Chapter 5, part 2: Family Input

Daddy and my two younger sisters were already at the table. As soon as I sat down, everyone folded their hands and we bowed our heads.

“Come Lord Jesus, be our guest and let thy gifts to us be blessed. Amen,” we said in sing-song unison. 

Mom stood back up and served us. 

“Daddy, can I get my nose pierced?” Kirsten asked. 

Daddy appeared not to hear the question, so Kirsten repeated it. 

“I heard you but didn’t answer because we’ve been over this too many times already. I’m not having my daughter look like that. If you want to mutilate your body when you’re 18, go ahead, but as long as you’re living under my roof—“

“Fine, whatever. It’ll be the longest year of my life, but I can be patient. At least, as long as I have my drivers’ license. Can you or Mom take me out tonight to practice?”

“Get your homework done first and we’ll see,” Mom said. She sighed, “Frank, doesn’t it make you feel old? Kirsten driving and Giselle starting college … you still set on going to Elk River, sweetie?” 

“Actually I was just looking over the options again.”

“I’m so relieved to hear that. I’ve been praying you’d change your mind about going so far away. I had visions of you ending up married to some Ohio boy. I’d never get to see my grandbabies.”

“Mom! You’re being ridiculous.”

"Don’t talk to your mother that way.” It was one of first sentences Daddy had spoken to me since the accident. Then again, he hadn’t been home much.

“Sorry. It’s just, I don’t even want to get married until after college, and you’re already pressuring me for grandchildren? And anyway, Elk River College is still in the running … along with UCLA.”

Mom got up to get Daddy a second helping. “UCLA works for me. God’s answering our prayers that you won’t go too far from home,” she called from the kitchen.

“Mom, you do know that I’m going to have to move out eventually.”

“Of course, of course, but you’ll always be my baby no matter how old you get. Is it wrong for a mother to want to be able to see her oldest daughter more than once or twice a semester. Of course it’s up to you, but doesn’t UCLA make the most sense?” Mom prompted.

I threw up my hands. “That’s where I’m stuck. I like UCLA but it feels too big for me. I’ve heard that it’s hard to get a spot in the dorms after freshman year, and apartments in that part of LA are expensive. Elk River is the right size, I loved it when I visited, and Oma was so happy at the thought of me going there. But it’s so far from home. I’m worried about missing out on everything back here.”

Ruth said, “You could always flip for it.”

“Give me a break, Ruthie.” I scoffed. “This isn’t as simple as what team kicks off first at one of your soccer matches. This is my life we’re talking about here. Why leave it up to chance?”

Mom started to ask me to apologize for my unkind words, but Kirsten cut her off. “Charlie says there’s no such thing as chance. He believes God is in control of every roll of the dice.”

I rolled my eyes. “And I thought Ruthie was stupid. You think God really cares if you land on Boardwalk and go bankrupt or if you pass go and collect $200?”

“Giselle, you know better than to talk like that,” Mom said. “That was unkind. Stupid is a word we do not allow in this house. Apologize to your sisters at once.”

“But Mom…

“Do as your mother says!” Daddy said in a low, steely voice. 

I ducked my head and complied with a suitably convincing plea for forgiveness. We finished the meal in silence.

***

After dinner, I went over to the piano to decompress before starting in on my homework.

Mom cleared the table and Daddy stood to help. At the kitchen sink, he embraced her from behind and kissed her neck. They murmured softly together for a while and then he retreated to their bedroom.

When Kirsten got our her homework, I stopped playing the piano and tried to look over the practice test for AP Calculus, but couldn’t concentrate. I had been doing well on the practice tests and didn’t have much motivation to go over it again. Kirsten was chatty and between listening to her anecdotes about who said what at school that day and helping her with her algebra problems when she got stuck, I had plenty to keep me busy.

Mom finished her kitchen chores and made a dramatic show of yawning.  

Kirsten looked up. “Mom, I’m almost done with my homework. Can we still go out driving?”

“Not tonight, I’m too worn out now. I think I’ll go to bed early. Don’t stay up too late, girls.”

Down the hall, the bedroom door clicked shut. Kirsten gave me a look and we rolled our eyes together.

Kirsten set down her pencil. “I’ve been thinking about your problem,” she said.

“You have, have you?  Do you know where I should go to college?”

“I have no clue.  I do know that I’d miss you either way, but that wasn’t my point.  It might sound weird, but Charlie is right in a way—about flipping for it, or God rolling the dice or whatever.  He says that all Christians could have more peace if we really believed in God’s sovereignty.”  

She sighed and got a dreamy look as we stood and headed for the family room, leaving our books and papers scattered across the table. “He’s so spiritual. He wants to be a pastor someday you know.”

I rolled my eyes behind her back. She was always going on about Charlie this and Charlie that. They’d been dating on and off since junior high. She couldn’t shut up about him. Couldn’t keep quiet, I automatically corrected myself. Like “stupid,” “shut up” was considered a bad word around here. Still, to hear her, you’d think Charlie was the second coming of Jesus, or at least one of His disciples.

At that moment something clicked. Out of nowhere I remembered the story of the disciples casting lots to pick the replacement for Judas. Maybe God did control every fall of the dice.

Kirsten went ahead of me and flopped onto a sofa. I stood in front of the TV with arms akimbo. 

“Get out of the way!” both my sisters said at once.

I didn’t budge. “Ruthie, Kirsten talked me into it.”

Kirsten sat up. “What did I talk you into?”

