk had produced.

Mom picked me up at 8:30 Saturday morning. My first night at Ellen’s was now just a memory.

After helping Mom dust and vacuum half the house including the den, the kitchen, and my room, I felt like a bike ride. I rode to my secret spot at the City Park, beneath the big oak trees and huddled up against my protective rock.  I could now, confidently and securely, open my mind and heart to God if He wanted to hear. I believed He could because I believed He existed, and borrowing a little faith from my Dad, I believed He cared for me.

How had I arrived at this point in my life? And where, exactly was that? Right now, it sure felt like I was in full rebellion against my family and my faith, that I was chasing after Satan, after a most vile and putrid way of life, one that most American people found abhorrent.

Mom had always said to be rational. So, what am I missing here, if anything? The debater herself, she had always used that method to help me learn, and my siblings, especially Jacob. When we were younger, not even that long ago, when we were arguing, she would set us down and set up a mock debate. She made us take the other’s position and argue for it. She would make us stand up at a make-shift podium and she would moderate. Many, many times this process helped. It didn’t always change my mind or Jacob’s, but it seemed to at least put each of us in an enlightenment zone where we were seeing farther, understanding the other’s position just a little more. Mom’s debates seemed to bring a sort of wisdom.

What is the opposite side of where my life is? I have been living a lie. I have had no choice in my life so far. I have been living in a Bible believing, some would say Bible-thumping, home and church where I have had to play a role, act a part. I have in a sense been brainwashed. And now, since I am older and have a lot more freedom to think and ponder and explore my feelings, I am being drawn by a different ‘gospel.’ It is one that feels more like swimming downstream instead of swimming as Christianity has felt for quite some time.

But, I must admit this downstream swimming is a little scary. Things are passing by much faster. Rules, principles, methods, structures seem to pass through my sight quickly or they don’t exist. Growing up in church, especially one where your dad is the pastor, is in a sense, safe. It is a protected place. It is kind of like a place where you don’t have to think too much, especially after you have heard the more popular Bible stories—Noah’s flood, Moses’ parting the Red Sea, Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead—you can virtually coast through. Maybe it isn’t like this for Dad, because he is our leader, and probably must keep revisiting the stories to learn little nuances that can be used to spur members to more generosity or more evangelizing the world. No doubt, at least until one grows up and has her own family, the church cups you gently in its hands and sings sweet songs to you easily allowing you to fall into a satisfying trance far removed from the world’s battlefield where decision making can cost you your life.

Maybe it boils down to the meaning of love. That one phrase, ‘I love you Lord Jesus,’ I have said and sung in youth group meetings, with hands held up, each equally positioned beside and in front of my head. And, I meant it. Or, I thought I did. Or, maybe I never thought, truly thought, about whether I meant it or not.

‘I love you Ellen.’ I had not actually, verbally, told Ellen–well, these words are written in a poem I shared with her.  Either way, I do love Ellen and I don’t have to think about it. I know how I feel in my heart. I see her, I feel her, and when I am close to her, I smell her–oh, the many scents of Ellen, the clean and simple smell of her hair, skin, and cheeks, to the elegant and complex smell of Juicy Couture on her wrists.  These smells dance their way to my nose, my mind, my heart, and I’m transported with her to a mountain valley filled with wild berries, caramel woods, honeysuckle, and jasmine, the both of us, together, running, laughing, singing, and dancing.

Poetry has provided me a crash course in Ellen, in how she thinks, in what she thinks. She is a beautiful soul, a complex soul indeed, but one who loves simplicity and truth, one unafraid of life and what it may send her way. She is open and honest and willing to share her thoughts about life and how it started and how we got here, even if these thoughts exclude a supernatural God.

I lay my head back against my rock and look up to the bright sun. I close my eyes but still see the sun. It remains bright for as long as I keep my mind focused. I see God standing on the left side of the sun, and Ellen standing on the right side. They seem to be looking directly at me for a while and then they turn and look at each other. I lose my focus and fall asleep.

I am suddenly awakened by two crows fighting right above me, well, right above the trees over me. I see them circling and speculate they were arguing over whether I was dead or not. I look at my iPhone and note that I had been sort of dead for over an hour. I get up, hike back to my bike, and return home.

“How was your ride?” Mom asked as I walked in the door.

“Short for miles driven, but light years for thoughts pursued.”

“I myself decided to nap instead of doing either. With your dad playing golf with Phillip, and Rachel and Jacob at the movies, I decided the couch needed my attention.” Mom said.

