Oh, god, it’s the face of God

I’ve been dreading writing this one. Please try not to be too judgmental.

So in this school we didn’t have lockers, just cubby-holes hidden behind curtains in out homeroom classroom.

One night at home I was laying on my back in bed, and I saw the face of Jesus looking at me from above. I wasn’t asleep, I even tried blinking to make it go away, but it didn’t. I don’t know how long it was there for, but I did eventually fall asleep.

The next day I pulled my one friend at school behind the curtains and told her about it, but, of course, unbeknownst to me, the two mean girls I mentioned earlier had come up on the other side of the curtain and heard my story. Crap. I was filled with dread. They laughed some and made some smart-alec remarks, but that seemed to be the end of it. Wrong.

Later that day at recess, when everyone was out on the blacktop, they started telling all the kids what they had heard. It was a nightmare. The entire school came down on me, picking on me, laughing at me, some asking me questions like “What did he look like?”, and then a teacher coming to see what was going on and being dragged off the playground like a criminal surrounded by paparazzi outside a courthouse – head down, arm around me, no comment.

Then I got “Jesus appears to people who are depressed to give them hope” from the teachers, and compared with Joan of Arc hearing the angels while she was in the field when she was little and before she became a soldier. (Remember, it was a Catholic school.)

I didn’t feel like it much at the time, but yes, I am human and my life has value, but I am no one special, and I sure as hell am not a saint.

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