to hell on a harley

it's happening again. somewhere around 3-4 a.m. i am awakened by thoughts of blogging and the unmistakable feeling of hunger pangs.  i begin silently reciting actual sentences which are surprisingly pre-edited and somewhat literate for someone who was only moments earlier passed out in a deep and drooling sleep.  but this time i don't resist. i crawl quiet as a mouse out of bed, snatch my mc laptop and find, amazingly enough, that there is one generous serving of peanut butter puffins left in the box.  call it divine intervention if you must, it is the middle of the night and i am awake and writing.  I don't fancy myself a superstitious woman per se but as i peel off layer after layer of the onion that is me, i tend to be more accepting of the obviously deep, spiritual meanings masked in rather mundane packages.  i was trying to recall the first book i ever read that could be classified as self-help, not counting the numerous christian, bible-based, fundamentalist ones i was allowed to read.  this particular thought sent me careening off the main thought highway onto a bumpy dirt side-road where i was compelled to dwell on these books for awhile. as far as i can remember they all said basically the same thing; "i was born a sinner, jesus was crucified because of me, even thought he made me and knew what  i was going to do my whole life." and if i was lucky enough to hear "the message," and drop to my knees to recite the magic prayer which  i'm a filthy sinner who needs forgiveness, please come live in my heart forever and ever, amen.  suddenly BAM! my access to heaven is granted.  i really can't recall the first time i said, "the prayer" but i can tell you that i soon thereafter hopped on the "re commitment train" by saying "the prayer" again and again for many years to come.  these re commitments usually took place in a tent or a fairground and you can be sure that the choir was always belting out the sappiest, weepiest songs, pleading for sinners to come home.  the girls in the choir were draped in chiffon dresses of various heavenly colors with names such as "pepto-bismol pink" and "lemon-meringue yellow." their hair was lacquered to the point of fossilization in angelic waves and often times there were actual tears slipping down their cherubic faces, creating small, thin troughs which parted the thick beige foundation, much like the way moses parted the red sea. there was no doubt that i was saved. i was saved, re-saved and forgiven for all my sins. i believed, oh lord did i believe.  the problem was that i was was shy and shyness didn't help me accomplish the mandatory task of spreading the message of the gospel to as many sinners as i could in a holy effort to save them from a quick trip to hell.  hell, as i interpreted it, was a place where you answered to the king of darkness and his peons, separated for all of eternity from those who managed to say "the prayer."  but i must reiterate and say that i was truly a shy child who would rather slice my own eyeballs into thin julienne slices than to have to "share the message."  which made me just one teensy-tincey bit above those darned sinners who failed to say "the prayer".  the guilt and shame i felt from my inability to do my job as a disciple of Him made me feel as if i were. personally driving them all straight to hell on my shiny red harley.