Feeding The Habit

"I will go in this Way, Oh but I will find my own way out." -Dave Matthews

Monday, August 30, 2004

Maybe God has a Notebook

It was Sunday in the bathroom behind the sanctuary. The night before was spent under a lamp pouring over Pretty Pink in the back corner of Bobby’s room. There was something inviting about that dark open mouth. The images were still in my mind, fresh like a pot roast. It was time to take care of business.

A fast minute later though, I was a heap. Exhausted and spent. Vulnerable.

Something was uneasy and there were murmurs in the hall. Low voices like I had been had. I prayed with all my might.
I was in a church. It seemed like the thing to do.
There was begging to get out unfound, pleading that I never would again, swearing that my life would be his, and, I suppose, asking for forgiveness too.

Later when I told the pastor what I did, the prayer part at least, he said I had been saved and had the secretary make a little plaque that held my name and the date it all happened.
It declared, “I have been Saved.”
You need one of those to get into heaven after all. I mean, How else is God to know?

It was the Methodists that told me I was in fact not saved. And that salvation is a process. I had to keep trying and keep proving that I was worthy enough. I tried to show them my little plaque, but I forgot I had wanted to see if metal could burn when it was attached to wood. I figured, just like salvation, these things were important to know.

So I was stuck. Without my plaque I had to work for it now. I thought I could outsmart the system-
Go back over to the Baptist Church, and sure they’d make me up a new one. They told me though, if I was once saved I am always saved and if I had gotten saved but now wasn’t saved then I never was saved at all.

That was a lot for a fourteen year old boy to take in so I decided to go back over to Bobby’s and see if he had any thing new. While we thumbed the pages and greased up he asked me if I had figured whether I was saved yet or not. I looked over at him, back down at Pam, and figured I really hadn't ever felt more saved than when those eyes were looking back up into mine. “I’m still working on it,” I said. Bobby just moaned.