“I think we’ll leave where I go to college up to chance, otherwise known as God’s sovereignty. Who has a coin I can flip?”

At the very least, it could help me to see how it felt to be stuck with one choice over the other for a moment.

The coin landed on heads, Elk River’s assigned side.

Ohio. I was going to Ohio. It felt right. Maybe it was what I really wanted, or maybe it was God guiding me. Did it really matter?

“I’m going to Elk River!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. 

Mom and Daddy came out in their pajamas to see what the commotion was all about.

“Congratulations, sweetie,”  Mom said when I told her the news.

She pulled me into a hug, trying to hide her tears. “My little girl’s about to leave the nest. I’m so proud of you for being brave enough to listen for God’s voice instead of my fears. I’d be terrified of going so far away from home and leaving all my friends and family behind, but not you. You’ve always been my adventurous one.”            

Chapter 6, part 1: What about Quan?

Sunlight streamed through the French doors in the breakfast nook the next morning.  Mom handed me a glass of orange juice and sat down across the table.  “Have you thought about what you’re going to tell Quan?”

“I guess I’ll tell him in class today. Or maybe I’ll wait until tonight.  He’s supposed to pick me up at 6:30.  We’re going miniature golfing.”  I blew on a spoonful of hot oatmeal to cool it off.

“Yes, dear, but what are you going to tell him, about the future of your relationship?”

“Why do I have to tell him anything?”

“Giselle, you have to think this through.  Do you really want to go off to college and be tied down to a long distance relationship?  I think you’d get more out of your experience if you were single and free to get to know all the young people on campus.”

“But I’m not leaving until August, and Quan and I have only been going out a few weeks.”

“All the more reason to end things now.  It’ll be easier on both of you this way, don’t you see?  Although it’s obvious the poor boy is already head over heels for you, and why shouldn’t he be?  You’re a wonderful young woman, so lovely and bright.  Any man would be lucky—”

“Okay, okay, Mom, I get the point.  I’ll think about it, but I’m not going to break up with him tonight.”

“I trust you to make the wise decision.”  That was code for I’ll be disappointed if you don’t take my advice.

Kirsten came stumbling out of her room.  “I overslept!” she yelled from the landing of the stairs “Giselle, don’t leave without me okay?  I promise, I won’t make you late.  I’m just going to take a quick shower and then I’ll throw on some clothes and be out the door.  Mom, can you make me some Instant Breakfast?”

“Why bother showering? You’ll still look like a homeless person the way you dress,” Mom snarked. 

***

After my third honk, Kirsten ran out the front door, an empty bookbag slung over one shoulder, Algebra book tucked under one arm and a travel mug in her opposite hand. I slid out of the driver’s seat and jogged around to open the passenger door for her, then took the mug while she climbed in.

“Thanks for waiting.”

I held out the mug. “Sure.”  In truth, I was annoyed but there was no point in complaining to Kirsten. I knew from experience that she would get defensive, and either turn on the waterworks or lash out at me. Not my idea of a great way to start the morning.

While I navigated the streets of our neighborhood to Grand Avenue, I took a few deep breaths and redirected my aggravation. “So Mom thinks I should tell Quan about my decision tonight. Can you believe it—just before you came in, Mom had the nerve to tell me to break up with him.”

“You know he’s not going to be happy when he hears the news. He’s in lurve with you.”

I sighed as we turned left and headed north. If I could hit all the lights just right, there was a chance we might not be late for school. “Yeah. He’s already assumed I’ll be going to UCLA with him.”

“Oh my gosh, how romantic!  He’s probably hoping you’ll stay together all through college, so when you graduate you can get married and have lots of babies!”

I let out a puff of air. “You been listening to Mom too long or something?    Last night she had me marrying some random guy in Ohio and now you’ve built this whole crazy story about Quan.”

“Relax, I was just giving you a hard time. But seriously, does he even know you applied to Elk River College?”

“It hasn’t really come up. So?”

She whistled low. “Man, I don’t know whether to be sorry for him or for you. There’s going to be some drama tonight!  You better tell me all about it when you get home from your date of doom.”  She let out a stage cackle.

At moments like these, I truly wished I were an only child.  

***

When the doorbell rang at 6:29, I sat at the piano, playing the fastest and loudest songs in my repertoire, trying to release the pre-date jitters.  My heart jumped up into my throat.  He’s here! Should I get the door or have someone else let him in?  Should I tell him about Elk River College right away or wait until the end of our date?

Almost against my will, my feet carried me through the foyer to the double doors of our entry and my hand turned the knob to reveal Quan, standing with his hands behind his back.

“Hi, Giselle.  You look great as always.”  He leaned in for a kiss.  

I turned my cheek to him.  “Thanks, so do you.”

“Uh, this is for you.”  He held out a small neon pink teddy bear that had the words “Be Mine” embroidered on the belly.  It looked like something out of one of those claw machines.  

I took it and forced a smile.  “Thanks.”  

“Don’t you like it?”

“No, it’s not that.  It’s cute, and you’re sweet.  Sorry for not being more enthusiastic.”

He let it go, but I could tell he knew something was bothering me. As we drove down the freeway, I wondered for the hundredth time how I was going to tell him about choosing a college so far away.  How was he going to take it?  Kirsten was probably right, we’d break up over it and there would be a huge scene.  

By the time we reached the restaurant, I had almost talked myself back into not mentioning college at all.  I could just pretend like everything would stay the same all summer, and maybe he’d eventually break up with me.  Could I live a lie for three months?  The knot of anticipation and dread in my stomach tightened at the thought.  No, I had to tell him, no matter how he took it.  I’d just wait until he walked me up to the door after our date.  

