twisted beautiful things

xix. river

xix. river

who am i anymore?

cause lately i dont know

all i wanted was to be something 

but right now, i dont know 

who i am anymore.

(bazzi)

amir

A week ago, the very idea of my father discovering my thoughts on his religion terrified me. The mere thought sent me spiraling into a state of dark panic, and it is made worse just thinking that denouncing that religion isn't the only secret I am hiding from him.

Now I'm standing on the edge of the river bank, shivering in a pair of basketball shorts and a white t-shirt, waiting nervously for my baptism to start.

My young adult group leader, Anthony, stands casually in the freezing cold water of the small river, reading over his lines on his phone. It spikes my already heightened anxiety, seeing him with his phone in his loose hand, the event of it slipping through his fingers into the water very possible.

The small pack of kids in our youth group linger on the muddy banks, along with my friends, who are watching in a show of support.

I'm not sure why I invited Gianna.

At this point, she's kinda just wiggled her way into certain things and I have no energy to argue with her at this point.

The pale peach sun is dipping low behind the heavy clouds, the last rays of the day shining over us.

And I feel this peace, this serenity that starts in my toes and works its way up my body until it shoots out of my fingers. It's as if nothing can touch me here; no ghosts or poison or corruption can touch me as long as I am here, surrounded by people who love and support me unconditionally.

"Amir," Anthony holds out a firm hand in invitation, beckoning me into the water. I nod and take his hand, my whole body breaking out in goosebumps when I emerge in the icy water of the river.

My clothes cling to my skin in the water and I nervously pull my shorts away, needing something to do besides stand there nervously.

I shoot my friends one last nervous glance before Anthony begins the ceremony.

It is simple and beautiful. He reads a few passages from the Bible, a comforting hand on my back as he spoke.

I hear his words, but I'm more focused on the way I feel.

It's like the breath of life has suddenly been breathed into my lungs and I can live again; suddenly the plank in my eye has disappeared and I can see clearly; the invisible sores of sin and pain that had originally littered my skin washed away in the water; the weight I used to bear against the world lifted off my shoulders.

It is bliss. It brings tears to my eyes, and I don't even bother to wipe them away.

There's a light peeking through the heavens, and it reminds me of that time, centuries ago when John the Baptist dipped Jesus below the surface of the water, and afterwards the heavens opened and a dove descended.

I'm not sure how I know, but I just know that something special is happening to me. I feel His presence, here in the water with me. And I can imagine Him, a calm, comforting presence, the supportive Father I never had.