Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father

I shrug and try to even out my breathing. It’s been months since I’ve gotten any decent exercise. “Oh, you know, you’re all controversial and stuff.”

“And stuff… Well, I guess that’s something. I’d rather they keep talking in indecision than to stop talking all together. Why did you ask about my parents?”

“I just want to know where I come from,” I admit.

This stops Roland in his tracks. When I back up, he grips my shoulders. “You come from God, Kennedy.”

I roll my eyes so hard they hurt.

“No,” Roland preempts my retort. “Listen to me. Not just this situation, but life will throw you all kinds of curveballs. You’ll have lots of corners you’ll turn around and find yourself questioning your motives, your decisions, everything…” He puts his head down for a moment and catches his breath. “The one thing you can always hold on to is that He is your true father.” Roland points to the sky for effect.

“I know,” I whisper.

“Do you?” His eyes bore into mine, and I’m once again feeling naked.

“No,” I admit, starting to run again because I can no longer stand the intensity of standing still. “God’s just someone I pray to. Someone who can help me, but who rarely does.”

Roland starts to slow his pace, falling behind me slightly. “What? Wait a minute.”

“No!” I run faster as tears well up. “The omniscient, omnipotent creator of the universe is my father? What father would let their child grow up thinking her birth father didn’t want her? What father would steal my grandmother away in a car accident last year?” Thinking of my mom’s mom stops me, and I bend forward to place my hands on my knees. “What father,” I continue, “lets me come to this school? Lets me play with fire by wanting to get close to you in the middle of kids who are exactly nothing like me?”

“Kennedy!” Roland catches up to me and puts his hand on my shoulder.

“What?” I snap. “What pastoral wisdom are you going to rain down on me right now?” I wipe my nose with my forearm and continue down the trial, walking.

“I don’t know,” he calls after me.

I turn around. “What?”

“I don’t know,” Roland repeats, catching up to me.

“What good does that do me?” Out of the corner of my eye, I try not to notice that we swing our arms the same way when we walk.

Roland stops, grabbing my wrist so I’m forced to stop and have the uncomfortable conversation. “If I knew everything, then God wouldn’t be so big, would he? I don’t have all the answers, Kennedy. I wish I did, believe me, sometimes I wish I did. But I know the One who knows all the answers. And, at the end of the day, I have to cast my cares at his feet and trust that I’m part of his plan. Not the star of the show.”

“Who is the star?” Joy? I think snarkily.

“Jesus Christ, Kennedy.”

“What?” I snap, assuming he was cursing.

“No.” Roland snickers. “Jesus. Christ. All the glory goes to Him.”

I huff. “So it’s really all about Jesus?” I feel stupid for asking.

Roland grins. “Now you’re getting it. Come on, let’s finish our run.”

“Wait,” I call out, suddenly hyperaware of my surroundings. “Won’t it be weird if we’re, like, seen running together?”

“No. I counsel students one-on-one all the time. Sometimes we run, play basketball, golf, go get coffee. Whatever.” His face is beaming with pride as we fall into an even cadence once again.

“You really love what you do, huh?”

Roland points to the sky again. “I’ve got the best boss.”





“Apparently, it really is all about Jesus,” I say to Chelsea and Asher while I tie on my apron for my Friday shift.

After Roland and I ran, we grabbed an ice cream at a custard place downtown and then he returned me to my dorm so I would have ample time to shower and change for work.

“Well, hallelujah!” Chelsea cheers in mock enthusiasm before turning on the blender.

Asher shakes his head and laughs. “What was it that you thought it was all about?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess. I mean, I guess I thought they were all fans of Jesus. Not followers. Not blessed children of God.”

Over the past few hours, I’ve been replaying almost every conversation and interaction I’ve had since the start of the semester. My friends aren’t perfect, I recognize, but they have a belief. Sure, I don’t know when some of them turn from dimply, honest smiles to hard-headed bureaucrats, but for now, in this moment, they love Jesus.

“And what did Pastor Roland say about branding?” Asher seems intently interested.

“That people make up their own way to follow Jesus. Assign words and rules to him that he never assigned to us. He spends a lot of time preaching about it. His sermon series from two weeks ago until the end of the semester is titled, Rebranding. You should come.”

Asher nods approvingly. “He sounds like a cool guy. I could get behind his brand,” he challenges.

“I don’t think he has a brand,” I defend. “I think his brand is Jesus. That’s it.”

“Uh-oh,” Chelsea says like a toddler. “Quick, Asher, get the life preserver. Kennedy’s becoming a Jesus Freak!”