We tell ourselves stories about the events in our lives, and we tell them with such fervor and frequency that we often forget that they are just stories. We build our little narratives like castles in the sand. We convince ourselves these places are safe for us and we take up residence. Make a home for ourselves in these fragile worlds we’ve created.

But then eventually the waves come, the waves always come. And it doesn’t take much, the small swelling and pulling of the tide and the foundation of our little castles begin to ebb and sink.

Am I okay?

Just the smallest wave lapping at my feet, just a simple sentence spoken by a man whose opinion I swore I’d never care about, and everything begins to dissolve. Just the smallest indication that my story is not the same story others are telling themselves, and I fling myself uncaringly out into traffic.

Do I truly have so little control of mind?

But my story is true right, weren’t they wrong about me?

The video cuts to a new scene and like an icon of blasphemy, she rises from a mirrored surface, and runs her hands across her gilded body.  I lean forward so that the sweat running down my now exposed back doesn’t soak the theater seat.

My breathing quickens as the video crescendos to where her silhouetted naked body, adorned with nothing but a few precious stones, is arrayed in a purple and scarlet light. I can feel everything in me tensing as I sit in stupefied adoration, fixated on her every movement I drink fully of her wine.

“Hey!” Obadiah’s shout crashes against me like a wave throwing me down and dragging me across the beach.

“Fucking, shit, fuck.” I say as I jump up and spin around to see him standing in the door frame

I remember joking at the wedding reception that there was something deeply symbolic about all the groomsmen getting flasks and all the bridesmaids getting dream journals.

"Well, see here." I said while doing my best impersonation of a pretentious academic. "I believe the subject has purchased the flask to serve as an identity token, a" I held the flask up and turned it in my hands "a phallic icon that is meant to glorify the masculine and rebuff subconscious fears of the metaphorical castration which comes with the union of marriage, a union that the subject fears will result in the loss of manhood, the loss of sexual independence, and worst of all the loss of late night beer pong with the boys."

I remember there was a long pause and empty stares at our table, until Rose raised her glass. "To marriage and metaphorical castration." She proclaimed.

"To metaphorical castration!" I echoed and took a drink.

He rests a clammy hand on my shoulder and closes his eyes. I can feel several other hands coming from all directions, some resting on my back, another on my shoulder. Conner places his hand squarely on the top of my head. Rose reaches out and places a hand on my knee. They all bow their heads as Kyle begins to pray.

“Lord God we just come before you today, on behalf of your servant Jeremiah."

While Kyle is praying I keep my eyes open and watch as the street light in front our complex flickers on as the sun is beginning to set. 

Kyle continues his prayer. "We just give thanks for the plan you have for him and for all the marvelous things you have in store for him.”

As I stare through the open screen door I begin fantasizing about running and jumping off the balcony.

“Abba father, I just ask for you to open his eyes" Kyle implores "so that he might see the path you have laid out before him.”

I start thinking about whether or not a jump from three stories up would kill me. It wouldn't right?

Kyle keeps going. "We come before you Lord as a group, as a family -- you tell us Jesus that when two are more gather in your name you are there. So we just invite you in.

Broken legs for sure, but if right when I hit the ground I did a little tuck and roll. I could survive it.

“Can you hear it Beloved? Are you listening?”

His voice hovered over the water, cutting through the open air to reach out to the many who had come to the river in search of revival.

“The Lord is here with us today. In the steady pull of the water I can feel His presence; I can hear His spirit rolling through the wind. He has come to set you free!”

As Timothy moved deeper into the inlet, never turning and keeping his eyes fixed on the multitude in-front of him, he invited those who had broken from the crowd to follow him into the river. Yet, when their feet touched the water, many hesitated. Some stopped to remove their shoes, others remained on the shore. Benjamin, however, did not hesitate. With every step back Timothy made Benjamin made a greater step forward, and with each movement Timothy’s voice grew stronger, louder, and clearer to Benjamin.