We Were Made in His Image

“Dear God, it felt good and I don’t know what to do”.

Caleb’s brown hands were clasped together, trembling as he sat in the church bathed in fluorescent light, while the rest of the town was drenched in 7pm sunset. The first pew, topped with mulberry colored cushions, was where he always sat. It had been this way since he was a child sitting between his family, as his preacher father spoke of life everlasting and the battle against sin that would keep so many from it.

As a child, he would sit in a suit, transfixed on “the Word”, as he did now as an 18-year-old in jeans, sneakers, and the name of his soon-to-be alma mater printed on his t-shirt. No matter the attire, this was his favorite spot to worship God. Now, he was here in conversation with the Most High. Pensively, searching for a sign that his car kiss that led to quiet breathing on his bare chest and soft hands on his face was inexplicably wrong, when it felt so right.

Like all things in the summers of North Carolina, everything felt frivolous and light — a contrast to the heavy, humid air. Days were a warm blur paired with dewy skin under an unforgiving sun. Lightning bugs had disappeared, as did childish games, but Caleb still ached for that sense of backyard freedom. Long days and short nights were filled with friends in car rides to fast food restaurants, video games at each others’…