Categories > Original > Drama > My Pain
“Wouldn’t your girlfriend have a problem with this?” I ask, constantly fidgeting with the dress he’d given me, claiming it belonged to his mother and that I should wear it since it’s Easter Sunday.
“What girlfriend?”
“The one you were holding hands with two Fridays ago.”
He laughs, stopping in front of a red light. “She dumped me because the flowers I got her were ‘cheap and ugly,’ so I must not have really cared about her.”
I snort, making us both crack up.
He slows the car to a stop in a parking lot in front of a towering brick building. “You ready?” he asks.
I nod.
He comes around the car, opening my door for me. He has to help me out of the car. I realize I’m shaking as we walk into the front door. I don’t know why I’m so freaked out. It’s just church, after all. I guess it’s the fact that the last time I was at church, it was for a funeral of the one woman I loved more than anything else.
My hands instinctively cover my arms, which are left bare by this ridiculous dress. Ronnie notices me covering my cuts and shrugs out of his hoodie, handing it to me. “Thanks,” I murmur, sliding the soft, thick black fabric over my shoulders.
“You look beautiful,” he says, falling into step beside me. He pulls me to a stop next to him in front of a door, and we walk in together. The room beyond has a high, arched ceiling and deep blue walls. Teenagers line the walls, milling around in little groups, talking quietly amongst themselves. This must be the youth room.
“Hi Ronnie!” calls a group of giggling skinny bitches.
He smiles a gorgeous smile from under his perfect hair and waves. One of them actually swoons when he turns his back. A middle-aged, balding man comes to a stop in front of us, smiling warmly. “Hey Ronnie. Who’s your friend?”
“This is Lacey,” he says, glancing back to give me a reassuring smile and looking incredibly cute. “She’s very important to me.”
I shove my hands in the pockets of his jacket, fighting back tears.
A guy steps onto a stage at the front of the room that I didn’t notice before. “Okay guys, let’s get started!”
A few kids come to the front, climbing onto the stage and picking up instruments. Everyone else in the room files into the seats in front of said stage, Ronnie claiming a spot in the back row, pulling me down next to him.
“Please rise,” says the girl who’s at the microphone. Then the music begins and soon she’s singing, “He is jealous for me,
“Loves like a hurricane,
“I am a tree,
“Bending beneath the weight of his wind and mercy…”
I close my eyes. Ronnie reaches into the pocket of his hoodie, his soft, warm hand finding mine and pulling it out, lacing his fingers through mine. “I love this song,” he whispers.
“Oh,
“How He loves us so,
“Oh, How He loves us,
“How He loves us so…”
Tears suddenly run down my face. The girl singing can’t mean that. If “He” is God, and I think He is, there’s no way He could love me. I’m worthless and pathetic. No one loves me. Especially not God Almighty.
If Ronnie notices my crying, he doesn’t let on.
“He loves us,
“Oh how He loves us,
“Oh how He loves us,
“Oh how He loves.”
The song fades out, and Ronnie squeezes my hand as I dry my eyes. They play some other songs, but none of them stick with me like the first one. When the music dies and we sit down, I lay my head on Ronnie’s shoulder, biting my lip to keep from sobbing. The guy who asked who I was earlier takes the microphone as the musicians clear off. “Happy Easter!” he smiles.
“It’s good to see so many of you today. I’m glad you’re here.
“Now I know that most of you at least know the basics of the Easter story—am I right? Judas betrays Jesus, Jesus and His disciples sit down and eat the Last Supper, Jesus passes around bread wine, saying ‘Do this in remembrance of me,’ and the next day the Romans arrest him and soon He’s nailed to a cross. He died, and three days later He rose again, gloriously triumphant over death.
