Testimonies, like shadows, go where you go. The contrast is greater in bright light, but your testimony remains, even when it’s dark. The big difference is that your testimony reminds you of where you have been. Your shadow can’t necessarily do that.
I made it back into the hotel room reeking of smoke. The scent of fear, mixed with the smells of a long bus ride could probably picked up as well. My return was just as awkward as my departure; there was no talking, only the rustle of four guys going through their bags. I felt like we all had the same thing on our minds, me. Egocentric as that may sound, the afternoon’s events were nothing close to what I would call “everyday”, and I figured they felt the same.
My next escape was to the shower, I had to get ready for the conference’s first session. I didn’t want to get out of the hot water, I felt as though it would keep me safe. They won’t come in here, I thought; not while I’m naked.
A little while later and I found myself back on the bus, with a junior high girl in front of me, and Danielle at my side. I stared out the window through drips of rain water at the green city as we drove up to the church. I didn’t know what to expect. Random people talked to me about work, school, the intern program that everyone seemed to be doing at their church, and about the last time they came to this conference. I didn’t learn much, and didn’t understand much. Some kids sang songs that I had never heard before. So this is Christian music. . .
We got in the doors, and immediately, some man with a title asked for anyone who wanted to give their life to God to come down, and they’d pray for you in some back room somewhere. I was content to sit this one out, I wasn’t about to drink the Kool Aid in some back room! Danielle had a different idea though, she told me to go, and pointed to the front of the giant room we were in. I started walking, thinking that I had already done something like this, why should I do it again when a hand slapped down on my shoulder.
I turned around with the nastiest scowl I could muster, to see a guy from the church group I was a part of. He pulled his hand back as if to say, sorry, and smiled. I guess I wouldn’t mind having someone I at least knew was from the same people group as I was, I wouldn’t have to kill him now. Together, we walked down toward the stage, and exited through a door behind a curtain on the left of the stage.
We ended up in a room that seemed to be used for storage; boxes made their way up to the ceiling in some places, and music stands littered the floor. A short, balding man led us through some “ABC” thing, then handed packets out to those who had apparently just become Christians. I opened mine to discover that the whole thing was in Spanish, and the pen didn’t work. Awesome, at least now they won’t call me.
The sermon that night was about voices, including God’s and the Devil’s. It made sense to me, but didn’t convince me. That was kind of the story the whole time I was at this conference. I slept next to a hairy man I didn’t know in a hotel bed, talked to people I didn’t know about a God whom I had never believed in before, and didn’t smoke as much as I normally would have. It was fun, but not what I had anticipated.
The conference means little to me in comparison to that first twenty minutes in the hotel room, and my arrival back at home. The bus ride back was easier than the drive to Portland, but now I had questions in stead of worries and doubts. Was I any different? What if I was “saved”? Could I be the same person, or would I become the real-life version of Ned Flanders?
At the end of our eight-hour return, I hopped in my sister’s car and began driving back to my parents’ house. Questions and answers volleyed back and forth over the car seat. She and her boyfriend kept asking about the conference, but they never asked if I was any different. I think they knew, and I wondered, but it went unsaid. Regardless, we avoided silence and talked about the city, conference and church people until we pulled up in front of my parents’ house. After she parked the car, I grabbed my bag, thanked my sister for the ride, and began the trudge up the steps, and slid in through the front door. I stepped in to see my father sitting on the couch. He looked at me as if he didn’t know me; like a strange young man had just entered his home.
I knew something had changed in me.