When we finished the last hole on the golf course, Quan led me to a nearby bench. “Let’s sit here. We need to talk.”

"I have something to tell you too. You first.”

He grabbed my hand. Was he crying?

“I can’t see you any more.” His voice broke. He really was crying, or at least was on the verge of it.

And here I was worried about how to break up with him. “Why not?” 

“My parents. They don’t like me seeing a white girl, especially one who’s not Catholic. You probably think I should just blow them off, but that’s not really an option in my culture. I just had to see you one last time. It kills me to have to hurt you like this.”

It did sting a little, but there was no point in letting him see that. “It’s okay. I was going to tell you I’m not going to UCLA after all. I actually decided on a school in Ohio. The long distance thing would have been hard. I guess God has a different plan for us.”

Our parting was bittersweet. Especially the kiss. Mom was right, practice did make perfect. Quan ended up becoming a pretty good kisser after all.

Chapter 6, part 2: End of School

I called Alicia with the news as soon as I got home. “Bummer,” she said. “But at least I’ll have you back as my break and lunch buddy for the last few weeks of school.” 

“Yeah, I kind of disappeared on you, didn’t I? Sorry about that.”

“No problem, I totally would have done the same thing if Chet went to this school. The tragedy of dating an older man, I’m telling you.”

The following Monday, I was surprised to see a girl in Quan’s seat. He looked up from the back of the room and caught my eye. He shrugged as if to apologize. I nodded slightly, confused. When he told me we couldn’t see each other I never expected him to cut off all contact like this. Why couldn’t we stay lab partners? It felt so strange to go from spending almost every possible moment of the school day with him to having to practically avoid each other. 

Thankfully, getting ready for the performance of Grease that weekend helped me put Quan out of mind. And Alicia, faithful friend, made sure the rest of my free time was spent in cheerful company.

My drama teacher had said he was casting me against type when he gave me the part of Rizzo. “It will be a challenge, and I’d like to see you stretch yourself. Don’t worry, we’re doing the school version, which skips the whole pregnancy plotline and other racy scenes from the movie.”

“I’ve never seen it,” I’d confided. Although my whole family loved musicals, my parents only let us see ones they deemed family-friendly.

“Even better. You have a blank slate to create your own version of the character without mimicking Stockard Channing.”

Playing a sarcastic, tough party girl ended up not being as much of a challenge as I thought. “Look at Me I’m Sandra Dee,” I sang with gusto. Ironic considering that if Rizzo met the real me, she’d mock me as mercilessly as she did Sandy.

Even in the G-rated version, it was pretty clear that Rizzo was way more experienced with boys than I was. I sometimes caught myself imagining what Rizzo and Kenickie might have been doing in those racy scenes from the movie.  Somehow I eked out enough willpower to stop the fantasy each time. I hoped Jolene would be proud of me for keeping my vow so well.

The play’s three night run was a huge success. Before we broke up, Quan had promised to attend every show. Each night I scanned the audience, looking for him. It was hard to see in the darkened theater against the glare of the spotlight, but I was pretty sure he didn’t make it. 

***

The last few weeks of high school flew by in a blur of tests and classes and friends and assemblies. Finally the week of graduation arrived, and with it a trip to Disneyland. My family had passes and we went all the time but it was still a treat to go with my fellow students. Mid-morning, Alicia and I took a break from the rides and relaxed on a low brick wall near the Haunted Mansion.

Molly Green, senior class president, plopped down next to us with a big friendly smile. “Hi! How are you two? Isn’t this a blast?” 

Senior Week, or maybe just Disney must have out the best in people I guess, because Molly didn’t normally give us the time of day. 

Molly continued, “Mind if I sit with you while I wait for my friends to come out of the Haunted Mansion? It gives me the creeps.” She took off the light jacket she had worn to ward off the chill of the morning overcast that locals liked to call May Gray. “So glad it burned off and didn’t rain today like they said it would!” she exclaimed, then sighed. “I’m going to miss coming here all the time when I’m up at Stanford.” 

Of the 450 students in the graduating class, fewer than one out of ten planned to leave Southern California, and even those few weren’t venturing much farther than the Bay Area. 

“Stanford, that’s really great,” Alicia said. “I’m sticking with community college for now. I couldn’t even imagine living so far from home. Won’t you get homesick?” She pointed at me. “Then there’s this one, going off to the snows of Ohio. I think I’d rather die!” 

“Why are you going to Ohio, Giselle?” Molly queried. I thought I detected vague disgust in her voice.

While had been feeling ever-so-slightly superior to Alicia and her fear of leaving home, suddenly I felt the need to apologize for my choice.

“Um, well…” I stumbled over an explanation about Oma paying my way, finishing up with, “She went Elk River, my uncles went there … I guess you could say it’s a family tradition,” hoping that the Molly would read between the lines and guess that I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

“Oh, Elk River! That’s a Christian school, right? Good for you!” Molly responded with unexpected enthusiasm. 

That’s when I remembered that Molly was not only class president but also president of the Christian club on campus.

“Yeah, I guess you could say I felt led to go there,” I said, dropping a Christian catchphrase to establish my faith credentials with Molly. 

“Wow! That’s amazing. I wish I were so in touch with God’s will. I wish I had gotten to know you better, Giselle. Well, there’s my group, so I’ve gotta go. I’ll be praying for you!” She waved and walked away. 

