Lord, forgive me, for I have sinned . . .

She knelt alone in her dark bedroom, the inky blackness surrounding her like a shroud of death. The hot, steamy air from the open bedroom window stifled her almost as much as the guilty feelings that filled her soul. Her eyes were open, for what was the point of closing them when the darkness that covered her made sight a luxury? They streamed with tears that cooled her heated cheeks, making the heat that much more bearable. The small pleasure only added to her guilt.

Lord, forgive me, for I have sinned . . .

The edge of the bed was cutting into the soft flesh of her stomach, her knees burned like fire from kneeling on a hard, barely carpet floor. She did not stir. The pain was not unbearable, but the ache in her soul was. She could feel nothing except for the overwhelming feeling of guilt that would not go away, and the feeling that she had betrayed the only person who had ever truly loved her. The little discomfort she was feeling made the little restitution for the things she had done.

Lord, forgive me, for I have sinned . . .

Allowing her mind to wander, she remembered the first day that she had uttered those words. Vividly, she remembered the hot, crowded church; the impassioned plea of the sweating minister, and feet that seemed to move on their own. She remembered kneeling down on a soft, plush bench, crying tears that seemed to come from nowhere, overwhelmed by the same guilty feeling. She remembered crying out to Him, the soft cry for help becoming an anguished scream from the depths of her soul that was as uncontrollable as the tears streaming down her face. Vaguely, she remembered hearing voices reassuring her, but none of that was important. The main thing was the pain in her soul that could only be assuaged by one person, who had yet to come to her.

Lord, forgive me, for I have sinned . . .

She could still remember the way the church looked. Thick, red velvet covered the hard wooded pews, freshly polished by pious sisters devoted to such tasks. The whole sanctuary smelled of furniture polish, Lemon Fresh Pine Sol, and sweat; the latter coming from hand clapping, foot stomping saints whose exercise was one bound to cause perspiration in the middle of a Tallahassee summer. The aisles were full of repentant sinners and compassionate �prayer warriors�. The bench on which she was kneeling was worn from the knees of many sinners who had once knelt in the same position, the velvet tear stained and a little grimy from the generous covering of sweat it often received. All signs of an active church, yet she could have cared less about its track record then. Any church that could tell her how to get rid of the anguish in her heart would have been suitable.

Lord, forgive me, for I have sinned . . .

Tears ran down her cheeks like a river now. She shifted position, lying down on the dusty floor. Her knees and stomach screamed in relief. She paid them no heed. She tasted salt as her tears now mingled with her running nose and collected over her quivering lips, to fall into a puddle on the floor. Her elbows scraped roughly against the carpet as she held her head above the growing wet spot on the carpet, becoming just as wet as tears coated her arms and trickled down to the floor.

Lord, forgive me . . .

The memory of that church continued to play in her anguished mind, becoming clearer and clearer. She was there again. She could hear the screams that tore from the throats of her counterparts, the other sinners who knelt beside her. The prayer of the minister droned on in a repetitive monotone, as women in the church converged upon her with various encouragements reminiscent of a Lamaze class. Over and over, they told her to call his name. Call his name, girl. Call him until he comes. Pray until something changes in your soul.

Pray until something happens.

Lord, forgive me . . .

Hands all over her back. Loud moaning in her ears. From the back, unearthly screams, sounds of a struggle, bumps on the floor, muttered prayers, and then silence. His name. Everywhere, shouts of his name. It reverberated off the walls, flowed melodically through grinding organ music, wove through the moaning of the women and settled over her head like a dam waiting to burst. She could feel something building in the atmosphere, growing stronger, hovering over her. Thick and fiery, it waited. Her lips, heavy and cracked from constant use, stopped their constant flow.

Lord, forgive me . . .

�Do you wanna be saved, girl?�

Lord, forgive me . . .

�Do you wanna be saved?�

Lord, forgive me . . .

�DO YOU . . .�

The voice of that ancient mother combined in her soul now with His voice. Powerful, and commanding. The vision disappeared and she peered sightlessly in the darkness. And, just as she had done on that day long ago, she nodded her head.

Pray until something happens. PUSH.

Call him until he comes.

Lord . . . Jesus.

She began to call Him. And call Him. And call Him. Her words slurred together until they became unintelligible, yet she didn�t stop. Once again, she saw that church, and she and the vision became one.

Jesus . . .

It was building, and she could feel the tension in the air. The atmosphere was so thick you could slice it. Building. Growing. And she saw herself in the church surrounded by a golden glow, kneeling in repentance under a fountain of golden water inches above her head.

Jesus . . .

She felt it break, and her tenuous link with the vision was instantly destroyed. No longer a participant in a past action, but watching . . . waiting for its future counterpart . . .

She saw herself covered with fire. Liquid fire. It flowed like oil over her body. Her oil drenched clothes clung to her body. She began to shake uncontrollably as the spirit within her stood up, threw its head back, and lifted its arms to the sky in total submission. She watched herself in fascination as both she and her spirit lifted up their voices in triumph, ululating in victory.

Pray until something happens.

Jesus . . .help me.

Pray until something happens.

Jesus . . .help me.

Pray until something happens.

Jesus . . .help me.

She watched herself collapse on the bench in the crowded church, as her room was flooded with a supernatural light. Her spirit floated out of the vision and joined with her on the floor of her room, crying his name. She felt the soul leap in happiness as her tears dried on her cheeks, and her mourning turned to joy.

Her answer came with her forgiveness. She lay on the floor, exhausted, and felt strong arms enclose her. Her spirit�s glow filled the room, and she rose with the glow and danced for joy.

Pray until something happens.

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