“You’re my friend,” Daniel said, “or at least you were once. And I would never hurt you. I just want you to understand this. I can’t risk being emotionally attached to someone who’s going to hell.”


That night I spent a few hours lying in my bed watching the clouds through my window. I thought about how God made those clouds. Did God love them? Surely he did. They couldn’t really love him back, but they were his creation. Did God love Daniel? Surely he did, he was God’s creation and Daniel loved God unconditionally. Did God love me?


This question gave me pause. Daniel didn’t think a Catholic was a proper Christian. I didn’t go to church every Sunday the way Daniel did, nor did I play guitar in a worship band, or spend a half hour every night reading scripture. But I loved God anyway. I knew my parents loved God, and that was enough for me: if they loved him, surely he must be good.


Surely he must be good. Did Daniel love me? Even if Daniel thought I was going to hell, I still loved Daniel. And I knew that God loved Daniel, too. I fell asleep with the thought still fresh in my mind, and I dreamed. Surely, if nothing else, he was good.