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Created on: July 24, 2010 Last Updated: July 25, 2010
I always thought of church and of how I have been mistreated by God, even He owed me, and probably more than anyone else. After all, He was the one who made all these promises about what He would do….excuse me I mean what He had already done. What was all those long hours, snotty nose crying, white sheet covering, handkerchief pinned on the head all about in Mrs. Betty’s basement? Ms. Betty was our next door neighbor. Once a week she would have “chuch”, that’s how she said it, in her basement. It was all set up, folding chairs and all. There was always a table in the corner with a bottle of oil, and a box of tissues. Underneath was a pile of neatly folded white sheets. I hated going down there. The smell of old wood paneling just gave me the creeps.
In my little girl opinion it was just a bunch of crazy old ladies with nothing better to do. They told me that if I wanted God to save me I needed to show it. Walking around in circles with white nursing uniforms on, handkerchiefs on the heads and yelling in some foreign language, these little old ladies had me doing whatever they asked so I could get out of there. “Show it how?” I thought. I watched for a while. “Okay, now I get it,” my mind pondered. “Cry, kick and scream and then pass out”. They would grab me by the hands and stand so close you could feel their hot breath and sputters of spit while they prayed.
I never knew what they were saying. I had my own little prayer going on. “Lord please don’t let that little white spot going from this lady’s top and bottom lip flick on me….ughhh.” Since I knew the drill I couldn’t wait to make myself cry and fall out on the floor. Someone would smack my forehead with oil and throw one of those white sheets over me like I was dead. “Hallelujah!” and down I went. I would just lie there like a performer waiting for the curtains to close. Bravo!
I was done with the act. I wanted God to do something for once for real.
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