It felt good to be on a pedestal, even though deep down I worried it couldn’t be further from the truth. I had based my decision on the flip of a coin and called it the voice of God. Maybe Elk River wasn’t God’s will for me at all. Had I really made the right decision?

***

Grey clouds greeted me the morning of graduation, but that wasn’t at all unusual for a Southern California May. Usually it cleared by noon or so, and the ceremony was scheduled to be held in the school’s outdoor amphitheater at 3:00. It was the only facility on campus large enough to hold all the students and their families.

The phone rang and Mom brought it to me. “It’s Alicia,” she said.

“We’re going to graduate today!” she sang out. “Ready?” 

“Am I ever,” I said. “But I wish we could skip the ceremony and go directly to the Grad Night party. We’re going to melt out there in our oh-so-attractive polyester gowns.” At least ours were white. The guys would be even hotter wearing orange fabric.

“More like get soaked. Haven’t you seen the weather report?”

“Chance of rain. That doesn’t mean much. They’ve been saying that all week.”

But true to the forecast, the clouds darkened as the day went on. At noon, it began to sprinkle. By the time I left the house at two thirty, it had stopped.

“Here, take this umbrella just in case,” Mom urged as I headed out the door.

I felt stupid clutching the folded umbrella as we lined up alphabetically, preparing to march into the amphitheater. But just as we began our procession, the sprinkles returned. By the time we were all seated, it strengthened to a heavy downpour. Only a few students had an umbrella, a few more wore ponchos. Most of my classmates tried in vain to improvise some sort of protection from the deluge out of graduation programs and caps. 

We were quite a sight as we made our way across the stage one by one to accept the congratulations of the principal and a diploma holder. The girls were just soggy, but the orange dye from the guys’ gowns bled onto their white shirt collars.

After the ceremony, we reported to the gym to pick up our actual diplomas, then joined our families to celebrate. A few hours later, we returned to the gym and loaded onto buses that took us directly to the secret location of the official school Grad Night party.

The secret location turned out to be the same German-American club where prom had been held. Inside, the parent volunteers had set up a full casino’s worth of table games, and we were each given a stack of chips to bet. Outside there were supposed to have been carnival rides, but the continuing rain prevented their safe operation. Some of the outdoor booths of crafts and games had been hastily recreated indoors.

Thankfully, there was other entertainment to get us through the night. A hypnotist, a comedian and a magician all wowed us with their acts while waiters served midnight snacks. 

As dawn approached, we started passing yearbooks to gather signatures. Then we went outside to wait for the buses to come take us back to school. Some, including Alicia, sat down against the wall of the building and fell asleep. I passed the time reading through the notes in my yearbook. Most people signed mine with generic things like, “Stay sweet!” At least Alicia had filled a whole page with inside jokes and her favorite shared memories. 

I looked up from reading her mini-novel to see Quan. 

“Would you sign my yearbook, Giselle?” he asked.

I silently handed mine over and took his. What should I write?

It was great while it lasted? I wish we could still be friends? Tell the next girl you date that she has me to thank for teaching you how to kiss?

I settled for, “You were a great lab partner and better friend. Best of luck in the future.”

We exchanged yearbooks again just as the buses pulled up. “Well, I guess this is it. Goodbye, Giselle.”

“Goodbye.” What else was there to say?

I flipped through the pages again until I found what he wrote.

“Beautiful Giselle, I will never forget our extra-special relationship. I still say you will have to beat the boys off with a stick in college. I will remember you always in my prayers. Love, Quan.”

Suddenly I felt as beautiful as I had on prom night. Maybe in college I’d look like that all the time. Maybe I’d meet the love of my life in Ohio. Maybe that’s why God was leading me there. I could hardly wait to find out!

Chapter 7, part 1: Summertime

The summer before college passed too slowly and too quickly all at once. Too slowly because I couldn’t wait to get to Elk River and start the next chapter of my life. Too quickly because I was scheduled to have my wisdom teeth extracted in mid-August.

Week by week, month by month, I put in my two hours a day at Daddy’s insurance office, filing paperwork and folding mailings. I’d earned enough during the school year to pay the $500 required, but still worked Mondays with Pastor Jim to earn my part of the insurance on the Miata and get some extra cash. During my free time, Alicia and I went to the mall to window shop and look for cute boys to talk to. I managed to save most of my earnings, paltry though they were.

But when the cloudless skies of a Southern California August arrived, I was at loose ends. Things got slow around Daddy’s office. The last Friday in July he said I could stay home the rest of the summer. He suggested I use the time to pack for college. I figured I had plenty of time left and decided to take it easy for a while.

“Giselle, enough lounging about,” Mom said after I woke up at noon for the third day in a row. “All you’ve done the past few days is sleep and stare at that computer. You even missed church yesterday. Kirsten and Ruth got up at eight to go to vacation Bible school. Wasn’t Pastor Jim expecting you today?”

“Nope, he takes August off,” I said, turning back to the Internet word game I was playing. “And Alicia’s gone with her mom on vacation. I’ve been working hard all summer and I think I deserve a few days off to just enjoy being a kid, don’t you?”

“You’ve had a few days. If you really want to enjoy just being a kid, get off the computer,” she said. “There are so many other things to do.”

“I can’t think of anything,” I said. “Plus, reading really relaxes me.” Most of my computer time had been spent dawdling on social networking sites and keeping up with random blogs of interesting strangers.

“In that case, read a real book. There’s a whole shelf of them over there,” she said, pointing into Daddy’s study.

