My Grandma shoved yet another lifesaver into my hand. She always loaded me up with candy in a predictable attempt to link church and happiness together. She knew I hated going to church, and tried often enough to put more God into my life, while spending time with me at the same time. I went to a Christian school, though, bible stories were a part of my everyday life, and my teachers could say them so much better than the minister who dragged on and on about going to Hell. I always thought that pastor needed to be more optimistic, now I just think he skipped the semester on happiness and peace in favor of more earthly pursuits.
I took the candy and filed in behind her in the line. Forty or so people were going to sunrise service that day, and we all trudged into the churchyard with a definite formality. The pastor started his usual rave about this and that verse saying none of us could last a second during the tribulation, or some equally happy topic. He stood before of a statue of Jesus caring after the lambs with a kind, gentle look on his godlike face as he bent down to touch the nose of one unmoving sheep. A ray of pink morning light escaped from the fringe of woods and lit up Jesus’ hand as it stretched for the lamb.
I sucked in a breath of delight at the beautiful scene, and then gagged as the lifesaver made for my windpipe. I coughed as quietly as I could, but the lifesaver stuck and I panicked. Pulling in on myself I coughed and hacked the lifesaver up so I could breath. I must have made a bit of noise, the whole congregation was staring at me and the pastor still had his hand raised in an angry gesture.
Warmth spread across my cheeks, and I looked down in shame. The pastor attempted to restart his tirade, but could not get back on track. The service ended a half an hour early and I never had to go back to that church with my Grandma again.
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