“Dad?” I call out with quiet apprehension, my voice soft as it floats through the darkness.
No response.
I lock the phone screen and place it flat against my chest, waiting for my pupils to dilate and listening intently for any sign from the shadows. It takes a beat for me to realize just how tightly clenched my muscles have become, and I consciously relax. I focus on my breathing, appreciating the steady in and out as my chest moves up and down against the blankets.
On one hand I begin to drum out my finger patterns, counting down in specific arrangements. I’ve done this since I was a child, sometimes when I’m bored, but mostly as a way to soothe my body in times of high tension.
Suddenly, a spasm in my throat. I cough and sputter as the steady flow of air is broken, this brief moment of chaos escalating to a final heave that ejects a tiny, fluttering insect from my mouth.
I can’t see the single fly, but I hear this creature buzzing around my room. It zooms from one corner of darkness to the next, rattling against the glass of my bedroom window before finally coming to rest.
Mayflies don’t buzz like this, I realize, unable to stop my analysis. The wings of my mystery insect are much more powerful than any mayfly, humming along with the relentless vigor of a common housefly in search of ripe decay.
Overwhelmed with disgust, I sit up and turn on my bedside lamp once again, hunting for the tiny intruder but unable to locate this now silent insect. I’m not sure if the horrible taste in my mouth is really there or just a product of my own subconscious mind after the lone straggler made their esophageal exit.
Either way, I need a glass of water.
Climbing out of bed, I search my windowsill one last time for the renegade insect. My parents hauled away the trash pretty quickly, leaving me to research from memory, and it’d be nice to procure a live sample. I consider waiting around for the fly to buzz again, but after a patient moment the atrocious tang in my throat is just too much to bear.
Quietly, I creep into the hallway and make my way downstairs, guided by nothing more than the light of the moon as it streams through nearby windows. With every step, the soft chatter of the distant living room television grows in volume, and from the house’s main foyer I can see its flickering glow dance across an opposing kitchen wall.
Shivering, I press onward, the dull chill still lingering within me.
Rounding the kitchen corner, I now have a full view of the dining room and the living room beyond. It’s here my mother sits, the back of her head silhouetted by a flashing TV screen before her. Her neck has a slight cant to it, revealing that she’s fallen asleep while watching her favorite show.
In the Darling household our television options are limited.
Temptation comes in many forms, including an overwhelming number of secular channels. They’ve been blocked with parental controls, leaving us with four appropriate networks to choose from.
By now, I know all the commercials by heart, including this local offering from my very own Kingdom of the Pine church.
The familiar advertisement flashes into view, Pastor Pete Bend strolling calmly across a field of brilliant green grass. Behind him, several rows of stark white cabins stretch along the edge of the forest, and beyond these is a metal flagpole hoisting a massive American flag.
The site is immaculate and clean, fresh paint and tightly cut lawn immediately letting the viewer know this is more than just another cozy summer camp.
A 1-800 number appears at the bottom of the screen, and it remains there for the entire duration of the commercial. It’s a bit excessive, but it’s also good marketing, and I’d be remiss to say Kingdom of the Pine doesn’t know how to market themselves.
It’s what this church was founded on.
“For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God,” Pastor Bend offers in a casual, direct-to-camera speech. “In other words, nobody’s perfect. We’ve been blessed by the Lord to walk in the sun on this beautiful day and smell the fresh Montana air, but what we do with this blessing is up to us.”
Pastor Bend skirts the line between a young man with older features and an older man who happens to be surprisingly youthful. He’s always dressed in the current trends, yet gray hair overtook his temples long ago. The man’s face always seems to fall in a natural smile, and his eyes are brilliant and excited. He’s wearing an earth-tone jacket, decidedly fashion-forward and trendy.
Around the man’s left wrist is a familiar band of red fabric, a recognition of Tobias Cobel’s sacrifice.
The pastor stops his casual stroll and his expression changes slightly, becoming more serious as the camera begins an achingly slow zoom toward his face. “Does the temptation of unnatural lust have a hold on you or someone you love? Has someone in your life found themselves in the unholy grip of same-sex attraction? Don’t be ashamed. Don’t be embarrassed. Be proactive.”
The camera cuts away from Pastor Bend to show a montage of footage from around the camp. Young people are playing baseball together, hustling around the bases and sliding into home. A group of joyful teenage girls rows a boat on the surface of a mirror-calm lake. Two young men with massive crucifixes on their T-shirts playfully razz each other over dinner at the camp dining hall. A Christian rock band plays enthusiastically on a beautiful outdoor stage, the guitarist a youthful dark-skinned guy with an arm full of religious iconography in the form of brilliant ink.
This place is cool.
“A life free from sin is possible, and it’s waiting for you at Camp Damascus,” Pete Bend continues in voiceover as the inspiring footage continues. “Kingdom of the Pine has developed a one-of-a-kind reparative therapy program for homosexual youth. We believe that a sympathetic yet firm approach is what makes Camp Damascus so special, but it’s also what makes it so effective.”
The screen jumps to a new shot of a young man with tousled blond hair. He’s sitting in one of the cabins and a wide smile is stretched across his face. Below him, a title bar appears reading JORDAN, 16, EX-GAY.
“How would I describe my time at Camp Damascus?” he replies to someone just off camera. “Life-changing. I’m so thankful for all the counselors here, and for Pastor Bend. They saved me.”
Moments later, another talking head appears, his smiling face perfectly framed as a quiet lake stretches out behind him. It’s the handsome guitarist from earlier. SAUL, 22, COUNSELOR.
Saul gazes straight down the lens, his showmanship immediately palpable. “Purpose. Community. Connection,” the man offers with stalwart confidence. “You’re gonna grow here, but you’re also gonna have a lot of fun.”
The screen cuts back to Pastor Bend, who’s standing in a modest outdoor amphitheater surrounded by lush forest. There are bleachers positioned on either side of him, and they’ve been divided down the middle with men on the left and women on the right. Pastor Bend stands tall at the center of it all, addressing the camera directly once more.
“Behind me are more than three hundred Camp Damascus graduates, but over the last thirteen years we’ve helped thousands of young people go on to lead healthy, normal, heterosexual lives in the presence of God,” he passionately explains. “The facts speak for themselves: we are the most effective ex-gay ministry on the planet, boasting a 100 percent success rate. In the long history of Camp Damascus, there has not been a single reversion to same-sex attraction.”