“Okay, just let me finish this game,” I said, hoping she’d wander away and forget about me. No such luck. She stood behind me and as soon as the game was over, turned off the screen.

“Hey, I was getting up!” 

Her knowing look said she wasn’t buying it. 

“Fine, I’ll see if there is anything I haven’t read yet,” I said and sauntered into the study.

Not bragging, but I’ve always been somewhat of a speed-reader. By the end of the week, I’d read most of Mom’s collection of self-help books. The parenting manuals and books on finance didn’t hold much allure, so I drove over to the library to get some lighter reading material from the young adult romance section. Mom kicked me off the computer if I spent more than 30 minutes at a time, but I’d sometimes get up after everyone else was in bed so I could catch up with my favorite websites.

***

Two weeks later, all of a sudden, the deadline to pack up and leave for college which had seemed distant and far away loomed large, and with it the dreaded day of my wisdom tooth extraction. With so little time left and so much to do, packing felt overwhelming and I didn’t know where to start.

Boxes of winter clothes Mom had ordered for me from her favorite catalog piled high in one corner of my room, and shopping bags full of dorm room necessities cluttered the other.

Mom got Ruthie and Kirsten to help me. We spent the afternoon loading up suitcases and storage bins, all the while reminiscing over funny family stories and singing selections from our favorite praise albums and family-friendly musicals.

Before we knew it, the afternoon light started to fade. Mom checked her watch. “Look at the time. Giselle, we’d better get you dinner. Remember, the dentist said no food or drink within twelve hours of the surgery.”

“Nervous?” Kirsten asked. “I would be.”

“A little. I’ve never gone under anesthetic before for one thing. And when Alicia got hers out at the beginning of summer, she was swollen up like a chipmunk and in pain for days.”

“We could pray,” suggested Ruthie. Why hadn’t I thought of that? Why did I never remember to turn to God first?

“What a good idea, sweetie,” Mom said. “Father God, guide the hand of the surgeon and give Giselle peace. Amen.”

Chapter 7, part 2: Surgery Fears

The prayer didn’t do much to calm my nerves, unfortunately. Though I’d had a big dinner, just knowing I couldn’t eat or drink made me feel thirsty and hungry. The sticky heat was the final straw. No way I was getting to sleep. I’d never understood why my parents would pinch pennies on the A/C when they had no problem spending money for trips and fancy cars. 

I crept out of my room and padded quietly out to the family computer. When I logged into one of my favorite social networking sites, “New Friend Request” blinked in bold blue on the left side of the screen. One click revealed the name Mandy and a picture of a girl with impressive cleavage squeezed into a tiny midriff-baring halter top. 

Our computer was in a public area, and during the day, I would decline such invitations without even looking at them. It totally wasn’t worth the hassle of Mom’s lecture if she happened to look over my shoulder. She had a really annoying way of entering a room at the most inopportune moment. But in the middle of the night, I was so bored and restless, I just couldn’t resist the temptation to click.

I’ll be good. No harm in reading her profile and comments. I don’t have to look at the pictures. Besides, I’m almost 18 now, and what I look at is my business.

A bunch of lame animated image files with cutesy messages dominated Mandy’s comments section, and her profile didn’t have much of interest either, except for an invitation to check out her blog. I was always up for a good blog, so I clicked through.

The raunchy description of a sexual fantasy in the first entry was so detailed as to be almost repulsive, yet it still left me hungry for more. My body responded in ways familiar from unbidden dreams and focused fantasies of early adolescence. A niggling voice told me to turn off the computer and go to bed, but I pushed the warning aside. Just one more story, then I’ll go to bed. No harm done by just reading. Besides, it’s not like I don’t have any self control at all. I can read about this stuff and not do anything about it.

Even though I had told myself I wouldn’t, I clicked into Mandy’s pictures. The woman’s breasts were obviously fake, but their perfectly round shape was fascinating. Nothing like these pointy B-cups I was stuck with. Mandy was gorgeous, blonde, voluptuous and worldly. I’d never look like that. Boys would never drool over me like they probably did this woman.

Disgusted, I shut down the browser and went back to my room. As I lay in bed, tears burned my eyes and nose, as the familiar litany of self-recrimination began. I broke my vow. Five months of sexual purity, down the drain in a single night. Back in the center of God’s wrath, a special spot reserved for wanton sinners like me.

Or maybe there was a category worse than sinner. Sinners could repent and be forgiven. I worried that a twisted flaw ran down through my very core. Everyone knew that God didn’t approve of horny guys looking at porn, but girls weren’t even supposed to be tempted by such things. No question, I was a freak, a depraved sex maniac, that’s all there was to it. And the worst part was, it wasn’t a recent bad habit or a phase of hormones. I’d always had a curiosity about women’s bodies in underwear ads, always had little fantasies of romance and wondered what it would be like to be with a boy, had dreams that felt so real…

Since Jolene’s challenge, I’d really tried to keep my vow. Until now at least. I cringed at the condemnation I felt as I recalled her words. The standard is absolute chastity.

Maybe I hadn’t been keeping the vow as well as I thought. Had it been a mistake to read romance novels the past few weeks? Maybe they were like a gateway drug or something. I had thought reading about the seduction of young maidens in medieval realms was a harmless diversion. 

 Too late, Jesus’ words about lust being the same as adultery sprung to mind. It didn’t seem fair for it to be a sin just to be turned on, but it was scary how helpless I had been to resist temptation.  I knew that eventually I’d have to confess, but I felt too dirty to come before God now. Maybe in the morning it would be easier. I rolled over and tried to put the sin out of mind. 

