Here it is. I finally got around to typing out my hand written version of chapter 3. I hope you all enjoy.
One Friend that Helped Change My Life Most of my friends knew that my mother was sick. And most of them knew that a depression of sorts had swept over me. I had started pulling away from my friends as well as my family. I would spend my free time writing, working on publications for school, or drinking. It was easier to pre-occupy myself than to deal with all of the things going on around me. It was at this low point in my life when a friend took a huge step of faith. She reached out to me in a way that would change my life.
Dana was a friend in the best sense of the word. I cannot remember her ever saying a negative thing about anyone. She came up to me one fall day, just before the dismissal bell rang at the end of the school day. I was already walking towards the door. (Leaving before the bell was a benefit of having a last period study hall, during which I worked in the athletic office.) She stopped me before I could walk out the door, just inside the breezeway, next to the Pepsi machine.
“Mike, can I talk to you for a second?” She said. In hind site I can imagine how nervous she must have been. I had become somewhat of a self-absorbed jerk and I could have easily treated her poorly. But I obliged her for “a second.”
“Sure, but it has to be quick.” I said, knowing that I didn’t really have to be anywhere in particular.
“Well, I just wanted you to know that my Sunday school class at Bethany has been praying for you and your family,” she informed me.
That was exactly the type of cliché, sugary-sweet stuff that made me want to choke. The taste that it left on my palate was indescribably unsatisfying. People say that kind of stuff so “matter-of-fact,” so meaninglessly; it is one thing to speak the cheesy tongue of Christianity, it is entirely different to act like a follower of Christ. I wanted no part in this.
So there I stood, wondering where this conversation was going. Dana continued, “It would be cool if you came to visit sometime, you know, just to meet the class.”
There it was: the hook. In my cynicism I started to believe that all Christians had ulterior motives, hidden agendas. It seemed like a type of “bait-and-switch” deception tactic. And I had been right. She was only trying to console me in order to add a new member to her Sunday school class. I bet they were having some kind of twisted contest to see who could get the most broken hearted, sad storied suckers to walk through the church doors. I looked away.
I have this thing, it’s like a tick or something, but when I am uncomfortable, I cannot seem to look people in the eyes. Was I uncomfortable? Did I have reason to be?
“Oh, that’s alright, I think I’ll pass…just tell them thanks.” It was my version of a polite brush-off.
“OK, just think about it,” she finished. I thought about it. I thought about it a lot. I really had no choice. Almost every day after that conversation, Dana invited me to visit her church. And almost every day, I had an excuse not to go.
Finally after about a month of excuses, lies, and ducking in-n-out of hallways trying to avoid her, Dana cornered me after Brownie’s English Literature class.
“Hey, Mike, how’s your mom doing?” she asked. Her persistence was starting to annoy me. Didn’t she have someone else to harass?
“She’s fine, I guess.” I said as I scanned the area for an escape route.
“Mike, we are still praying for you and your family.” She continued, “Why don’t you just come with me…”
“STOP!” I nearly shouted, interrupting her before she could say anything else. “If you stop hounding me about it, I will go to church with you.”
So, there it was. She broke me and I gave in. I had agreed to go to church again.
That Sunday morning I thought about sleeping in, but I knew how persistent Dana was. She would have continued asking until I came anyway. So, reluctantly, I went.
Bethany Christian Church was just across the street from our high school. I had known about it long before our freshman year. It had a reputation of being the “cool” church. They had a big youth group and a praise
band (with drums and electric guitars). This was a far cry from the piano and organ tradition of my Baptist roots.
A warm wave of apprehension washed over me like a fever as I approached the building. I really had no desire to be there except to get Dana off my back. I pulled in the parking lot and positioned my car for a clean get-away if things got messy. Then I just sat there. I sat in my car and wrestled with the idea of making a step back towards a God I had given up on. I don’t remember walking from my car to the door of the church. I don’t even remember walking downstairs to the Sunday school classroom. What I do remember is waiting by the classroom for Dana to show up.
I was about 10 minutes early, which is extremely uncommon for me. So I just browsed the literature and pictures in the hallway. A few of the other kids were filing past me in the classroom. Some greeted me, others pretended I was invisible. Eventually, I recognized a face. It was Joy, from school. She seemed surprised to see me, but greeted me nonetheless. Joy and I had been in several classes together since junior high. In my arrogance, I always saw her as somewhat of a wallflower, never really paying much attention to her. I didn’t really consider her a friend, but on that Sunday morning I didn’t have anyone else to relate to.
We went into the classroom, where I met several people: some I recognized, some I did not. I remember meeting Randi and Katherine, Troy and Joe. Over the next year they all became my support, encouragers, and closest friends.
What happened to Dana? Well she finally got me to come to church. But the weekend I came, she was sick. She didn’t even show up. That was perfect. I couldn’t believe it. But I didn’t really care. I had found something that I was missing. I found a community. A place I could be real, where I could relax, have fun, and share stories with others. Because Dana took the step to ask me to come to church, I was there. Sure it took her a month’s worth of asking, but I eventually came around. To this day, I thank God for Dana, because without her, I may never have come back to Him.
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