The God Box (19 page)

ON JANUARY 2, CLASSES STARTED AGAIN. I DIDN'T WANT TO GO. I WANTED TO

BE WITH MANUEL. BUT PA TOLD ME, "YOU CAN WAIT TILL AFTER SCHOOL." I DIDN'T HAVE THE STRENGTH TO ARGUE.On campus everyone knew about Manuel.

Although the newspapers hadn't published the attackers' names, Jude and Terry hadn't returned to school and word spread that they were the ones who had been arrested. The attack seemed like the only thing people were talking about:"Did you hear about the gay guy? Supposedly brain mush now.""Can you imagine beating somebody with a tire iron? How sick is that?""Like, big surprise? Jude always gave me the creeps."On my way to lunch Elizabeth came up close to me, sporting new clothes. "Hi. I'm sorry to hear about Manuel."Her tone sounded sincere, but given her past attitude I asked, "Are you really?""Yes, really" She clenched her teeth into a frown.I felt bad for misjudging her. But then she added, "Even though he did bring it upon himself. You can't walk around boasting your sin and think nothing will happen to you. 'Pride goeth before a fall.'"200I immediately stepped back from her, seething with fury."I'll pray for you." She turned away, smiling scornfully."And I'll pray for you," I muttered. When I got to my lunch table, I slammed my tray down."What's wrong?" Angie stared at me, alarmed.Dakota's gray eyes widened. "It's not about Manuel, is it?""No, he's the same." I jabbed my fork into my turkey and told them about Elizabeth's comment."So much for Jesus softening her heart," Dakota remarked.Angie nodded. "I remember Manuel once said, 'Some people's minds will never change, no matter what.'"I tossed my fork aside, too upset to eat. "It's like everyone wants to blame Manuel for what happened.""Who else said something?" Angie asked."Eric," I replied, and immediately realized my error.Dakota gave me a confused look. "Who is Eric?""Um..." I picked up my fork again. "Just someone I know."Angie stared expectantly. "Are you going to tell us who?""Just somebody I met through church. Do either of you want my dessert?"I tried to change the subject, while at the same time I wanted to climb atop the cafeteria table and just yell the truth to everyone--get it over with. I was getting sick of hiding and covering up. Who cared what other people might think? But I stayed seated, remembering what had happened to Manuel.After school, I once again drove the seventy-nine miles to Abilene. The wind off the plains shoved my car all over the road, and waves of emotion pitched through me. I had been thinking a lot about what Abuelita had said about getting angry at God. Although I had spent years mad at myself for not being able to get rid of my secret feelings, the thought of expressing my anger201at God had never really crossed my mind. If I couldn't stop my shameful feelings, that was my fault, not God's. Who was I to challenge him?And yet hadn't I wondered how a good and loving God could allow such a cruel joke to be played on me? And now that I thought about it, hadn't almost every Bible hero, from Moses to Jonah, to Job, to St. Paul, to Jesus on the cross, questioned and challenged God? Not to compare myself to them, but hadn't I wanted to be like them when I was a boy listening to their stories in Sunday school?Besides, now that I no longer even believed for certain that God existed, and since I was probably bound for hell anyway, why not unleash my anger at him? I gripped my hands on the steering wheel, and in the solitude of my car I prayed in a way I never had before: "Jesus, I'm really angry..." I hesitated, a little nervous. "At you and at God."Unwittingly, I ducked down in my seat, glancing up at the sky and into the rearview mirror.

Even though I knew it was silly, I sort of half expected a thunderclap, a lightning bolt, or something.When nothing happened, I felt emboldened. "I'm angry," I repeated, "really, really, really mad." With each word my voice grew stronger, and I started to realize how deeply furious I was."Mad that you let all this happen to me--that you let my ma die, that you let me have these gay feelings, that you let Manuel get hurt so bad." I began shouting. "You promised that anything asked in your name would be done--and it wasn't. Why should I believe anything you say?"Every time a car passed on the road, they must have thought I was crazy, ranting like some mad man.

