Surviving Michael

I've debated on whether or not to write this blog. It's heavy on me. In the end, I think, I'm doing it to process my thoughts more than just for the sheer joy of writing.
Where to begin? It's about someone I'm going to call "my friend" because that's what he is. I'm going to avoid putting his name here so it will stay tucked away from google searches.
It's a small facebook world, and that's where I first met him. The common ground of "Christian Youth" made us friends and one conversation turned into many. It was C.S. Lewis who said a friendship is born when one person says to another, "You too? I thought I was the only one!" And so it was with us. He was excited to hear about the move my husband and I made to Louisiana and our new goals in ministry. He was eager to hear all about it and ever since he's been quick to offer prayer, help with Youth Camp planning (because he's done a gazillion) and the latest cutting edge website information. My daughter fell in love with his talking dog videos she found online. Who doesn't love a guy who makes his dog talk? I thought about trying to set up my little sister with him so he could be part of our family. He's that nice. That kind. That genuine.
And so fast forward to a moment in front of my computer when I go searching for a video of a youth camp he had previously sent me. I can't find it, so I google his name hoping his YouTube channel will pop up. It doesn't. What does pop up is a slew of headlines with Michael Jackson in the title. It seems my friend is one of the accusers we heard so much about during the trial years back. I pour over them. I pace the house. I read them again. I grew up with Michael Jackson. I had him in his prime - the eighties. He's the first guy I ever danced with - albeit, in my living room in front of the TV...all alone...and badly. He was part of the fabric of my childhood and when he died I grieved his loss as my mom grieved for Elvis. It was sad. I didn't want to think about the bad or the bizarre behavior that overshadowed him in the end. But now, here it was.
"Should I tell him I know," I ask my husband.
"No, what good would come from it?" he said.
But in a moment of weakness, I can't help myself.
"I googled you." I said to him. "Have you ever googled yourself?"
He knows where it's going.
"People don't like me," he says, alluding to the legion of MJ fans who have taken to discussion boards, blogs and fan sites to dismantle and discredit his testimony.
My friend hasn't had it easy since his time on the stand. Once flourishing in the ministry, he's now taking a break from it all after a personal loss.
"Are you allowed to talk about it?" I ask.
"I can talk about it," he says.
I sense in my heart that I am treading on sacred ground. I hadn't been invited - really. I feel like a trespasser. At times he dodges the subject and deflects my concerns with humor. The mother in me (and the nurse and the Pastor's wife) rises up and goes after him.
"Are you okay? Have you forgiven him? How? When?" I ask. I feel the need to verbally coddle him although I hear the echoing words of my husband, "What good would come from it?" I begin regretting my choice one moment but in the next - he answers.
"I'm okay," he says. "I have forgiven him. When I was like, 16 or 17. After some time with a shrink. Years."
I think back about the things I had read about my friend concerning his accusations. It's one thing to read about a Michael Jackson accuser but it's much tougher when suddenly they have a face, a name, a cute dog, a personality- warm, witty and wounded. I don't know what happened at Neverland but I do know a person's perception is their reality and my friend's reality landed him in years of therapy. I retreat from my interrogation. I had more questions but my husband was right, what good?
Today I was watching TV, my laptop at my fingertips. I watch Dr. Conrad Murray walk across the TV screen. The news anchors are talking about his indictment concerning the death of Michael Jackson. Just then, a facebook chat window pops up. It's my friend.
"How's camp planning going? Have you got a theme yet, you need to pray about a theme."
"I know. We're gonna. No theme yet." I answer.
I watch the face of Conrad Murray, his eyes welling up with tears and the dichotomy of these two strikes me. Two souls in the shadow of the greatest entertainer in the world. One defined by his death and the other forever changed by his life. One descending into the pit and the other rising up from it.
"I think I want to Pastor again," says my friend.
"I think that would be wonderful. God's not finished with you." I say.
"I agree."