It’s the Christian school retreat in San Diego and I don’t know anyone. I’ve got a medical boot on my foot because I broke it during cross-country training and now all the little bones are bent and twisted. It’s September and it’s hot. The boot isn’t helping the heat, and my calves are beginning to sweat and the boot sticks to my skin.
I’m fifteen at a new school, stuck with total strangers for the next three days. The sophomores are divided between three different cabins. Amber, a girl with big lips and dark brown eyes, told me that tonight’s the night that everyone learns everything about each other. Dinner already passed and we’re all gathered in a small auditorium that’s growing increasingly warm the longer our bodies are there.
The idea of total strangers suddenly knowing everything about me is unnerving. I’m in a new place, and while my long hair and blue eyes seem to fit in with the crowd, I’ve never felt more out of place. The thing is, I came to the Christian school by accident after a less than picturesque freshman year that left me searching for anywhere else to go. It’s barely the second week of school and while I like to think I’ve made a couple friends, I’m not really sure if that’s what they’d call me. One thing I know for sure is it won’t help me to make friends here if I tell them I’m not religious. So I keep quiet.
Everything that takes place in the auditorium seems to have a religious theme. They’re all singing church songs that I don’t know and a man is preaching about love and acceptance. “Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, Colossians 3:23! Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good, Romans 12:9!” They’re spitting verses faster than I can keep track of them and I’m dizzy from the movement all around me. People are standing up and raising their hands towards the sky, swaying back and forth or singing along the loudest they possibly can. It’s a sweaty sea of teenagers preaching to a God they’ve yet to really need. I trip along and pretend to chant so I don’t stand out too much.
When it’s finally over, we go back to our cabins. Amber walks with me. She’s the closest thing I have to a friend right now, and I’m clinging onto her for support. Once our entire cabin is back, we are all gathered in a circle by one of the administrators who is also staying in the cabin with us. I think she’s there so that we don’t sneak out at night, but I feel odd about them watching over us. I’m fifteen and haven’t had a babysitter in years, trusted to get home alone and make my own meals more times than I can count.
The woman with us is Ms. Green, one of our two academic counselors. We all change into our sweatpants and gather in a clump on the floor. She seems like she’s preparing for a conversation. I glance over at Amber who looks like she’s bracing herself for something. I take it this is the part where we learn about each other.
First, Ms. Green asks us to talk about our relationship to God. People go on to list various praises. They talk about going to church with their families or how He helped them when a loved one passed away. I’m silent, fidgeting with the straps of my boot that seem to offset every environment I’m in. People talk about the ways God has woven Himself into their lives. How He reminded them to love their little brothers and to have faith in their elders.
One girl says she’s agnostic, so I go with that and say I am too. It seems a little less offensive than entirely nonreligious, and I don’t feel like I’m lying quite as much as I would be if I told the truth.
The truth is a bit of a mess. I’m at this school because freshman year I was bullied and developed an eating disorder, depression, and anxiety far too quickly for anyone to think I was healthy. While these traits don’t typically make for a believer, that didn’t stop my father from recommending a local Christian school he heard about from his therapist. I didn’t plan on going, but the same day I was accepted into the school someone started harassing me online, and I decided that was the closest I would ever come to a sign. So I left.
People are talking about times in their lives when they questioned God or His purpose for them. It’s dark and hard to see in the room. They’ve turned off all the lights to try and make us a bit more comfortable around each other. I sigh a little breath of relief that people can’t glance at my foot anymore.
“In middle school I didn’t have any friends. So I’d sit alone in the hallway every day and eat my lunch by myself. I got really good at being alone,” Amber says.
A girl named Eve, whose name alone explains her ties to religion, chimes in. “But you weren’t ever alone. He was always there with you,” she says, shifting her weight from side to side. I can see her eyes in the darkness, they’re so big and blue they stand out in the darkest of rooms. Amber shakes her head and wipes a tissue across her face.
I don’t talk during this. I don’t want to lie to these people, but I can’t tell them the truth. Because if I’m being honest, this is pissing me off. Amber had a terrible year and this is something I think should be acknowledged, not minimized with religious jargon. I’ve always had a hard time with religion because I think if there really was a God, then people wouldn’t be bullied into suicide or scared into an eating disorder. This is a belief that I’ve only solidified in the past year and while I’ve yet to figure out just how strongly I feel about it, I know it’s preventing me from ever believing in a higher power. And though I continue to think about this, I keep my mouth shut because speaking up feels like a risk and I don’t want to run the risk of having another bad year.
A few more people talk, swapping stories of childhood pain and frustrations. “Alright, thank you so much for sharing, ladies,” Ms. Green says. “We’re going to separate a bit now so we can have a bit of time with Him by ourselves. Feel free to go outside, but be back here by 10:30. Don’t go too far off.” Girls start to stand up and wander towards the door. “Try to keep this time for yourself, so you can feel as close to Him as possible.”
I stand up slowly and make my way outside. I choose a stairway nearby that leads up to a different row of cabins. It’s still pretty warm out, and I realize I don’t even need the sweatshirt I grabbed on my way out. I look up towards the sky. Coming from Los Angeles, I’m used to there being only one or two stars in the sky, sprinkled in with a few airplanes. So I’m surprised when I look up and see hundreds of different little sparkles. They’re like glitter or sea salt, and I’m so distracted by them that for the first few minutes I forget why I’m even outside. But I notice other kids on similar stoops and remember what I’m supposed to be doing.
I’ve always been someone who needed proof. If I can’t see what’s going on I’m never sure if it’s really happening. I check the last pages of books before even starting them because I need to know how they end before I get too attached to the characters. I don’t believe people like me unless they’ve made it undeniably clear. I’ve always had a hard time with science because so much of what they’re teaching me can only be proven in advanced experiments that I don’t have the knowledge to understand.
I’m not the ideal candidate for religion by any stretch of the imagination. I used to like the idea of reincarnation. My mom always thought I was her old dog and for a while I went with it. I liked the idea of being able to come back as different versions of the same soul. I liked Buddhism for a while because it’s peace and Nirvana always appealed to me. But as far as Christianity goes, I’ve never gotten close. I can’t believe in something I can’t see.
While I’m running all this through my head I tilt my gaze back up towards the sky. And then I pray for the first time in my life. I’m not sure I’m praying right, or even praying at all. I’m really just following the same train of thought as before, but this time it was prefaced with a Hey God. This probably isn’t prayer, or at least any sort of beneficial prayer.
Instead of asking for strength or answers, I’m trying to figure out what will happen after they call us back inside. I’m wondering how early I’ll have to wake up to claim one of the shared shower stalls. I’m hoping my foot will hurt less in the morning and trying to figure out if any of these people actually like me. Trying to figure out if they would like me if they actually knew who I was.
And maybe this is the nature of starting new. Everyone feels out of place in a room full of strangers. But usually, they’re together for some shared reason. They’re all waiting for the bus or they’re all waiting for a gig to start at the guitar shop. In this case, I have nothing in common with my peers other than I suddenly go to the same school with them. And maybe this is the kind of new I’m needing at this point in my life. Maybe belonging is too close to believing, and I’m not ready to do either just yet.
