I was 14 years old and at
the mall with my dad on a Friday night. (For you
younger readers, this is the equivalent of spending Friday
night watching CSI
reruns with your parents and not getting a single text, tweet or
Facebook update.) I walked a good five to six feet behind my
dad,
pretending I didn't
know him.
As
we neared the center of the mall, I noticed a girl my age standing
alone. She smiled at me. I smiled back. Her
blonde hair was
carefully coiffed;
she wore jeans and a
pink blouse
pulled tight over a figure
that seemed far
more advanced in age than
her face.
As
I tried hard not to stare, she
suddenly
held up her hand and
stopped me.
“Hi,
I'm Sharla! Have you been saved?”
I
glanced around. “What?
You mean from my dad?” I pointed in his direction then tried to be
more suave.
“I mean, no,
that's not my dad.
He's just some guy that cut me off in my Trans Am in the parking lot.
Thought I'd
come give him a piece
of my mind.”
“No,
silly. I mean, have
you accepted Jesus?”
“Oh.
I'm Catholic.”
I
now know that usually that at this point she should have turned me
over to her recruiter, or she should have at least said,
“You're going to hell anyway.” But Sharla didn't blink.
Maybe she just
liked me?--my
14-year-old self hoped.
“That's
okay, Jesus wants to save everyone,” she said,
still smiling. “Would
you like to pray with me?”
Without
waiting for an answer she
took me by the hand and led me to a
bench. She sat and
turned sideways,
clasped
both my hands in hers,
and leaned forward.
“Close
your eyes,” she said.
I
did as instructed. Then I slowly opened one eye to see if hers were
closed. They were,
and I realized
then that I could see
right down the
pink blouse.
I opened both eyes. Wide.
“Do
you want to go to heaven?” she asked,
squeezing my hand with her eyes squeezed shut.
“I
think I
can see it from here.”
“Great!
If you accept Jesus as your personal savior
right now, your place
in heaven
is waiting for you.”
“I'm
sorry, I didn't hear that. Can you move closer?”
She
scrunched her knees next to mine and leaned
forward. At this point I lost track of everything
she said. Five minutes earlier, I was the biggest loser on earth
spending Friday night with my dad and now sweet
Sharla had my hands in
hers while
I enjoyed a heavenly view.
I looked around hoping someone from school might see me. I felt her
hands tighten around mine.
“Did
you hear me?” she said
with a frown, eyes open.
“Oh,
what? Sorry, it's loud
in here.”
She
closed her eyes and resumed
praying.
I
looked around and noticed four or five other pairs
of kids holding hands and doing prayers on surrounding benches. A
couple of middle-aged men with stylish Moe Howard haircuts walked
around keeping an eye on everyone. I couldn't decide if they were
ministers or sales managers. One of them made eye contact with me and
glowered. I immediately closed my eyes and threw my head back as if
in rapture. He
left, and I refocused my gaze.
“Repeat
after me,” Sharla said.
I
hesitated. Now she wanted me to actually
pray out loud with
her.
“Did
you hear me?” she said somewhat annoyed,
jiggling
just enough that I decided right
then and there that I
would push virgins into a volcano for her if necessary.
I
repeated
all her
prayers, and she finally asked, “Do you accept the Lord Jesus
Christ as your personal savior?”
I
sighed, knowing it was all coming to an end soon, so I
leaned in
and admired the good Lord's handiwork one last time.
“You
bet I do.”
She
jumped up and hugged me,
which answered one of my own prayers. I glanced heavenward, a chill
running up my back.
Sharla
pulled away and smiled.
“Have
a great weekend,” she said.
“Hey,
can I have your phone number?”
“What?
Oh,
no!
Gross!”
Newly
saved but
devastated,
I walked in a fog to
the record store, wondering
if I could
come back and get saved again the
next Friday. And the
one after
that. Perhaps if I got saved enough I might be less
gross to her.
I
walked back into the mall and finally caught up with my dad who asked
where I had been. I started to tell him that I met someone then
sighed and said, “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