As sleep finally nestled around the borders of my brain one last blurry thought bubbled up: the hope that at Elk River College, I’d be safe from such corrupting influences. It was a church-affiliated school after all. Surrounded by fellow believers and true disciples of Jesus, kept safe by the accountability of a roommate, I could make a new vow and stick to it. 

***

Before I knew it, Mom dragged me out of bed and to the surgeon’s office. Nerves about the surgery and lingering guilt from the night before kept my mind off my growling stomach.

Soon enough I was drifting away on a fluffy pink cloud of anesthesia. All my worries melted away and I started daydreaming: me, back on stage, putting on a one-woman variety show.

“Gigi, honey. Wake up. The doctor says you need to keep your eyes open.”

Mom’s voice came through a cottony fog. A warm hand squeezed my shoulder and shook gently. Finally I managed to force my eyelids to flutter open.

“Hi, Mom,” I slurred. I yawned, leaned my head on her shoulder and let my eyes start to close again. I was too tired to be annoyed that she called me Gigi, my childhood nickname.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Mom said, jerking me back into a sitting position. “C’mon, you need to shake off the anesthesia so they can release you.”

I stared vacantly down at my lap. Release me from where? The last thing I remembered was lying on a table. The white ceiling. Doctors and nurses scurrying, waiting for something. Someone had been singing in that room, belting out the lyrics that went along with the piped-in Muzak.

Oh, no! That someone had been me! The doctors must have been waiting for the anesthesia to kick in so they could dig out my wisdom teeth, just as Mom now waited for it to wear off.

I shook my head from embarrassment. The motion helped clear my senses.

In order to keep from falling back into delirium, I catalogued the simple facts of our surroundings. We were on a low bench, covered in blue industrial upholstery. The ceiling was very high.

“Mom, why do they have such flaring glourescent lights?” I giggled at the Spoonerism.

Mom cocked her head as if wondering if I’d lost my wits along with the wisdom teeth.

The oral surgeon finally sent us home with detailed instructions on how to limit the post-operative swelling. “Oh, and one more thing,” he said as we prepared to leave. “I recommend you swish with hydrogen peroxide or warm salt water after each meal to ensure that sockets are clear of debris while they heal.”

With wisdom teeth gone and our drive across country to Elk River days away, I felt perched on the edge of adulthood, ready for a grand adventure with God. To make up for that awful late night indiscretion, I banned myself from using the computer. The Bible and The Purpose Driven Life became my only reading material. Inspired by the gospel of Rick Warren and letters of Paul, I felt unlimited possibility stretching before me – I could be the next Mother Theresa, a female Billy Graham. As long as I could stay pure, God had a special plan for me. I just knew it.

Chapter 8, part 1: Arrival

Twenty miles east of Avondale, Ohio, the Elk River cut through the landscape of the Appalachian foothills, tracing the pattern of a scar left behind by an ancient glacier or, as I was raised to believe, the Great Flood. 

 The river flowed wide and with stately calm, though I’d later discover the places where it tripped merrily over rocks and down small falls further upstream, where the floodwaters—or possibly a glacier—scraped a narrower path. On the lower side of the wide gorge, the rolling hills gleamed with crops destined for the dinner tables of America, but on the steeper northern side, the austere brick of Elk River College lined the rim.

From the off ramp of Interstate 70, I caught the first glimpse of this new home, more spectacular than the advertiser’s photographs could render it. In the brochures, I’d seen the campus at the height of each season, and had built up a detailed plan for how to spend time over the next eight months.

Autumn afternoons would be for studying under a golden sycamore, the stately academic halls of Elk River rising behind me under a windswept sky, the bricks all leafed with ivy and shimmering against a cloud of golden amber and deep russet.

In deepest winter when the delicate lace of an ice storm frosted the squares of pavers and grass on the Quadrangle, I’d be one of the students scurrying between classes in their warm yet fashionable down and woolen jackets, tightening coats against the bitter cold winter wind.

In spring, when white and pink trillium fringed the edge of the gorge, I’d frolic and dance on the hills, throwing arms wide and lifting praises to the skies like a nun escaped from the convent for the day.

As all these ideal images flashed through my mind, our Expedition and all my worldly possessions trundled up the winding driveway that led up through the campus’s main entrance and back to the dormitories. We unfolded ourselves from the leather seats and stretched. My sisters continued the bickering that hadn’t ceased since we left Columbus that morning, and our parents tried in vain to barter peace between them.

I could barely pay attention to them; I was so completely absorbed with drinking in the surroundings. Somehow, the repertoire of seasonal fantasies had left out the first days on campus. Having no template to compare, the gorgeous thrumming life of the stately campus at the height of an Ohio summer delighted and enthralled me. Spreading branches of sycamores, dogwoods, red buds and tulip trees shaded the lawns of Elk River and the air buzzed with insects whose vibration of the air made tangible my rising anticipation and anxiety.

By the end of the day, the Gottliebs would start the long drive back to California and I, Giselle, would face this exciting new world all alone. Well, not quite alone, as of course, God is everywhere. And since I’d been baptized as an infant, my heart was in some mystical sense home to Christ Himself. Yet even as good as I had been lately, I wondered why I couldn’t really feel Him in there.

***

The Sunday before classes started, I had a literal rude awakening. There were no Lutheran churches in town, so I’d just picked a random church that offered an evening service. After years of going to the eight o’clock traditional liturgy, I planned to enjoy sleeping in for once.

