Memories Monday -- Discussion Group on Wheels -- From Charlie's Diary

 

I have to say that some of the most interesting quality time I’ve had with the kids comes when we’re all together in the car. 

Since Christmas, the rides home from church been quieter, since no one is complaining about Episcopalian Advent.  Not that there isn’t discussion, like why is so and so such a big moron and how we shouldn’t call people morons, but isn’t so and so one anyway even if we don’t say it?

But today, Betsey was particularly quiet.  Normally, she is correcting Josh and Cilla about something.  I looked at her in the mirror, and she looked upset.  “Is something bothering you, Betsey?”

She started to cry, “I. . . I. . . don’t . . . don’t . . like . . .”

“Don’t like what?”  By now, Cilla and Josh and stopped whatever they were doing to annoy each other and were looking at Betsey.

“I . . don’t  . . . like . . Jesus anymore.” 

Then Cilla started to cry.  “Betsey’s going to go to Hell!”  She would have thrown her arms around her if Josh hadn’t been sitting between them.

“Betsey’s not going to go to Hell,” I said, trying to be the voice of reason.  “Why don’t you like Jesus?”

“Because of the pigs.”  I knew exactly what she meant.  Jesus drove demons out of a man who was possessed into a herd of pigs, who ran off a cliff into a lake and drowned.

“What pigs?”  Cilla wanted to know. 

“We’ll talk about it later,” I said.  Cilla was not ready for the story of the pigs.  I can barely handle it myself.

Betsey and Cilla were crying louder than ever.  Ed looked like he wanted to tell them to be quiet, because he was trying to drive (with expletives), but was restraining himself.

Where was Kate with her therapist talk when we needed her?

I took a deep breath.  “Betsey is not going to Hell, although it’s very nice of your to be concerned for her, Cilla.  And you, too, Josh.”  (Inside, I was praying, “Please, God, don’t let them ask how I know.”)

“When we get home, we can talk about it.  Or maybe you can talk to Grandma Kate or Father Mike.”

“I can’t tell them; they’ll hate me.”

“Nobody is going to hate you, especially not Grandma Kate or Father Mike,” I said.

“Sure,” Josh added.  “They get paid not to.”  If he’d been older I would have thought he was being snarky, but he was perfectly serious.  Ed snorted and I gave him a Look.

We finally got home.  I herded everyone into the house.  I would have given Betsey something to eat, but she ran up to her room and didn’t want anyone to come with her.

She stuck her head out the door and called down, “Don’t call Grandma Kate.  And don’t anyone tell her.  Don’t tell anybody.”

“No, way, Jose,” Josh said.  “I’m too embarrassed.” 

I briefly wondered if that was racist and what I should say about his being embarrassed by his sister’s spiritual crisis, but I didn’t know where to start.

Fortunately, I’m a Christian, and I can pray about this.  But I can hear my father saying, “If you weren’t a Christian, she never would have heard of those damn pigs.”