ALPHABET SUPERSET WEEK 3

A storm rages through my life. It’s coming from within, swirling around my organs, catapulting fire through my veins. And it follows me everywhere I go, even now as I enter the hall next to my parents and sit down in the same row as every week.

We are greeted by the other people already sitting there. Mum does most of the talking, but there are always some questions directed at me.

“You look so pale. Are you eating enough?”

“Would you like to help with the cake buffet next week?”

“Are they really hosting a drag show at your school?”

I try not to show anything of the storm while I answer.

“Mum makes sure of that.”

“Sorry, I can’t. The day after I have this big maths test.”

“What? No, not at all. The drama club is doing a variation of As You Like It, so they are playing with gender roles.”

Of course, the last question is the most interesting for everyone. It is for me too. I stood in front of the announcement poster for ages. But while I was intrigued, everyone around me stops and stares at me in shock.

“How awful!”

“Those poor children!”

“Why can’t they choose something more traditional?”

My heart begins to beat faster. I feel the need to react, but I don’t know how.

“It’s Shakespeare,” I say mechanically. No one seems to hear me.

“It’s so obvious that they are targeting children.”

“Those teachers should get fired immediately.”

“You are right. How can our children grow up to be healthy adults if they are surrounded by this … chaos?”

That’s Dad. His words sting in my chest, but I would never admit that. I’m not even sure why they’re bothering me.

Before I can think about it, a new person joins the group. Every other voice except His falls silent in an instant. I try to avoid His gaze and the same time don’t dare to look past Him.

“There’s no need to panic,” He says. “We can fight this if you are strong. But these fragile children are depending on you, so each one of you” – He glares into every face that surrounds Him – “must step up and fight for them. The enemies are growing by the minute.”

Then He leaves us alone again. They all look after Him in awe before settling down on their seats. My heart pounds, shaken by the storm. I hope it will survive the next hour.

There’s singing and praying, which is mostly okay and sometimes nice, and then there’s the sermon. He takes the microphone and speaks. They always talk about how calming His voice is. Maybe I would agree if I felt differently.

“I have just heard how frightened some of you are because of what is happening in our own neighbourhood. Let me give you hope.”

Mum lets out a sigh, as if this little statement had lifted a huge weight from her chest. I don’t really want to listen, but of course I do.

“There are people who try to scare you by telling you how complex the world is. How it has so many dimensions you’ll never be able to grasp. How it’s different from everything you’ve ever learned; and how you’re wrong to believe and act upon the values you’ve known all your life. These people want complexity in their lives so badly that they havestopped believing in the simplicity that God has given us.”

The world around me is peaceful, orderly. It’s cosily anxious instead of an unimaginable mess. Because they feel what He says. Because they know that what He says is true. I can’t say that for myself, and I’m ashamed of it.

“We all are created as either men or women. We are meant to mate with the opposite sex, and bring new children, boys and girls, into the world. Everything else is chaos.”

“Chaos,” Mum mutters beside me. “The chaos is spreading.”

I can feel it. It’s filling out my body and it’s even more chaotic than anyone could ever preach. Because I don’t know who I am. My fist clenches and only manages to relax when I let my mind wander away for a few precious seconds.

Until, to my utter horror, He looks me straight in the eye. 

“So I particularly want to speak to all the children, teenagers and young adults here in this room: Don’t be blinded by the false promise of adventure and excitement. What begins as fun turns into doubt and ends with a whole forest of sin taking root in your soul. Don’t let them plant that dangerous seed of doubt in you.”

Does He know? I struggle not to squirm under His gaze. There is doubt inside me, more than I ever thought would fit in my body. It feels awful, like it’s eating away at my insides. There is no sense of adventure or excitement or fun, not even in the slightest. All I percieve is pain. It lingers as His eyes continue their journey down the hall.

“Don’t let them frighten you. You are stronger because God is behind you. There are millions of people next to you. They can’t hurt you. You are not alone.”

All I hear is: You are alone. You deserve to suffer. God has abandoned you.

My eyes burn. A tear makes its way down my cheekbone to dry in the corner of my mouth. Then there’s another one and then many more. Still, my back is straight and my eyes look forward. Don’t move, don’t attract attention. Don’t attract His stare again.

But of course, that doesn’t work for everyone. Mum always notices. I can more feel than see her looks on my face. There’s surprise. Worry. Horror.

“What is it?” she exclaims far to loudly.

I just shake my head, still looking rigidly to the front, even though my eyes are so flooded I can barely see. She rummages through her handbag, then pushes a handkerchief into my hands. I use it clumsily. It only helps a little.

“What happened?”

There’s panic in her voice. The caring type of panic. I can’t tell her because then it’ll turn into a different kind of panic. The disgusted, hateful one.

She grabs my chin to make me look at her, then something hits her. Her fingers let go of my face and clutch my hand instead.

“You know someone, who’s been caught by the agenda,” she hisses, finally lowering her voice. “Is it one of your friends?”

I’m physically unable to answer.

“Is it Sarah? Is she a lesbian?”

Then she inhales sharply. “It’s Abraham, isn’t it? He always seemed a bit off. Don’t tell me that he wants to be a woman.”

Abraham’s uncle, sitting two rows in front of us, turns his head and I instinctively shush her.

“It’s not that”, I manage to say, my voice a complete mess.

Now she looks confused. “Then what is it?”

She has no idea. And I dread the day she finds out about the storm.

“It’s got nothing to do with that”, I lie. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

Maybe I can lock myself in my room soon enough when we get home to have more time to think of a believable story. I hate the storm for making me lie. And that almost makes me dissolve into tears again, because hating the storms feels like hating myself much too much.

The rest of the sermon doesn’t reach my brain. It sounds like a distant murmur, the prayers that follow like a swarm of bees. An angry one, circling around me and waiting for the right moment to attack. And I can’t shake off the feeling that the most dangerous bee is sitting right next to me, still holding my hand and not in the least bit finished with our conversation.

We sing one last song and then we are done. Mum chats a little more and Dad brainstorms about how to intervene in my school play. I don’t care any more. I’m too deeply involved in the chaos left over from today’s outburst of my inner storm. So I let myself be guided out of the building, past the door that’s guarded by Him. The fear settles, the chaos remains.