The Fairly Odd Mother

When I was 16, I met a girl who told me my parents were going to hell.

I was at the beach with my friend Michele, who was a year older than me and able to drive us an hour-and-a-half to the seashore.

As we sat on our blanket, listening to classic rock streaming from our boom box, a smiling blond girl approached and asked if she could talk to us.

So innocent was I, that I assumed she just wanted to meet some kids her own age. I scooted over and made room on our blanket. The three of us started to talk about our lives: where we were from, our favorite bands, our schools and friends.

And, then, abruptly, talk turned to religion. Specifically, her religion.

I got a sick feeling in my stomach as I realized that she had joined us with a mission. A mission to convert us to her religion, which happened to be a form of Christianity. Michele and I were Roman Catholics, but not particularly good ones. I mean, we were good kids, but we weren’t heavily versed in the bible and didn’t know much more than what we’d learned in CCD. And, I had not put much deep thought into religion other than to go through the motions at church and in class.

So, on that summer’s day, I got a little prickly as this smiling girl spoke about the need to accept Jesus–to be “born again”–or risk going to hell.

I asked her, flat out, about those people who live good, respectable lives but didn’t accept Jesus as savior. Like. . .her parents (she had mentioned that they did not follow her religion).

“Well, I guess my parents will go to hell”, she said casually, as if she were discussing where they might go on vacation.

“Are you kidding?” I said. “I refuse to believe that my parents, who are good, kind people, will go to hell.”

“Well, yes, they will, unless they accept Jesus into their lives”.

I wasn’t sure if my parents had “accepted Jesus into their lives”, but I was fairly certain their spotty church attendance and inability to quote scripture was not boding well for them.

Somehow we got rid of her, but this episode has never truly left me. It has probably been a big reason I no longer believe in the Christian view of Heaven and Hell.

I decided yesterday that, in addition to my other Resolutions, I wanted to make a real effort to show people more kindness and gratitude for what they do for me. I want to “see” those anonymous people that enter in and out of my life—the kid who bags my groceries, the person selling me coffee from the drive-through window, the man asking for change on the corner. I want to be better about thanking them, saying hello or lending a hand when I can, especially when I am busy, preoccupied, stressed, late.

I want to be a better person here on this earth, right now.

And, while this may not be enough to get me into a Christian heaven, I still think Jesus—man or God, whichever you believe—would approve.

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