Then Lacey’s alarm clock went off at seven o’clock. Worse, she proceeded to turn her radio to loud praise and worship music. 

I heard my loft creak and a hand gently shake my shoulder. Then a nasally twang. “Better hurry, sleepyhead, or you’ll make us late for church.”

Muttering that it was not a big deal to miss church once, I tugged the covers over my head and turned my back to Lacey. 

Lacey quoted something with a lot of “thees” and “thous” about not forsaking the fellowship of believers. Then she began to sing cheerily along with the music, about a half-step flat.

Now I was wide awake, annoyed and feeling a little mischievous. “What was that old-fashioned thing you just said? It sounded familiar. No, wait – let me guess. Shakespeare, right?” 

After spending my elementary years in a private Lutheran school, of course I knew very well that Lacey had quoted Scripture. Could even identify the chapter and verse if called upon to do so. They didn’t call me Bible brain in Sunday School for nothing. 

Lacey’s hand stopped in mid-air, clutching a fake eyelash. She turned from the mirror above the room’s built-in chest of drawers, the hot rollers on her head making her look more like my Oma than a freshman in college. “Don’t you recognize God’s Word when you hear it? I thought you said you were a Christian.”

I climbed down from the rickety loft bed and turned off the blaring music before speaking. “Relax, that was supposed to be a joke. But really, I don’t see what’s wrong with skipping church once in a while. Sometimes life gets in the way.”

“All the more reason to go to church – to keep life from getting in the way in the first place.”

“Just going to church isn’t going to stop bad things from happening to you, you know.” 

Lacey countered, “What I meant was, if your relationship with Jesus ain’t touching every part of your life, what good is it? Might as well find a new country club to join, one with fewer rules.”

“Good point,” I said, “and all kidding aside, I’m pretty much agree with you. Being a Christian really does affect every part of my life. My parents had my baptized as an infant. I grew up going to church and Sunday School every week, and even went to a private Christian school. I’ve been on two mission trips, and…”

“That’s not exactly what I meant.” Lacey turned back to the mirror and applied her second eyelash before unwinding the hot rollers from her caramel colored locks. “Though I don’t exactly believe in infant baptism…. Well, never mind all that. Any way, now that you’re up will you still come with me? I hate sitting in church alone.” 

I agreed, determined to prove to myself as much as to Lacey that I was a “real” Christian. 

I took a cue from Lacey’s pink skirted suit, complete with nylons and matching pumps, and threw on a flowered dress. Fingers flew through my curly mass of hair, trying in vain to rein in the frizz. I’d let it grow out from my prom night cut, and it was looking shaggy. When it became obvious that I was stuck looking like a blown-out Q-tip in the humid environment, I gave up and slapped it back into a simple pony tail. 

“What church were you planning to go to?” I asked, hoping Lacey would say College Drive Presbyterian. Some of Mom’s family were Presbyterians, so at least I could be sure they weren’t wackos. 

“The Pentecostal congregation on the corner. No offense, but the stuffiness of those other mainstream denominations drives me crazy.” 

Warning bells went off. Pentecostals? In confirmation class in eighth grade, my teachers took us through all the major denominations, listing how they fell short of the absolute truth of Lutheran doctrine. I couldn’t remember anything about Pentecostals. That could mean either that they were okay, or that they were one of the insane fringe groups that the teachers didn’t want to spend too much time on.

I guess I was about to find out.

Chapter 8, part 2: Revival

Despite my initial misgivings, I enjoyed the visit to Main Street Pentecostal, though it turned out we roommates were horribly overdressed. The better part of the congregation appeared to be college students, and most wore jeans. Some even wore the type of clingy knit pantsuits that had been in style in California several years before. It was a little shocking to see “Juicy” printed across someone’s rear end in church!     
 

I nudged Lacey with an elbow and hissed in her ear. “A little suggestive for church, don’t you think?” 

Lacey didn’t respond except for to close her eyes and sing more loudly along with the worship music.

With drums, video clips and a light show, the worship service was like a rock concert compared to the formal liturgy accompanied by pipe organ at Blessed Redeemer Lutheran back home. I joined in the clapping on the first few songs, and even swayed and moved my feet a little to the groove of the beat, though it felt a little sacrilegious to dance in church.

Then the band slowed the pace. The worship leader, a man with a comb-over and a sweater vest, cried out some unintelligible phrases, drawing a huge response from the congregation. Lacey and everyone else in the room but me murmured “Hallelujah,” and “Praise you, Jesus,” and lifted their hands in the air. A few older women waved flags printed with pithy slogans as the music continued in a hypnotic repeating pattern. Still the worship leader spoke, uttering words in a language I didn’t recognize. One man near the front sank to his knees and fell face to the floor.

Unsettled by the bizarre scene, I stood rigid with hands clasped behind my back. I felt like a voyeur, an unwelcome guest. I’d never been so emotional or passionate about worship like these people were. Was it possible I’d been doing something wrong my whole life?         

I couldn’t help but wonder again if I was a “real” Christian, whatever that meant. Back when I was five or six, I thought that my family was very close to God. We went to church every Sunday. We prayed before (almost) every meal, and to me, that’s what a Christian was.

