The Search

The Search She sneaks out of bed like a tiny thief closes the door behind her where the others sleep. She's looking for absolution. She shivers in the early morning— shivers from cold and fear. A coal burning stove dominates the room but it is cold, burned out during the night. It is early. Early morning, early winter, early days of television on River Road. Early understanding, early in her life, early belief. Quietly she turns a knob. A black and white TV comes to life like a lamp lighting the room. She turns the sound so only she can hear. It might happen this morning, she might get saved. She's a little afraid. All week long the devil has pursued her. She thinks her child heart is black with sin. She tries to be good but she feels something has to change her. "God knows everything you do," she has been told. She figures he's keeping count against her. She believes. She is a little girl. Freckles cover her face. She's chubby with straight brown hair 80 and a big gap between her front teeth. She doesn't look like a big sinner. She believes. She's just in time. The wonderful preacher is there. He says God loves her. She believes. He heals a crippled child, a sick woman, a blind man. He cries while he prays. She cries too. Now the time comes, the time to give her heart to Jesus. She repeats last week's ritual. She puts her little hand on the screen like the preacher says, right over his. "Invite Jesus into your heart. Let him wash away your sins." The cool glass turns warm. She believes but she doesn't feel "saved." It didn't happen this Sunday. She quietly creeps back into bed. Down under the covers she warms up. She feels better now but she knows her heart is already turning black again. Maybe next Sunday when she gives her heart to the Lord He will keep it. Maybe next Sunday she will be saved. She believes. —Carrie Kincaid 81 ...