“I also understand that some of you don’t know the whole story. There are a lot of details to Christ’s death. He was passed from Pilate, to Herod, to Pilate again, and by order of the crowds they released a murderer so they could crucify an innocent man. But what usually ends up happening in traditional Easter services is that we get so wrapped up in the story that we forget the true meaning of Easter—love.” He pauses. Ronnie leans his head against mine, and I wonder if there is a better feeling in the world. I hear his breath coming in and out, a euphoria coming over me being so close to one I have come to hold so dear. I don’t feel like crying or running out anymore. I just want to stay here, next to Ronnie, and hear what this man has to say.
“Jesus was God. In the flesh. That was the meaning of Christmas—that God so loved the world He sent His only son to Earth. But the meaning of Easter explains exactly WHY Jesus came. See, from the very moment Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit, there was separation between us and God. That didn’t sit well with Him. He had to break through the veil between us and Him, because we are His beloved children.
“So in came Jesus. He was the perfect lamb. The guy walked through the very same world you and I do every day. He dealt with the same temptations as we do. He was tempted by Lucifer himself—also in the flesh. He was meant to be perfect. And He was. He. Was. GOD. That’s the importance of it. But Jesus came not only to be perfect. He also came to die.
“Jesus knew from the moment he made a comprehensible thought that He would die. Painfully. He knew throughout His life that He would die a criminal’s death—yet He would never commit a single crime. But He didn’t run away from it, like any normal person would have. Sure, He prayed once, asking God if there was any other way, but there’s one thing that makes His prayer special. At the end, He says ‘Your will be done.’ To the end, He was faithful. And He loved us. As the song at the beginning of this service states, He loved us then.
“Jesus loved us. God loved us. Enough to take on all the sin of the world—every sin ever committed and ever going to be committed. Why? Because He loves us. And there’s no other meaning for it. So what’s the real meaning behind Easter? Love.”
He says some other things about Jesus rising from the dead, but I don’t hear it. My mind is stuck trying to wrap itself around the idea that anything he’s saying is true. Why would God love me? Suddenly I can’t stand it. I feel like I’m sitting in a room where I don’t belong. Where I’m not good enough. I get up and nearly run to the back of the room, pushing open the door and finding a bathroom. I collapse in the corner, pulling my knees to my chest, shivering with quiet, tearless sobs. I wish I had a razor. I’m dying to cut.
“What girlfriend?”
“The one you were holding hands with two Fridays ago.”
He laughs, stopping in front of a red light. “She dumped me because the flowers I got her were ‘cheap and ugly,’ so I must not have really cared about her.”
I snort, making us both crack up.
He slows the car to a stop in a parking lot in front of a towering brick building. “You ready?” he asks.
I nod.
He comes around the car, opening my door for me. He has to help me out of the car. I realize I’m shaking as we walk into the front door. I don’t know why I’m so freaked out. It’s just church, after all. I guess it’s the fact that the last time I was at church, it was for a funeral of the one woman I loved more than anything else.
My hands instinctively cover my arms, which are left bare by this ridiculous dress. Ronnie notices me covering my cuts and shrugs out of his hoodie, handing it to me. “Thanks,” I murmur, sliding the soft, thick black fabric over my shoulders.
“You look beautiful,” he says, falling into step beside me. He pulls me to a stop next to him in front of a door, and we walk in together. The room beyond has a high, arched ceiling and deep blue walls. Teenagers line the walls, milling around in little groups, talking quietly amongst themselves. This must be the youth room.
“Hi Ronnie!” calls a group of giggling skinny bitches.
He smiles a gorgeous smile from under his perfect hair and waves. One of them actually swoons when he turns his back. A middle-aged, balding man comes to a stop in front of us, smiling warmly. “Hey Ronnie. Who’s your friend?”
“This is Lacey,” he says, glancing back to give me a reassuring smile and looking incredibly cute. “She’s very important to me.”
I shove my hands in the pockets of his jacket, fighting back tears.
A guy steps onto a stage at the front of the room that I didn’t notice before. “Okay guys, let’s get started!”
A few kids come to the front, climbing onto the stage and picking up instruments. Everyone else in the room files into the seats in front of said stage, Ronnie claiming a spot in the back row, pulling me down next to him.
