Coming Back

For Elizabeth, a morning at church was something to look forward to. Not because it was part of her family’s routine, but because it was not.

When she was told they’d be going to church and needed to look nice, she thought it was because it only happened every so often. She actually hadn’t known that other families went religiously, every week. It only started to become clear to her when they arrived and saw other people shaking hands, hugging, sharing how their week had gone. The pastor also announced weekly updates as well as a quick rehash of what happened at church seven days ago—the lesson they learned and what they’d move on to today.

That was when Elizabeth started feeling like she didn’t belong there. Her parents were unfazed by the fact that they had  missed weeks worth of lessons, but Elizabeth didn’t quite understand. Was the church like her school? In fifth grade, if she missed a single day of lessons, she would be behind. Was Sunday school different?

Her parents stayed in the pews to listen to the pastor when it was announced that children should separate and go with a woman called Rachel. Shyly, Elizabeth made her way over after her parents nudged her toward the woman encouragingly. The other children all seemed familiar and shared jokes, hardly looking at Elizabeth. She tried to act normal, but couldn’t shake the way it felt wrong for her to be among them.

They all came to a stop in a small room with a plain rug on the floor. Everyone sat down on the ground in a circle, so Elizabeth followed along, still pretending she knew what was going on.

“We have some new faces with us today,” Rachel said once everyone was settled down. At first, Elizabeth thought the attention was going to bear down on her, but everyone turned toward a younger boy. He looked like he was about seven. “Charlie, are you excited to be here?” Rachel asked him with a smile plastered on her jovial face.

He didn’t shrink back at all—the young boy perked up, devouring the center stage. “Yes! I’ve been excited all week. We’re going to come every Sunday. We used to go to church in my old town too but I like the look of this one more.”

The kids seemed excited to have him there, like somehow they were all friends already. She wondered what his secret was. And when their faces shifted to Elizabeth, a sinking feeling entered her chest.

“We also have Elizabeth here,” continued Rachel. “Your parents told me they’ve come to our church before but don’t always make it in. We hope you know that’s perfectly fine! God loves us all, even from our homes. The church is simply a place to worship him together.”

Elizabeth had no words, no response to give. She simply nodded sheepishly, hoping to go back to watching rather than participating.

When Rachel realized, she wasted no time and continued with her lesson.

“I think,” she said, “since there are new additions to our group, we should talk about what Jesus did for us the day He went to Heaven on the cross. What do you guys think?”

At her words, everyone seemed ecstatic. The kids around her teetered with excitement at the idea of hearing a story they’d already been told. Elizabeth had heard of it in some ways but mostly was unfamiliar with the details, so she felt a bit excited herself to hear it finally. Listening would be much easier for her than anything else anyway.

Rachel dove into the story like it was one of her own memories. She told all the children how Jesus had a choice and He still selflessly proceeded to die for the sins of the world around him. Elizabeth thought it was a very good story. The way Rachel spoke was transcendent and engaging. Even though the others had heard the tale before, they looked as though it was their first time, and Elizabeth slowly started to feel like maybe she could fit in with them.

But once the story was over and Rachel started a discussion, it was not long before people wanted to know what Elizabeth thought of it.

“It . . . I liked the story of Jesus. I haven’t heard it before,” was all she could think to say with the eyes piercing her in expectation of a response.

Rachel stared at her for a moment, then turned to the others. “It’s not just a story,” she said. “Jesus is real. It might seem impossible that someone could be so kind as to die for all of us, but he did. That’s why we have to ask for his forgiveness whenever we do something bad. Right?”

Immediately, everyone surrounding Elizabeth was agreeing and saying how much they loved Jesus. That was all it took for her to feel outcast yet again. There was no one else with the same thoughts as her. She always assumed that parents used the names “Jesus” and “God” to keep her on the right path and that was it. Was there actually someone watching her, expecting her to be good all the time? Wasn’t that Santa Claus, not Jesus?

Elizabeth wasn’t asked to speak anymore, but with her mind running wild, it was the longest hour she’d ever had to endure.

…

“Jesus was . . . real?” Elizabeth asked her parents that day at lunch, just after they left the church. She’d been afraid to ask in case she sounded ridiculous, but who could she go to if not her own parents?

“Of course He is,” her mother said, like any other thought was out of the question. But Elizabeth’s mother wasn’t against hearing other people’s beliefs, even if she disagreed. To her, Jesus was real. She didn’t like to think that He wasn’t. The world seemed empty to her without the idea of Him in it. She figured, for other people, they had their own type of “Jesus” and that was fine too. The only thing she could never comprehend was atheists--how could they live a life with no belief in a God?

Her father looked at her, noticing she was wearing a contemplative expression. “Why, sweetie? What’s wrong?”

“When everyone was talking about Jesus today, I thought it was just a story. I didn’t think He was real.” Her voice was small, uncertain.

“Everyone has different beliefs,” her father said. His tone was gentle. Elizabeth was his little Angel. “Some people don’t think He’s real. Some people do. Your mother and I like to think He is, because when someone dies, going to Heaven sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

Elizabeth’s mother looked slightly appalled at the direction of the conversation, but decided to keep her mouth pressed and focus on the menu.

“I don’t know,” Elizabeth said. “Dying doesn’t sound nice at all. And I don’t know if I want to be trapped in the sky forever. What if I can’t find you there?”

Her father was surprised by how much she’d thought about this. “I will always find you,” he assured her. “No matter what happens. You’re my daughter.”

A waiter came to their table, took their orders and left again. The conversation steered away from religion, but that night Elizabeth stayed awake for a while before she could fall asleep. Every time she thought about Jesus and death and Heaven, she started to have flashes of her life, playing back at her like the camcorder tape her mother used to record holidays and birthdays.

She thought of the time she learned to ride a bike and the many times she fell from the seat, scraping a knee or arm. The pain was real. And riding to the ice cream shop to order a large waffle cone and a couple lumps of mint chocolate chip. The delicious taste of it on her tongue was real. The tears she’d cried in all her life, the laughs she’d had, the people she’d met. Those things were all real to her.

Jesus didn’t make sense. God creating Him didn’t seem possible. It seemed like an idea, a story. Not reality.

But without Him, there would be no Heaven. So she didn’t know what was supposed to happen when she died. The idea of death terrified her like nothing else ever had before. She thought, up until a certain point, that everyone lived forever. She thought aging was fun and growing up was endless. With that idea being washed away, Elizabeth was already starting to mature in some ways.

She didn’t want to believe in the stories people were telling her. How was Jesus any different from her thinking she’d live forever? Wasn’t that why people wanted to go to Heaven? To meet up with everyone they lost and wait for the rest to join them. To sit around all day, every day, happy they lived a good life so they could spend the rest of eternity remembering it.

Both of them seemed like nothing more than fantasies to her now.

…

She didn’t think about these things every day. Only sometimes, when she’d get a flash of moments in her mind, reminding her one day she’d be gone from the only place she knew. Gone from her life on Earth.

When Elizabeth was older, when she became a young adult with scarcely any more church visits along the way, she decided there was something that might be comforting after she died.

Rather than living among the clouds after a life of begging for forgiveness, she thought maybe she’d just have another chance at life. Maybe when she died, she’d be born again and forget her name was Elizabeth before. Her soul would find a new home in the world, but she’d be born into it and she’d still like the same things—riding her bike, getting chocolate chip mint ice cream, reading books and talking to friends. Her soul wouldn’t change. Only her name, body, family.

That, to her, was more comforting than a true ending. Thinking one day, she’d be back again.