“Could we talk, since we have this time to ourselves?” I said.

“Honey, you know I am always here for you and always open to talking. What’s on your mind?”

“Mom, thanks for always being such a good friend and being easy to talk to. But, I’m scared that you will be shocked at what I’m going to tell you, and I’m scared you will tell Dad.” I said.

“Baby, you know I can’t promise you up front whether I will tell your father. I must wait until after I hear you. You know that has always been our deal. I want you to continue to know that you can trust my judgment.”

“Okay, I do. Mom, I am in love with someone. And, I feel I am falling out of love with someone else.”

“Maybe that is natural. That probably happens to everyone growing up honey. I guess I didn’t realize that you were already in love.” Mom said.

“Well, here is the scary part. I feel I’m sliding away from God, I called it falling out of love. And, at least in part, this falling is being caused by another falling–that other one I spoke of, falling in love with someone else.”

“So, let me see if I follow. You believe your new love is affecting how you feel about your relationship with God. Correct?” Mom said.

“Yes.”

“It seems there is more to this new love than just a crush on a boy in Poetry class.” Mom said.

“That would be true.”

“Oh honey, does this mean that you are doing things with this new boyfriend that you shouldn’t be doing?” Mom said.

“Kind of, but it’s not exactly what you are thinking. I am not having sexual intercourse.”

“Baby, let me tell you a little story. I ask that you not tell your dad.” Mom said.

“Funny. And sorry, I cannot promise you that until I hear what you have to say.  You will just have to trust my judgment.”  I said.

“I guess I deserved that. I do trust your judgment so here goes. When I was in the ninth grade I met this older boy.  He was two or three years older than me. He was my first real boyfriend. Oh yes, I had middle school boyfriends, just crushes. This boy, I’ll call him John, was kind, gentle, and funny. I fell deeply in love with him. I truly believed then, and still believe today, that it was the real deal. We spent a lot of time together. My mom and dad were good parents in a way, but they were rather dumb about flexibility and freedom they had allowed in my young life. They did impose a curfew, but they allowed me unsupervised freedom with John. John, as I said was older, and he had a car. I’m ashamed to tell you that our relationship evolved, or I guess you could say, devolved, into a sexual relationship. Unfortunately for me, this further anchored my love to John. I believed him when he said he loved me. I believed him when he said he wanted us together forever. At no time in my life have I ever been happier. But, please hear this, it was a false happiness. I soon found out how false. After a year or so with John and a deeply satisfying sexual relationship, my real happiness ended. One day I was walking home from school and I saw John in his car, with Laura sitting right up against him. That night John called me and told me he thought we needed to date other people ‘to make sure that we are right for each other for the rest of our lives.’ I was absolutely devastated.” Mom said.

“And you have never told Dad this?” I said.

“No, I thought it was best he didn’t know. I thought it was best for me. I believed that if I told him that he might leave me. So, I’ve kept this a secret from him all these years.” Mom said.

“Please know Mom that I will never tell Dad.”

“I kind of felt you would say that. I am so glad we have such a beautiful relationship. Let me tell you something else. I know now, and have known for a very long time, that my relationship with John was wrong. But, it also taught me a lesson as to how easy we can be deceived. Recall I spoke of happiness. Yes, I was happy.  If I had the right relationship with my mom I could have talked to her, but I would have been totally truthful by telling her I was happy. I probably would have been so bold and confident to tell her that John and I would be married someday. My feelings had gotten the best of me. And, unlike you, I didn’t have God in my life. I didn’t have church in my life.

Baby, I can tell you all day that what you think you have with this young man is not true love, that it is passing, and that someday you are going to regret what you are doing, but you won’t hear me. Because you can’t.” Mom said.

“You are probably right, but there is more to my story than what I’ve said so far. And, this is the really hard thing to tell you. Oh, for my story to be as simple as yours.”

“Now, I’m really confused.” Mom said.

“Mom, my boyfriend is not a boy. I have a girlfriend like you had a boyfriend.”

“I’m afraid I’m still confused. I’m hoping my hearing is off today.

Did you say you are in love with a girl?” Mom said.

“Yes, I am in love with Ellen Ayers.”

“Mom, Rachel sat with Luke Ragsdale at the movies.” Jacob said as he and Rachel burst into the kitchen from the garage with Rachel trying to slap him or cover his mouth.”

“We will talk more later. For now, I won’t tell your Dad any of this.” Mom said softly as we walked toward the kitchen with Mom reaching out for support as we passed couches, chairs, and small and large cabinets.