Sixteen
JANUARY-16 YEARS OLD
“Do you believe in God?” I ask one day while James and I are walking along the trails behind my house.
“I was raised in church,” he kicks a stick out of the way, “so yeah, but I don’t believe in religion.”
“Okaaay? I don’t understand. Doesn’t believing in God make you religious?”
He stops, turns to look at me. “Don’t let anyone make you feel bad about yourself. That’s religion. They act perfect, then they do all the same things other people do. The difference is, the other people don’t think they are perfect.”
“I don’t understand what you are saying James. I’m talking about believing in God. What does that have to do with a bunch of other people?” I ask.
“Just don’t let them hurt you,” he sounds really broken, which confuses me even more.
“You’ll be the