But I didn't care. It's a wonder I didn't run off the road; I could barely see clearly.By the time I reached the hospital, my voice was hoarse from shouting.202

I'M NOT SURE THAT MY SHOUTING ACCOMPLISHED MUCH, OTHER THAN TO HELP

ME REALIZE HOW ANGRY I'D BEEN WITH GOD FOR A VERY LONG TIME--AT LEAST

SINCE MA HAD DIED. AS A BOY I HAD FELT TOO SCARED BY HER DEATH TO RISK

BEING ANGRY. NOT ANYMORE. AND YET WHAT GOOD DID IT DO? IT WAS LIKE

OPENING UP THE PROVERBIAL WOUND.Now, as I stared through the glass of the ICU

window, Manuel's weak and broken body seemed to reflect how broken I felt inside myself.As I waited for hours, I made empty small-talk with his mom and dad, and the nurses, or on the phone with Angie, Dakota, my pa... Otherwise, I simply waited--and prayed.Please, God, I repeated over and over, if you truly exist, heal Manuel. In your name, Jesus, please heal him.I knew that praying made no sense. Why turn to a being I was furious at, especially when I no longer trusted he even existed? And yet, just as some unseen force kept drawing me to Manuel, some power continued to pull me toward God.And each night, when visiting hours ended and Manuel's condition remained the same, I drove home shouting at the Lord, louder and stronger.203At school I mostly went through the motions, barely paying attention, counting the minutes till I could drive back to Abilene. Yet once I got there, I could do little except wait.One evening, after spending hours watching Manuel and praying for him, I picked up a Bible somebody had left on the windowsill and halfheartedly flipped through it, first to the Psalms, and then to Romans--but not to the vague and confusing passage in Chapter i. Instead, I turned to one of my favorites, Romans 8:38-39, where St. Paul said:For I am sure that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.I had often read that promise when I worried why God wasn't taking away my secret feelings. Now it reminded me of what Abuelita had said about the Bible being the greatest love story ever told. Could I truly trust the Word of God that his love was so boundless and unconditional that nothing could separate me from that love? Not even doubts of his existence?

Or all my unbridled fury at him? Or my gay feelings?What if my secret feelings didn't go away and I failed to change, as I believed he wanted? Would he still love me? Could Jesus, who prayed for those who drove nails into him and forgave those who denied and forsook him, still forgive me--and save me from hell?I lay the Bible down on my lap and thought about that for a long while, gazing at Manuel and recalling the things he'd said that night in the parking lot, about love.

Was he right? Had I put myself in a box, unable to love and be loved? If St. Paul's promise was true, and God's love was so unshakeable, then wasn't I the only thing separating me from God's love--me and my own unwillingness to accept his love?204My mind struggled to absorb that.

Had I actually been resisting God's love all these years by not accepting who I was? I picked up the Bible again, leafing through it a little further, to St. Paul's second letter to the Corinthians, chapter 12:. ..to keep me from being too elated by the abundance of revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan, to harass me, to keep me from being too elated. Three times I besought the Lord about this, that it should leave me...I had read that passage a million times, asking God to remove my own thorn of unwanted feelings. But St. Paul's words had never spoken to me quite so clearly as they did now. I guess I hadn't been ready to accept the response that came next:... but [the Lord] said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."That reminded me of the Serenity Prayer, and what it said about God granting me "the serenity to accept the things I cannot change."I had tried so hard to change and be straight, certain that it was God's will for me. And yet I hadn't changed one single bit. So, was my thorn really my secret feelings? Or was it my own stubborn refusal to accept them? I returned to the epistle, trying to make sense of it all.I will all the more gladly boast of my weaknesses that the power of Christ may rest upon me.Reading that, something struck me for the first time: even though St. Paul said he'd boast of his weaknesses, he never did reveal to us what his thorn was.

What exactly was his secret thorn, so shameful that he never specified it? Could it have been any worse than mine?For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities; for when I am weak, then I am strong.205Could I also be content to accept that the Lord might not want to change me, or he would have done so by now? Could I admit that it might possibly be the Lord's will for me to love and accept myself as ... gay?Romans 8 had made it clear that nothing could stop God's love for me. But could I love and accept myself as I was, with all my confused and thorny feelings, along with all the "insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities" that it might bring? Or would I spend the rest of my life fighting who I was, feeling sorry for myself, and being angry at God about it?When I left the hospital that night, Manuel's condition continued the same, but inside me a seismic shift was occurring.206

