Just thinking

A few years ago...OK, MANY years ago...I occupied a seat in a history classroom. I hate to say I was learning. The truth of the matter is that I don't remember much of anything about what was taught there except for UK basketball. ("Who is Joe B. Hall?" I was stupid enough to ask that question at the height of his career. I'm not much more informed today.) That's all I really remember--actually, that and one more thing: Dale Dicken's visits.

I remember Mr. Dicken popping into class every whip-stitch, as we say, giving us demonstrations of philosophical thought. I was not into philosophy at that time. I had been taught not to question the obvious...not to question authority...not to question, period. (Side note: this value has really hampered my dream of writing. End side note.) His visits then meant little more to me than a way to get out of the history/basketball discussion for the day. I could pretty much nod automatically in just the right spots and be finished with class until the next go-round.

Oddly enough, though, one visit he made still sticks with me today and, even more oddly, I awoke considering this this morning. I believe the whole visit angered me...maybe "angered" is a strong word. Let's say I was "unsettled" once it was over. Today, I'm still unsettled, but for a different reason.

During that visit, Mr. Dicken said that most people didn't become Christians for any other reason than to gain Heaven or avoid Hell--and probably more the latter. If those two places didn't exist in their beliefs, they would not be Christians at all. As I've said, I had learned not to question and I knew, in particular, not to question the Church. My Protestant beliefs were strong. My church was the right one. And maybe I was thinking, "What other reason can there be to be a Christian?" I left class that day, miffed as only a 17-year-old girl can be.

So I watched folks through the years come to church, get baptized, and never show up again. "Fire insurance," Big Bob calls it today; but as I watched, I rejoiced as I was supposed to ("Now I belong to Jesus; Jesus belongs to me..." in a tempo too slow for even a funeral dirge) and I went on my way, thinking about how someone else was most likely saved from the fires of Hell.

And one day, I realized Mr. Dicken was right about one Christian, at least.

I awoke this morning, as I sometimes do, wondering if, in the end, I'd get to Heaven or go to Hell. You must forgive me. Old habits die hard. I don't want my life to be based solely on a battle between two eternal destinations any more than I want my relationship with my husband to be based solely on the physical realm; but the selfish self still reigns in my life and I want to be saved from the fires of Hell usually more than I want to stick my neck out to have a real relationship with a Man who died to save me from them.