“Please rise,” says the girl who’s at the microphone. Then the music begins and soon she’s singing, “He is jealous for me,
“Loves like a hurricane,
“I am a tree,
“Bending beneath the weight of his wind and mercy…”
I close my eyes. Ronnie reaches into the pocket of his hoodie, his soft, warm hand finding mine and pulling it out, lacing his fingers through mine. “I love this song,” he whispers.
“Oh,
“How He loves us so,
“Oh, How He loves us,
“How He loves us so…”
Tears suddenly run down my face. The girl singing can’t mean that. If “He” is God, and I think He is, there’s no way He could love me. I’m worthless and pathetic. No one loves me. Especially not God Almighty.
If Ronnie notices my crying, he doesn’t let on.
“He loves us,
“Oh how He loves us,
“Oh how He loves us,
“Oh how He loves.”
The song fades out, and Ronnie squeezes my hand as I dry my eyes. They play some other songs, but none of them stick with me like the first one. When the music dies and we sit down, I lay my head on Ronnie’s shoulder, biting my lip to keep from sobbing. The guy who asked who I was earlier takes the microphone as the musicians clear off. “Happy Easter!” he smiles.
“It’s good to see so many of you today. I’m glad you’re here.
“Now I know that most of you at least know the basics of the Easter story—am I right? Judas betrays Jesus, Jesus and His disciples sit down and eat the Last Supper, Jesus passes around bread wine, saying ‘Do this in remembrance of me,’ and the next day the Romans arrest him and soon He’s nailed to a cross. He died, and three days later He rose again, gloriously triumphant over death.
“I also understand that some of you don’t know the whole story. There are a lot of details to Christ’s death. He was passed from Pilate, to Herod, to Pilate again, and by order of the crowds they released a murderer so they could crucify an innocent man. But what usually ends up happening in traditional Easter services is that we get so wrapped up in the story that we forget the true meaning of Easter—love.” He pauses. Ronnie leans his head against mine, and I wonder if there is a better feeling in the world. I hear his breath coming in and out, a euphoria coming over me being so close to one I have come to hold so dear. I don’t feel like crying or running out anymore. I just want to stay here, next to Ronnie, and hear what this man has to say.
“Jesus was God. In the flesh. That was the meaning of Christmas—that God so loved the world He sent His only son to Earth. But the meaning of Easter explains exactly WHY Jesus came. See, from the very moment Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit, there was separation between us and God. That didn’t sit well with Him. He had to break through the veil between us and Him, because we are His beloved children.
“So in came Jesus. He was the perfect lamb. The guy walked through the very same world you and I do every day. He dealt with the same temptations as we do. He was tempted by Lucifer himself—also in the flesh. He was meant to be perfect. And He was. He. Was. GOD. That’s the importance of it. But Jesus came not only to be perfect. He also came to die.
“Jesus knew from the moment he made a comprehensible thought that He would die. Painfully. He knew throughout His life that He would die a criminal’s death—yet He would never commit a single crime. But He didn’t run away from it, like any normal person would have. Sure, He prayed once, asking God if there was any other way, but there’s one thing that makes His prayer special. At the end, He says ‘Your will be done.’ To the end, He was faithful. And He loved us. As the song at the beginning of this service states, He loved us then.
“Jesus loved us. God loved us. Enough to take on all the sin of the world—every sin ever committed and ever going to be committed. Why? Because He loves us. And there’s no other meaning for it. So what’s the real meaning behind Easter? Love.”
He says some other things about Jesus rising from the dead, but I don’t hear it. My mind is stuck trying to wrap itself around the idea that anything he’s saying is true. Why would God love me? Suddenly I can’t stand it. I feel like I’m sitting in a room where I don’t belong. Where I’m not good enough. I get up and nearly run to the back of the room, pushing open the door and finding a bathroom. I collapse in the corner, pulling my knees to my chest, shivering with quiet, tearless sobs. I wish I had a razor. I’m dying to cut.
Sign up to rate and review this story