OXYGEN

36 - Daughter

"Excuse me?" I asked. I heard him, but I wanted to make sure I heard correctly.

Forrest repeated his question with clarity and patience. "Do you believe in God?"

I took the word God and examined it gently. It brought me to the memory of simpler days, days where I was still familiar with . . . innocence. I used to frequently go to church when I was much younger, and I used to pray every night. I used to wear a rosary bracelet, and I used to keep a small Bible in my schoolbag. I used to believe.

But that all stopped a long time ago.

"Not really. Not anymore," I finally answered. The words made me feel hollow. "But I'm guessing you do?"

Forrest nodded slowly. "Yes, absolutely, but my family . . . we're not strictly religious or anything. Uh, we attend Santa Barbara every Sunday - have you ever been there?"

"No. I used to attend St. Luke, but I haven't been there in years."

He absorbed this information. "I hope you don't mind -" I already knew what he was going to say. "But why don't you . . . Why did you stop?"

He stepped away from the stove and faced me. The rich scent of the Alfredo sauce made its way to me, and I knew it would taste amazing once we ate. But I barely paid attention to that now. In my head, I struggled to find a response. How could I explain something I still didn't completely understand?

"Honestly, I don't know what to say. I guess . . . I guess my faith just . . . died." I unintentionally formed a fist, tension settling in the pit of my stomach. "I started to doubt everything, and there were so many days where I couldn't shake off feeling so helpless. Whenever I opened the Bible, I felt stupid. Whenever I got on my knees and prayed, I felt unheard. It was like God chose me in particular to feel pain, and I got tired of waiting for Him to prove me wrong. And wait, I know I sound selfish, and I'm sorry, but just know that I don't feel any bitterness towards Him at all. At least, not anymore. He just . . . I don't know. I guess I allowed myself to forget what I should have remembered." I furrowed my brows. "I forgot how to have patience and I just -" I forgot how to trust Him.

All of a sudden, I felt a hand envelop mine; I didn't even catch Forrest coming closer to me. I relaxed, no longer making a fist, and stayed still, feeling heavy and light at the same time. I couldn't recall the last time I thought about God so much. Green eyes - flaring with concern - stared into me; he gave my hand a little squeeze. A part of me expected him to start preaching, but instead, he said, "Why don't you come with me to church tomorrow?" I pressed my lips together, unsure. "It'll only last an hour. After that, you never have to go again if you don't want to. I just think . . . you've been missing something pretty important, and it's time to give yourself a chance to find it again."

"But . . . I don't think . . ." I had a hard time trying to convey my worries. It's been too long. Besides, how much difference could one service make? Could I really go back to believing?

As if Forrest could see why I was hesitating, he said, "It's not too late, June. Besides, that's the beauty of faith. It may weaken, but I don't think it ever dies. You can let Him in if you choose to."

In that moment, how could I look at him and decline what he was offering me?

I heaved a sigh and nodded.

***

Fifteen minutes later, it was time to eat, and I couldn't express my gratitude enough. "Forrest, you sweet person," I sighed, "I can't believe you actually did this." The plate of Alfredo pasta in front of me looked heavenly.