The Five Steps To Heaven

The waiting room of a colonoscopy clinic is just about the last place I expected to be recruited for a whites-only Jesus Army, but God does move in mysterious ways.

Yesterday, I took Mom for her fun date with the colon camera. She was a little tense, so I managed to refrain from cracking bad jokes at her expense ("Hey Mom, say cheese!" et cetera). It's a lengthy process; although the procedure itself usually lasts about forty-five minutes, they keep patients in the recovery room for a couple of hours for observation and to let the sedative wear off. Meanwhile, the person who brought you gets to hang around in the waiting room. I normally go armed with a book for those sorts of things, but this day was special. It was crowded.

I squeezed onto the end of a couch next to an elderly lady, smiled at her, and prepared myself for boredom with a sigh. The lady smiled back at me and said, "Was that your mother with you? What's she in for? I'm here with my husband, he's having a biopsy done. Tomorrow is our 37th wedding anniversary."

She was obviously in the mood to talk, so I put my book down and struck up a conversation. It turned out that she lived not too far from us; after establishing that we didn't have any mutual family or friends, which is always the first thing done when meeting new people in The South, we began to chat amiably about life in our small town.

Then the talk turned to the local school system. I told her I was pleased with The Princess' education thus far. She disagreed with my assessment and informed me that she had home-schooled her four children when she discovered that they were learning sex ed. "My husband and I felt that learning was agin' our religious beliefs" she explained. I smiled and nodded, inwardly marveling that she had actually used the word 'agin' in a non-ironic fashion.

"And then my oldest told me he had to read Black Boy. That book was just downright objectionable!" she proclaimed. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, as Richard Wright has always been a favorite of mine. A little butterfly of anxiety fluttered in my stomach, warning me to stand back from the approaching train wreck. "I understand that blacks are unhappy but there's no need for us to read that sort of thing. I loved teaching history to my kids, what really happened. You know, they got sold as slaves by their own people in Africa! I don't know why they blame us." she continued.

My mental alarm bell began to ring, and in my head was swirling the thought - 'please don't say it, please don't say it, please don't say it, please don't s-' She perked up and interrupted my interior monologue with, "I mean, they lived on plantations and were treated like family. Why did they complain? It just wasn't that bad!" D'oh! She said it.

I rose to flee when she stopped me. "Let me ask you this though. Do you think you're going to heaven?". Okaaay, the afore-mentioned mental alarm bell was clanging loudly now. A racist and a evangelical... definitely time to run away!

"I sure hope so", I replied quickly and hoofed it to the bathroom. To be honest, I was hoping she would be gone when I came back out, but no such luck. I peeked around the corner and there she was, waiting for me with an expectant smile on her face. "Do you go to church?" she asked me, when I reluctantly sat back down. "Yes, and I'm very happy with it, thanks anyway" I said, hoping to stave off the inevitable pitch.

But she was not to be denied and handed me a brochure. "Well, I just wanted to give you this pamphlet before I go. This is my church and I wanted to share the good news of Jesus-Christ-Our-Lord-and-Saviour with you, so you don't have to hope to be saved, you will be".













She then recited from memory the entire Five Steps To Heaven at me, with the requisite biblical quotes, as I read along from my copy. My personal favorite was Romans 6:23, spoken with only a tiny hint of hysteria. "And the wages of sin are DEATH!". Yikes. She stood up, patted my arm and whispered, "Just think about it for the sake of your children's souls." She bestowed one last beatific gaze on me and went on her merry.

As I carefully watched her to make sure she was really leaving, I saw the other people sitting around us grinning at me with looks that positively screamed, "Ha! Better you than me sucker!" Gee, thanks waiting room people, you've been swell.

As for Mom, she has the cleanest, healthiest colon east of the Rockies and doesn't remember a thing about it. I do believe I suffered more than she did. She says it's instant karma for posting about her poo on the internets, but I know it's because Jesus loves me.