Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father

I wonder if walking on water would feel this wobbly. I look to Mom, who offers an encouraging nod, then to my friends, who look the spectrum from confused to supportive. Matt anchors the latter end with a sly thumbs-up seemingly intended for only my eyes.

Lifting my chin, I’m overwhelmed by the sheer number of eyes staring at me, some who have heard about me several times a year throughout most of their lives, and some who just learned of me and my existence. How Roland faces all of these people several times a week is beyond me, but I imagine when you’re not about to strip away your entire identity, the crowd can feel energizing and less like a mob.

I clear my throat and close my eyes for a moment. Opening them, I take a deep breath. “Good morning,” I say shakily in to the mic.

Clearing my throat again to still my vocal chords, I give it another try. In a split second, I see my entire life, through my few months on the Carter University campus flash before my eyes. Never in a million, billion years did I think I’d end up here. Saying this.

“Good morning. My name is Kennedy Sawyer, and I am Roland Abbot’s daughter.”

That’s it. Everything has changed.

No longer am I simply Wendy Sawyer’s daughter. No longer am I a constant reminder of the loss of one’s youth.

Mom’s eyes close and she wipes a tear away from her eye. Some members of the congregation nod slowly, but the strangest thing starts happening. Matt rises to his feet, clapping. Slowly at first, but as others stand and join him.

Eventually everyone in the congregation is clapping, but not everyone is standing. Jonah and Matt are standing, as are a few other students I recognize in the crowd—who all happen to be preachers’ kids. I can only assume, looking at the random collection of standers that they’re all PKs. And they’re giving me a standing ovation.

It turns out, God is showing me that these kids don’t need me to take a stand for them, as Matt suggested on Thursday. They’re standing up for me. For the frightening journey on which I’m about to embark. Scarier than being a liberal in King David’s court, this journey involves a whole new set of assumptions, rules, and expectations. And these new friends don’t want me to follow any of them.

Little do most of them know, I’m not going to. This is my story. And they’re going to help me write it.





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Continue reading for a preview of Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal





Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal





Chapter 1 Preview


My name is Kennedy Sawyer, and I am Roland Abbot’s daughter.

Words I never thought I’d say in front of people I’d never thought I’d speak them to. Me, a liberal Episcopalian from Connecticut acknowledging televangelist Roland Abbot as my birth father while standing in front of my classmates at the uber-Christian Carter University.

The applause from my fellow students amidst their standing ovation is deafening, drowning out everything else I thought I’d planned to say. Instead, I swallow back my tears and lean into Roland’s side as he reaches the podium and puts his arm around my shoulders. I’m too paralyzed with anxiety, fear, and relief to worry about whether or not he’s going to want to hug me or kiss the top of my head, or anything like that.

“Did you want to say anything else?” he whispers into my ear. His voice harbors an uncharacteristic tremble.

All I can do is shake my head. Shake my head and look up into his eyes. The ones that are identical to mine. They’re brimming with tears, but his smile is anything but sad. My eyes dart in an instant to where my mother is sitting, clapping politely along with the crowd, her eyes dole out tears by the second.

Is she mad at me?

Sad?

Relieved?

I didn’t run my plans by her because I knew her opinions might get in the way of my resolve. After the three days I just endured—trying to clear mine and Roland’s name from rumors of an affair, because no one knew we were related—I needed to take this stand.

Finally, my eyes make their way to Matt, and the rest of the friends I’ve managed to gain through the semester despite myself. But, mostly they stay on Matt. It was just recently that I learned he was a PK—a preacher’s kid—himself. An identity he seemed unwilling to accept . Until, that is, he admitted he knew who I was all along, and that he would help me in this crazy new life I’ve found myself. And, he asked in urgent return that I help him.