WHEN I DROVE FROM THE HOSPITAL TOWARD HOME THAT NIGHT, I DIDN'T FEEL

LIKE SHOUTING AT GOD ANYMORE. I LOOKED ACROSS THE MOONLIT PLAINS

AND THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT ABUELITA HAD SAID ABOUT GIVING MY ANGER UP

TO THE LORD. IT ALMOST FELT AS IF HIS HAND HAD REACHED DOWN AND

LIFTED MY FURY AWAY-TAKING ALONG WITH IT MY DESPAIR AND THOUGHTS

OF SUICIDE.I also thought about things Manuel had tried to tell me about being honest and real, no matter what the cost. Was I finally ready to believe him? Could I take that risk? As the lights of my town approached, I knew what I had to do.When I reached Angie's house, the porch light was on. I shut off the engine and stared at the open arms of the St. Francis statue on the front lawn, summoning my nerve, until at last I got out.207"Come in." Angie answered the door, her face lined with worry. "How is he?" Obviously, she feared bad news about Manuel."The same," I said, stepping inside the living room."Well..." She tried to smile. "At least he's not worse. You want some hot chocolate?""No, thanks. I need to talk to you."She nodded understandingly, and led me to her room. Closing the door behind her, she sat down on the carpet and patted the spot next to her. "Come sit."I slid down, and she asked, "How are you holding up?""Um, all right..." I fidgeted with my wristband, feeling my resolve wane. "I need to tell you something.""Okay." She looped her ponytail around her fingertips, and her eyebrows arched with curiosity. "I'm listening."I sucked in a huge breath of air. "I'm really scared to tell you."She reached out for my trembling hands and whispered, "I know."At that, my heart paused. What did she mean? I glanced at her face, searching. Did she already know what I was about to say? Or was she simply reassuring me?"I don't want to hurt you," I mumbled, shifting my gaze toward the carpet.She grabbed hold of my chin, her fingers gentle and warm, and she tipped my head up to look at her again. "Paul, I know."Tears welled up in my eyes, and, unable to contain my anxiety an instant more, I whispered, "I'm gay." I felt like a criminal admitting it to Angie and yet at the same time like a prisoner released. "I'm sorry, Angie. I'm really sorry. I wanted to tell you. I truly did. I never meant to hurt you.""It's okay." Angie shook her head as a slow stream of tears began to roll down her cheeks too. "It's not your fault."208I nodded, though uncertain. Did she mean my being gay? Or my not telling her?"I just wish you'd told me sooner." She wiped her cheek and then hit my shoulder with a little punch.I kind of wished she'd hit me harder. Clearly, she was upset. "Go ahead," I told her. "I deserve it.""No, you don't." She sniffled, but then she suddenly raised her other fist, and smack! She struck my chest, hard. Maybe I shouldn't have encouraged her. I winced, and she leaned over and wrapped her arms around me. "I'm sorry.She rested her head on my shoulder, like so many times before. And I leaned back against the bed, holding onto her as if I were one of her wounded critters."So, you knew?" I asked."Not for sure." Her voice was raspy and sad. "I think I always sort of suspected. You're so different from other boys--in lots of ways.

That's part of what I love about you."I noticed she said "love" in the present tense. I let out a breath, relieved, though I still felt a little guilty for all those years I'd spent hiding from her."Maybe I should have said something to you," Angie continued. "But what could I have said?

I didn't want to hurt you, either. You've always been so hard on yourself. I prayed about it a lot.

Maybe I didn't want to know for sure--or I thought I could save you, so you wouldn't go to hell."As she spoke, I thought, How weird. It's like the two of us have been living secret lives with each other, both too scared to talk. And yet, she had saved me. I had needed her so much. How could I have made it through without her?"When Manuel came," Angie pressed on, "I started to question if being gay was really such a horrible thing."209"Then you don't think it's wrong?" I sat up a little. "You don't think I'll go to hell?""How can it be wrong to love?" She shook her head slowly. "God is love. How can you be sent to hell for loving someone?"I chewed at the corner of my mouth, thinking about that, and started to feel guilty again. "You don't feel like I wasted your time?""Don't be silly." She looked at me straight on, and I thought she might punch me again. But instead she planted a tiny kiss on my tear-wet cheek. "I cherish every moment we've spent together."I wanted to believe her, and for a long time we held each other, quiet--just being with our tears and each other.It had been so scary to tell her, "I'm gay"--like I was casting off a mask I'd worn for years and finally letting someone see the real me. And yet I felt oddly stronger now, as though I'd finally stepped into my own skin instead of wanting to crawl out of it."I want to ask you something," I said, sitting up straight and wiping my cheeks. "I'm thinking of telling Pa. You think I should?"Angie sat up beside me. "Do you want to?"I nodded, a little uncertain. "But what if he starts drinking again?""Well, that's why he goes to AA, isn't it?" She was right, of course.