I remember my first mass...

I was a teenage adolescent pubescent child man when "God" dimly shined through three fat faces invited into our home. They crossed the threshold, our nest, our nook of safetyness and warmth from the outside world. Oh! How cold she is! My mother battled an invasion of cancer. The evil son of a bitch took her hills and flattened one to extinction. I remember there was a real feeling of loss when the doctors took it away. There was an instinctual connection to this lump of fat. Something that made her a mother, and especially made her my mother.
I'm not sure, because I do not yet know, but there might be a correlation with facing your own mortality and the expansion of your spirituality. This was the case for my mother. God gave her this disease and perhaps, God could take it away. She cried and fell on her knees for too many prophets. Buddha, L. Ron Hubbard, Christ. She traveled with a band-wagon of evangelists. They struck hearts with fear of God instead of love. And when they met me they must've saw the devil's cold come from breath. The exorcism, although short and voluntary, was a violating and raping experience. But at least it proved to me that I had a soul. Because my soul jumped from my body and told me these were not people of God. Instead they were people of themselves. Loving all the power and overpowering all the love.
I was called to come downstairs and when I did these three kings of their faith sat around my dining room table. With each step, they examined my evilness and all my wrongness. They must've seen a boy with the light of innocence drained from his eyes. They must've seen this because this was what they came to expect. And it was their divine duty to save me, of course.
"Hello Michael," said the first. He was a middle-aged man and I hated him for it. "Your mother told us that you need some soul searching."
This was no surprise to me. I often confided in my mother. I was a trouble-maker, and to many adults, I was nothing more than a little heathen with a pile of shit for an upbringing. I was spontaneous enough to know that all of my actions were fun and wonderful, but I was good enough to know they were wrong.
"Yea." I said.
"Do you know why your mother brought us here?"
"I guess."
"We are from the Jesus of Lord." With that he introduced the other saviours. Two middle aged women. "We've come here to speak to you about the Lord."
I noticed how dim my dining room looked, and how dim it always was. Even when all the lights were on. There was something dark and basement-like about it. Then again, there was something about it that humbled me. We lived in a cozy, little, dim-lit den. It was simple and we were simple, and I was proud to be completely average.
"The Lord hasn't forgotten you, Michael. No. No. He has not let you go. Do you really think He would do that? Don't you know that he loves you? Oh! Michael! I can see it! I can see it in your face that you are severly hurting. I can see it in your face, you are pushing the Lord away and you don't even know it!"
I looked to my mother, she was barely smiling. I've never been to church and I wasn't sure who he meant by the Lord. Is He Jesus? Is He God? I didn't know I could be forgotten. I wasn't fully positive that I was being loved by anyone other than my parents. Where was my father on this night? I could have been saved from this. Tonight my father was God, according to these intruders. Tonight they were giving me another chance.
"The Lord knows you have done wrong, Michael. And you know you have done wrong. But there's good news, Michael. The Lord is ready to forgive you. Are you ready to let the Lord into your heart?"
I looked to my mother. Her eyes were swollen with tears. She carefully nodded her head, "Yes."
The man awaited my answer. I looked back at my mother. "Yes."
One of the women walked over to me and stared me in the face. I remember she looked old and worn. Maybe she had too much false color for that time of year. Her facial features were oddly shaped. Her face seemed to contort in strange ways when she spoke. "Oh yes, Michael. You are ready."
Her voice was soothing and it made me nervous.
"Now I want you to close your eyes and repeat after me...Lord, you are my saviour and I am your son."
"Lord, you are my saviour and I am your son."
"I follow your lead because I've seen what you've done."
"I follow your lead because I've seen what you've done."
"Please forgive all of my wrong."
"Please forgive all of my wrong."
"And all the evil I've done."
"And all the evil I've done."
"Because I wish to sin no more."
"Because I wish to sin no more."
"Now are you ready, Michael?"
I felt my guts drop from my stomach. I felt my heart run away with the spoon. I felt nerves singeing and dying with every word. My legs were barely working and my arms were three thousand pounds. My eyes were full of tears and my throat and mouth struggled to make words.
Her voice grew louder. "Oh Lord! Forgive this boy! Forgive him! He is beggin for you forgiveness! Look at him! He is in desperate need of your love and all he wants is your forgiveness!...Now, Michael. All you have to do is tell the Lord you are ready to let him into your heart, and you will be forgiven and loved once again. That's all you have to do."