My mother squeezed my arm excitedly as we crossed the street that separated our parking spot from the church. The rich cherry colour of her cheeks reminded me of just how much that mild Sunday meant to her. As we neared it, I studied the palatial church where I was doomed to spend the rest of my morning. It was tall and majestic, topped with a bell tower and framed with intricate windows of coloured glass. It seemed silly to have all of those windows when you couldn’t even see out of them.

“Are you nervous, Kate?” my dad asked me, an air of sarcasm in his voice.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I replied lightly. My mother pushed open the heavy wooden doors, and a surge of organ music filled my ears. Not far beyond the door stood Mrs. McFarland, handing out bulletins.

“Good morning!” she greeted us, giving my mom one of the booklets. “Katelyn, I hear that today is your conformation.”

I nodded and forced a placid smile. Meanwhile, my mother dove into a lengthy conversation with Mrs. McFarland about how great it was that I was going to become a member of the church. I slipped up the narrow stairwell behind them, and my father followed.

My dad and I sat down in a pew near the back of the room. The choir was assembling, rustling through sheet music in their silly-looking gowns. High above them on the wall hung a plain wooden cross. Its presence up there was almost as silly as the idea that God’s son died on a similar wooden tee. I stared up at the ceiling, unrealistically waiting for something interesting to happen. Shortly after, my mom sat down with us.

“That dress looks so beautiful on you!” my mother told me happily. It was a good thing, too. She’d bought it especially for the occasion. If it didn’t look good, all of the conformation pictures that my mom was going to take would be disastrous.

Almost spontaneously, the service began. My shallow vow to belong to the church wouldn’t take place until later, so I swung my feet back and forth and fiddled with my bracelet absentmindedly.

The congregation began the Call to Worship, and my eyes wandered towards my mom. She had a glimmer in her eye, one that seemed to find her whenever she was in church. Then, looked over at my dad, who had reverted his eyes from the bulletin and was glancing at his watch.

Not long after, we said the Lord’s Prayer. “Our Father who art in heaven,” it began. But my father was not in heaven. My father, the one who made me, the one who gave my bright blue eyes, was sitting beside me. My father had taught me how to ride a bike, and wiped my tears each time I fell off. My father always knew how to make me laugh, and had a knack for embarrassing me whenever my friends were around. My father was not some man who lived sky and did nothing but judge me all day. My father was real.

“Give us this day our daily bread.” Well, that wasn’t working out. Sure, I had enough to eat. But so many people in other parts of the world did not. How could God be so cruel? People every day endured illimitable pain, and God didn’t do anything.

“Forever and ever, amen.” And so ended the iconic prayer. I knew it by heart. I recited it week after week, yet no amount of praying in ancient-sounding English seemed to make a difference in anything. We still lived in the same imperfect world, all of us plagued with problems and searching for something that we couldn’t possibly find.

“I’m so happy for you,” my mother whispered to me before we began a hymn. “Today is a big day.”

I didn’t say anything back. My eyes floated to the frivolously high ceiling. And then to the extravagant hats donned by the elderly ladies in front of me. And then to the large white candle that flickered at the front of the room. It was beside that candle that I would be confirmed. It was there that I would declare my love for Jesus Christ, and swear my loyalty to my mother’s church. It was there that I would become forever bound in a lie.

“I’m going to tell you a secret,” my mother whispered. “I ordered you a new bible. It’s the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen! I really wanted to give it to you today, but it’s going to take a couple more days to get here.”

“That’s all right,” I replied. I would just have to receive my celebratory bible later. It was a fitting gift. I could tuck it in the back of my closet and try and forget about it, but it would always be there. A lie that I allowed myself to keep.

With no concern for the sermon being dictated by the balding minister, I rose to my feet. The floor made a slight creaking sound with the impact.

“What are you doing?” my mother shot at me in a whisper. But the bullet seared no wound.
“I’ll wait for you in the car,” I told her.

“Why?” my mom asked. Her face was stricken with a ghostly white.

“Because I’m not a liar,” I said. And then I left.