I pictured that bird going through the process of flying around the whole earth to touch a mountain top, and I started taking things seriously after I could put that amount of time into perspective. I mean, one touch of a bird's wing would barely do anything to the top of a mountain. Then, he had fifty days to get back there and do it again.
Eternity was long. I didn't want to be separated from God for eternity. I had no problem believing I was imperfect. Just this morning, I had been in trouble for doing something I knew I shouldn't do. The thing I didn't realize was that you couldn't get to Heaven unless you were perfect. You either had to lead a blameless life or you had to let the blood of Jesus pay for your imperfections.
Believing seemed easy to me.
It was such a relief that all I had to do was believe that it was true, and it would lock in this happy version of eternity for me. The preacher told us that if we wanted to believe these things that we should pray a prayer along with him.
I prayed it.
I had my eyes closed, and I recited the words he said. I said I knew I was a sinner who needed forgiveness, and then I asked Jesus to come into my heart.
And
the
tears
were
like
a
hot
waterfall.
My throat closed, and my jaw ached.
My face contorted, and tears just fell from my eyes in an endless stream. It rang true to my heart that Jesus's blood could, in fact, cover my wrongs. This whole thing rang true. Relief and gratitude flooded my body, and I wept with brokenness and joy.
I felt that my eternity was locked in. I felt loved and accepted and freed by this Man I had never known. It was like Joseph who forgave his brothers—but so much more and so much better. Everything I had done and would ever do wrong was forgiven, and my only part in that was believing.
Nothing in my life had ever been so easy and beautiful. Relief and gratefulness flooded my body.
Chapter 8
Ms. Donna handed me a tissue, and then she pulled me close and held onto me while I rested my head on her shoulder and cried. They stood and sang a song at the end of the service, and I cried so much that I could hardly sing along. I just leaned into Donna's shoulder, and she sang with her arm around me. I tried to make myself stop crying, but the lyrics applied to me now, and I would feel waves of happiness and gratitude that I couldn't contain.
I didn't look at Henry or the others in the congregation, and I didn't care what they thought about me. I was at maximum happiness, and no thoughts of being judged could make that falter or change.
Church dismissed after the last song, and Donna and Hazel both hugged me and talked to me about the decision I had made. They were so happy and supportive, and it was such a life-changing moment that I cried some more while we were standing there.
I dried my eyes and got myself together as we left, and we started talking to other people. Henry told them all that I was here from out of town, and I thanked them for having me.
It was a whirlwind, and I left there feeling like I was in an altered version of reality. The sky was bluer, and the trees were more beautiful. I could appreciate my surroundings as a creation and not a coincidence. I talked to Donna and Henry as we gotinto the truck and tried to act normal. Even those basic tasks seemed different. My life was different, honestly. I actually felt like my eternal fate had changed, and it made life feel different. My perspective had shifted. I was changed.
Donna and Henry said something about me coming back to church whenever I'm in town again. Henry didn't tell her I was starring in a series or that I would be back in a few months for an extended trip. I didn't tell her either. I was thankful to be in the backseat, where no one could see me, because I was content to contemplate while I looked out at the mountains in the background. Mountains would never be the same to me again.
We pulled into Miss Donna's driveway, and Henry told her he needed to get me back to the ranch so his mom wouldn't worry about me.
I got out, and Ms. Donna handed me her Bible. It was the one that she had carried with her the whole time. It was worn out—barely fitting in a zippered pouch with pins and bookmarks sticking out. She had highlighter marks all over it. I had seen her open it during church, and it was well-used.
"You take this," she said.
"Oh, no, I couldn't. Thank you, though, Ms. Donna. This is yours. I'll buy one just like it."
"No, you take this one," she said, insisting and pushing it toward me. "I've got it all broken in for you."
