Nails

I was at youth group. People were singing. I was sitting down, as usual, thinking about how much I hate God. One of my friends stood next to me in the isle, noticing how down I was. When our youth pastor got up after the song, he nailed my feelings to the wall:

"I know the whole message today was about how God proves throughout the Bible that he is a good God, but while we were singing, I couldn't get this question out of my head: what is it that keeps me from believing that? So, I think we should take a minute or so to just... think about that...."


When the next song started playing, my friend sat down next to me. He asked if I was ok. When I didn't respond, he put his arm around me. I looked up, reached around my neck, and ripped my necklace apart. I tossed it to the side of the bench....

My friend got me up, brought me into the other room, and talked to me. He asked me questions, I told him what was wrong, and showed him my arm. Then he did something I will never ever forget. He showed me his  arm. His clean, scar-free, muscular arms. The exact opposite of my red, marked-up, beaten arms. He told me it was a miracle he didn't have scars. All over his arms. Like me. He said he had been there, and knows exactly what it feels like. The most traumatic thing that happened to him was the recent death of his grandpa. He would go into his room and just bleed, write FUCKED UP on his arm, deep cuts.

He told me he had hated God. He said he's seen people go down the tubes, throw away their lives, go to drugs, go to alcohol, run to sex. He said they were ok for a while. Yet their lives always made a turn for the worst. Looking at me, he said, "It's ok to be mad at God. Your life will be ok for a while, be fun, look good. But pretty soon," he said, pointing at both our arms, "this happens."

We went back into the main room because youth group was over. He told me he was always there for me, always able to talk to me. We now both had someone to talk to. He looked at me necklace, and asked me why I chose it. A rose. "It's the most beautiful flower, and the ugliest when it dies." I honestly chose it because a part of me hoped it would symbolize true love, hope. Yet there it was, broken. My friend lifted his necklace, a brown, beat-up cross. He told me it was his grandpa's.

He lifted it up over his head and put it around mine.....

"Whenever you look at this, remember: there's a nail here, a nail here, and a nail here. The person under those nails died for you. He loves you."

He then proceeded to tell me that he would yell at me, out of love, if he ever saw marks on me again....