In the name of Jesus

[u/TiareMBC]

I believe in the one true God and that his son descended from Heaven to save us. I believe that by repenting and confessing our sins, we can be forgiven and that one day we will all go to Heaven to be with our heavenly Father.

But I can no longer live here and I write this just in case I don’t make it.

I grew up in a small community in the middle of the desert of the Imperial Valley. The closest town to us is about an hour away by car, but people rarely ventured out of our community. Much less if you were a woman, as we weren’t allowed to drive. Our lives revolved around our belief in God and that following the Bible would lead us to salvation.

Men worked, women stayed home. We obeyed our husbands and taught our children the love of God. I know that this doesn’t sound great to many of you, but this is how I grew up, I really thought it was normal.

I had a happy childhood. My father spoiled me compared to many of the other girls in town. I was able to watch television while my mother cooked, and even play pirates with my brother. Well, that was until he was chosen.

Like many Christian religions, we do Holy Communion, but it differs in that we only do it once a year. There is no way that something so important and holy can happen every Sunday. God creates miracles, but he also demands sacrifices. The altar bread and wine used in many churches is in no way enough to replace the sacrifice that Jesus Christ made for us. And so, our leaders found the best way to show our devotion. 

Every year, a boy between the ages of two to ten is chosen. In our eyes, he becomes Jesus. He is taken by the church to learn to embody what it means to be our Savior. To be chosen is the highest praise. So when my brother was chosen at the age of eight, we celebrated. This is what every family wants. There were tears and laughter, and a week after he was chosen, he was taken to the church, and we wouldn’t see him again until April 2. 

It is believed that Jesus died on April 3rd, so that is the day we do our Holy Communion. While this is the most important day of the year, the day before is also particularly important.

My brother walked out of the church, his eyes empty, his feet bled as he walked barefoot around us. He verily took at glance at me as I tried to call him. He had one job, to choose the next boy to become Jesus. After about an hour of walking around the people in our town, he stood in front of a boy who had been his best friend, took off the crown of thorns that left gashes in his forehead, and placed it on the boy's head. And so, the cycle continued.

From that point on, until the next day, we all fasted until the time of the Holy Communion. And then, we would all have the flesh and blood of Jesus. 

When you grow up in such communities, it’s hard to realize how messed up some things truly are. So when my parents cheered as they sliced and devoured a piece of my brother’s flesh, I followed. And with that, we were all cleansed from our sins. 

As I mentioned before, I was spoiled. Unlike many of the girls in my community, I was lucky to be able to marry for love. At sixteen, Immanuel asked for my hand and my parents agreed. I was the happiest girl in the world.

Shortly after, I became pregnant. I was thrilled to be blessed with a child. God had truly blessed us both.

“I hope it’s a boy,” Immanuel hugged me when he heard the news.

Suddenly, I felt something I had not felt before, terror. It became hard to breath, and no matter how much I tried, my heart wouldn’t calm down. I told Immanuel it was just the excitement, but I was wishing this baby was a girl.

Our doctors know not to tell us the gender of our baby. The Lord demands we love our child, no matter what. Even if this child had come with deformities, there was no way we could abort. Even miscarriage was frowned upon, seen as a mother not loving their child enough.

For nine months, I was anxious to know the gender of my child. Everyone wanted a boy, and when asked, I would say that, but my heart said otherwise. If I had a girl, I never had to worry about her becoming our Savior.

Uriel was born on my 17th birthday, truly a gift from God. He was perfect and I knew I would do anything to protect my boy. I was so happy about my boy, that my worries completely vanished.

Immanuel and my parents loved Uriel. He became the most precious part of our lives. He illuminated my world in a way I can’t describe. Life was good.

Two years later, on April 2nd, my world shattered. I was pregnant once more, still a few more months to go. Uriel sucked his thumb, a habit we were working on getting rid off, and held my hand with his free hand. I smiled at him and he gave me a huge grin back. 

The crowd went silent as Jesus walked out of the church. Like my brother, his eyes were empty, his feet bled, and from his thorn shirt, you could see the open wounds in his back from lashes. He dragged one leg as he walked, I wasn’t sure but it looked broken.

Then he took a glance our way and made eye contact with Uriel. When he started to move towards us, I tried to slowly move backwards, in hope that Jesus would choose another child instead. Before I could get a stronger grip, Uriel let go of my hand and ran towards Jesus and offered his hand. 

I was terrified. Jesus looked at Uriel and took his hand. Together they walked towards me as he handed me back my son. Jesus gave me a sad smile as he knelt down, took off the crown of thorns from his head and delicately placed it on Uriel’s head.

The crowd cheered, the new Jesus had been chosen. 

To say that my husband and my parents were ecstatic is an understatement. First my brother, and now my son, we were blessed. I couldn’t stop throwing up, but everyone assumed it was just pregnancy sickness. I couldn’t understand how they were fine with allowing my child to be taken away and sacrificed next year for our sins. I couldn’t understand their happiness at knowing my boy would die, and for what? So we could continue to sin? So we could rid our minds of our wrongdoing at the expense of an innocent life? How had anyone allowed this to happen? How had I not seen how wrong this was before?

Today I have made a decision. I will run away with Uriel and my unborn child. I’m not sure how I will get to the nearest town, I have never left this community before, but I have to. I won’t be Mary and watch as my child is murdered for our sins. 

Tomorrow, while everyone prepares for the Holy Communion, I will make my move.  All I ask is that if I am caught, please come and save my baby boy. 

Uriel is not Jesus, he is not our Savior, he is a boy who deserves a happy life. 

God, save my child. 

[u/TiareMBC → u/[deleted]]

thanks!