kids. Throw in her folks and they claim two whole pews.
The lady in the green suit is still talking, walking across the plat-form. “Do we have any visitors today?”
Tucking in close to J. D., I do my best to scoot down from view. This is a good reason to never go to church. They want to embarrass a person. Stand if you’re a visitor. Walk the aisle if you’re a sinner.
Glancing up at Mitch, I shake my head and mouth, “Don’t say a word.”
Technically, I’m not a visitor. I’ve been here before.
“No visitors?” Green Suit sounds disappointed.
In the next second, a familiar voice echoes all over the sanctuary. “I’d like to introduce a visitor.”
Oh, no. Andy. I slide down another inch and cover my face with the bulletin. “Does the whole city attend Beaufort Community?”
Mitch whispers. “They heard you were coming.”
“My boss is here. Caroline Sweeney.” Andy announces.
J. D. nudges me to sit up, and with a glare, I do. Andy beams like it’s all good.
“Welcome, Caroline.” The lady points to me. People look. The men next to me snicker.
“Tomorrow, Andy is so fired.”
We sing a bunch of songs I’ve never heard before, but rather enjoy. The song leader is a young kid with long hair and lots of multicolored wristbands.
When the singing is over, Pastor O’Neal takes the stage. He’s an older form of Mitch, handsome but with more seasoned, kind features and wisdom-polished words.
Mitch watches his father intently. Love and admiration have replaced contempt and impatience.
“Let’s open in prayer.” The resonance of the pastor’s words to God sober me. They’re confident. Intimate. My heart beats in rhythm to his words. I lower my chin to catch my breath.
“Are you okay?” J. D. whispers.
I nod. The sensation in my chest is odd and scary. I want to leave, but am afraid to stand.
When the sermon starts, my adrenaline rush ebbs, and I relax a little. Pastor O’Neal’s sermon sounds practiced and thought out, but he uses words like sanctification and justification in ways I don’t understand. Every once in a while Pastor Winnie shouts an amen, which is followed by the green-suit lady jumping to her feet and flapping her hand in the air. “ Weeell, come on now, Pastor.”
So far, the shouting is my favorite part.
Then, in the middle of a sentence, Pastor O’Neal stops. It feels like the whole congregation is tossed forward—like slamming on the brakes when the yellow light flashes to red. He walks to the edge of the plat-form, taking a step down. I get the feeling he doesn’t do this every week.
“Do you want to know a real inconvenient truth? Jesus. Who do you say He is? The Christ? Savior? King? A good man? Yet He called Himself the Son of God. Is He? Truth or lie?” He feigns a shudder. “Makes people uncomfortable, doesn’t it. Why? Because if He is who He says He is, we have to do something about it. He’s the God-Man who loves you. All He requires is for you to believe in Him alone as the way to the Father and eternal life.”
Both Pastor Winnie and Green Suit are off the pew, shouting, waving their hands in the air. “Go on, say it like it is. Truth is truth. Let’s get real, Pastor.” I don’t think Pastor O’Neal needs encouragement. He appears to be revving up.
J. D. shifts around. I’m not sure he’s any more at home than I am. Mitch props his chin in his hand and watches like a kid at his first Star Wars flick.
“Jesus gave up the untold, unimaginable splendor of heaven to become like you and me. Elle, it’d be like you becoming one of your paintings. Not just for a little while, but for all of eternity. For. Ever.”
My eyebrows flip up. Never heard that before.
“It’s all about love. For God so loved . . . Colby Tanner. He loves you.”
Green Suit hollers, “He do. He do. Go on, Pastor.”
Mitch’s father points to another parishioner. “He loves you, Sheila Dawson.”
Sheila Dawson is here? I crane my neck to see. Four years
The lady in the green suit is still talking, walking across the plat-form. “Do we have any visitors today?”
Tucking in close to J. D., I do my best to scoot down from view. This is a good reason to never go to church. They want to embarrass a person. Stand if you’re a visitor. Walk the aisle if you’re a sinner.
Glancing up at Mitch, I shake my head and mouth, “Don’t say a word.”
Technically, I’m not a visitor. I’ve been here before.
“No visitors?” Green Suit sounds disappointed.
In the next second, a familiar voice echoes all over the sanctuary. “I’d like to introduce a visitor.”
Oh, no. Andy. I slide down another inch and cover my face with the bulletin. “Does the whole city attend Beaufort Community?”
Mitch whispers. “They heard you were coming.”
“My boss is here. Caroline Sweeney.” Andy announces.
J. D. nudges me to sit up, and with a glare, I do. Andy beams like it’s all good.
“Welcome, Caroline.” The lady points to me. People look. The men next to me snicker.
“Tomorrow, Andy is so fired.”
We sing a bunch of songs I’ve never heard before, but rather enjoy. The song leader is a young kid with long hair and lots of multicolored wristbands.
When the singing is over, Pastor O’Neal takes the stage. He’s an older form of Mitch, handsome but with more seasoned, kind features and wisdom-polished words.
Mitch watches his father intently. Love and admiration have replaced contempt and impatience.
“Let’s open in prayer.” The resonance of the pastor’s words to God sober me. They’re confident. Intimate. My heart beats in rhythm to his words. I lower my chin to catch my breath.
“Are you okay?” J. D. whispers.
I nod. The sensation in my chest is odd and scary. I want to leave, but am afraid to stand.
When the sermon starts, my adrenaline rush ebbs, and I relax a little. Pastor O’Neal’s sermon sounds practiced and thought out, but he uses words like sanctification and justification in ways I don’t understand. Every once in a while Pastor Winnie shouts an amen, which is followed by the green-suit lady jumping to her feet and flapping her hand in the air. “ Weeell, come on now, Pastor.”
So far, the shouting is my favorite part.
Then, in the middle of a sentence, Pastor O’Neal stops. It feels like the whole congregation is tossed forward—like slamming on the brakes when the yellow light flashes to red. He walks to the edge of the plat-form, taking a step down. I get the feeling he doesn’t do this every week.
“Do you want to know a real inconvenient truth? Jesus. Who do you say He is? The Christ? Savior? King? A good man? Yet He called Himself the Son of God. Is He? Truth or lie?” He feigns a shudder. “Makes people uncomfortable, doesn’t it. Why? Because if He is who He says He is, we have to do something about it. He’s the God-Man who loves you. All He requires is for you to believe in Him alone as the way to the Father and eternal life.”
Both Pastor Winnie and Green Suit are off the pew, shouting, waving their hands in the air. “Go on, say it like it is. Truth is truth. Let’s get real, Pastor.” I don’t think Pastor O’Neal needs encouragement. He appears to be revving up.
J. D. shifts around. I’m not sure he’s any more at home than I am. Mitch props his chin in his hand and watches like a kid at his first Star Wars flick.
“Jesus gave up the untold, unimaginable splendor of heaven to become like you and me. Elle, it’d be like you becoming one of your paintings. Not just for a little while, but for all of eternity. For. Ever.”
My eyebrows flip up. Never heard that before.
“It’s all about love. For God so loved . . . Colby Tanner. He loves you.”
Green Suit hollers, “He do. He do. Go on, Pastor.”
Mitch’s father points to another parishioner. “He loves you, Sheila Dawson.”
Sheila Dawson is here? I crane my neck to see. Four years
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