I did not want to go to
hell, and, at five, I was old enough to go there if I did not ask
Jesus into my heart.
Our
Sunday school room was in the middle of the building, cold and
windowless. We sat at a table too large for the room. A cabinet full of art supplies and
games with missing pieces and a
felt-board were crammed in the corner behind the door. There was only one Sunday school class: me and Laura,
Randy and
Eddie, Elias, and,
sometimes Christina.
Mrs. Barnes had replaced Renée, our last teacher, who was beautiful (she had
blond hair), smart (she wore
glasses), and mature (she was a teenager). Renée had been fired from the job for teaching us “
Little Bunny Foo Foo” in class. (The pastor’s wife objected to the song’s assertion that fairies were arbiters of justice.) Mrs. Barnes had a short
perm, a cat who shared a
name with her (atheist) husband, and
no children.
“
Okay, close your eyes,” Mrs. Barnes instructed. “Now, picture
your favorite things in the world. Anything in the world that you want to have.”
My own
mansion. With two stories. And a
spiral staircase. And a huge, kidney-shaped
swimming pool, like the one at
Grandma Dorothy’s apartment building, only bigger. I couldn’t really picture the inside of the mansion, but on the
outside it was
lavender with pink trim. And I was eating
ice cream, in my bathing suit, in the swimming pool. I
floated in the shallow end in an inner tube.
“That’s what
heaven is like.”
I knew
some things about heaven, so I filled in the details.
My sisters and the pastor’s grandchildren were there. My parents. Renée. The pastor and his wife. I grudgingly allowed Mrs. Barnes, as well. We stood in front of my mansion on streets made out of
gold bars.
“
If you accept Jesus into your heart, when you die, you will get to spend eternity in heaven with Him.”
I pictured Jesus walking up the street to meet us.
I would run ahead of the others to hug Him first. He was the glowing Jesus with dark eyes from
the picture on the wood-paneled wall.
I knew
some things, too, about hell. You could see it from heaven, and
when people in hell asked for some water because they were on fire, you could not give it to them, because God did not want you to.
I lay on my bed that afternoon waiting for Laura to leave the room.
I didn’t know
what to say to Jesus. I’d prayed to Him before, and it was just like the pastor said it would be. You can talk to Jesus about anything;
he is your friend. Once I had felt sad, and I had cried into my pillow, but then I asked Jesus silently, if He was real, would He show me by stopping my tears, and He had.
“
Dear Lord Jesus,” I didn’t say the words too loud, in case Laura came back, “
please come into my heart.”
I waited, my eyes still closed.
I didn’t feel different. I tried again: “Jesus, I accept you into my heart.”
I looked out into the hallway to make sure I was still
alone, then closed the door just to be safe.
I
knelt beside my bed. My knees felt bony against
the cold tiles. I thought of
how I looked to God. I closed my eyes, and
put my palms together. “Dear Lord Jesus, I accept you as my Savior.”
Nothing.
I opened my eyes and sat back on my feet. Maybe I wasn’t finished yet. Closing my eyes: “Please come into my heart and forgive my
sins.” I paused and thought of
what I’d done.
“I’m sorry for
being mad at Victoria, and I’m sorry for
saying ‘shut up’ to Christina Jones, and I’m sorry for
not telling on Luis for saying a bad word.”
I scrunched my eyes shut tighter, retracing
my guilty feelings.
“I'm sorry for
everything I ever did wrong. Please take away
my sins.”
I couldn’t feel His Spirit in my heart. I only felt tired and heavy. I breathed very slow and opened my eyes.
“
Amen.”
from The Book of Revelation
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