Did I say we prayed before every meal?  I’m not sure it counts. It was just the trite recitation of the old Lutheran favorite. We three girls would holler and jostle around the table, but when Daddy said, “Let’s pray,” suddenly everyone would settle down and say in a sing-song cadence:

Come Lord Jesus

Be our guest
And let thy gifts to us be blest
Amen

… and then we would dig in. The fact that Jesus died to give us the privilege to talk directly to God was pretty much forgotten about until the next day when we all sat down to dinner again. There were exceptions though. No prayer in restaurants, or when Daddy was out of town. Somehow macaroni and cheese or pancakes for dinner didn’t rate inviting Lord Jesus to be our guest either.

Of course, there were a few other times when we Gottliebs prayed. At church, toward the end of the service, the pastor would get up and face the altar and intone formal prayers that always began with lofty phrases such as “Almighty and everlasting God, since…” and when he got to the part when he said, “Lord in your mercy” we’d respond with “hear our prayer.”  Finally he would wrap up with the line, “as you taught us to pray” and the congregation would launch into a sing-song recitation of the Lord’s Prayer. My whole understanding of prayer in a nutshell: formal words brought out and used at specific times, under the leadership of a parent, teacher or pastor. The concept of personal prayer was utterly foreign until the summer I stayed with my Mom’s sister.

The first night there, Aunt Martha prompted me to start saying the grace at dinner. I parroted the little sing-song poem, and was bewildered when each of my cousins in turn continued the prayer by telling God one thing they were thankful for about their day and one thing they needed. They didn’t exactly talk to Jesus like he was an ordinary person in the room, but they made him sound a whole lot closer than someone who had to be implored to “let thy gifts to us be blest.”  I felt left out.

Later that night, I overheard Aunt Martha talking to Uncle Vince. “Didn’t that sister of mine raise the child to know Jesus?  It’s no wonder what with her married to a Lutheran of all things. I always said it was a mistake for her to marry him. That church of his is so stuffy it would suffocate anyone’s faith. I’m sure the Lord has a few souls in that dreary place, but there can’t be many.” 

At bedtime, Aunt Martha tried to teach me how to pray properly, but it was no use. I couldn’t forget what she had said. If I gave in and prayed her way, it would be tantamount to admitting my parents and the church I loved were wrong. The rest of the summer, I stubbornly refused to join in the evening grace or bedtime prayers, earning the nickname of “little heathen” when they thought I was out of earshot. Ever since then, I’ve never felt like I could be sure whether or not I was a “real Christian” or just a “little heathen” like they said.

As worship ended, the cavernous hall echoed with the din of the congregation settling into the rows of padded folding chairs that served as pews. An elderly man in jeans and a Hawaiian shirt climbed the steps leading up to the platform in front of the members of the praise team, who were still clearing away their equipment.

“Thank you, Brother George, for giving us that refreshing outpouring of the Holy Spirit,” he said. “I’m Brother Thomas, senior pastor of Main Street Fellowship. I see old and new faces here today. For those of you returning to campus, welcome back. For those of you just arriving, thank you for joining us. We hope you come again.” 

We sat only one row back from the stage. Brother Thomas paced as he spoke, and came to a stop immediately in front of us.

His intense blue eyes bored into me. “It’s no accident that God brought you here today,” he continued, not moving or even blinking. “Someone here needs a deeper experience of Jesus. Someone here needs to be made holy. Someone here needs to confess her sins and be washed in the blood of the Lamb. This is the place for all that and more. The Spirit says ‘Come.’”

He closed his eyes and led the congregation in a long rambling prayer, his wrinkled arms stretched to heaven. I barely paid attention. Had Brother Thomas really been speaking directly to me?  Or was that my guilty imagination?

At the end of the prayer, Brother Thomas began a simple sermon about eternal security. I grabbed a pen out of my purse and took notes in the margins of the bulletin. My spidery scrawl covered every inch of available white space long before the message came to a halt. Putting my pen aside, I leaned forward, resting elbows on the back of the chair in front of me, chin in hand.

That’s when I noticed that the left side of my jaw ached.

I straightened up in the seat and ran fingers over every millimeter of flesh between ear and chin to discern the source of the pain. A lump, just in front of the bony outcropping of the mandible joint. It was small, no bigger than a sesame seed, but undeniably there. Was it something bad?  No, that was unlikely. More likely a swollen lymph node. I was probably just fighting off the summer cold that had made its way from Mom to Kirsten to Ruth on our trip east.

Brother Thomas raised his voice to emphasize a point, bringing me back to the moment. Of all the places in the world, here in church, in God’s very presence, wasn’t the place to worry. “Cast your cares on the Lord,” had been my confirmation verse. So, after making a mental note to see a doctor if the tiny lump didn’t clear up on its own, I willed myself to leave it alone and refocus on the conclusion of the preacher’s message.

“The only way to have eternal security,” he said, “is to confess with your mouth and believe in your heart that Jesus Christ is Lord. ‘Confess with your mouth,’ it says. Silent prayer just isn’t enough.  Even if you think you’re already saved, even if you were baptized as a baby, if you’re wondering at all today about the reality of your salvation, there’s only one way to answer that question once and for all. You must stand up, come to the altar, and confess Jesus as Lord this very day!” 

I stood up.

It was worth the humiliation if I could just be sure. I was tired of wondering if I was a little heathen. Maybe Lacey was right and infant baptism wasn’t enough. It would make sense if the reason I’d been unable to keep that purity vow was because I wasn’t really saved. 

I wanted to feel born again. The right words said now, as long as I followed the preacher’s instructions exactly, would surely be what I needed to feel Jesus in my heart and have more willpower. Then I could keep mind and body pure once and for all.