I Tried To Cheat The Torments Of Hell

It was summer revival time, a time welcomed by kids and more so by grown-ups as a relief from long days in the fields.  The clean- up time needed to make the seven o’clock meeting was a respite from picking beans or suckering tobacco until darkness fell. My time with Jean and Annie, usually confined to Wednesday night prayer meeting and Sunday preaching became a nightly treat for two weeks. But the summer of my thirteenth year the fun of girl chatter became bitter. For the second night of the revival Jean and Annie decided to ‘get saved’.

Unwilling or unable to remain the ‘odd man out’ I made my way down the aisle amid the chorus of AMENS and THANK YOU JESUSES to the mourner’s bench, the mourner’s bench where I knelt night after night. No effort, no promise, no plea from me was to any avail. The Jesus who knocked at everyone’s heart, the Jesus who called all people to himself had no interest in me. He left me utterly alone, sin-stained and guilt ridden.

With one night of the revival left my desperation met its limit.      

The morning dew hung on the plants as I helped Mom pick beans. “You ain’t felt nothing?” she asked.  At a loss of what she was asking I said nothing. “On the bench, I mean.” I shook my head. Her face was so sad, her voice so quivery. “I hope you ain’t devil-tied.” Without another word she returned to her beans. My thought whirled.  I remembered how once I heard Mom and Aunt Eva talking about how sad it was that Grandpa was in hell, suffering the torments everlasting fire. Was he devil-tied? Would I go to hell if I died? Salty tears ran into the corners of my mouth.

That moment I made up my mind. I was getting saved. Whether Jesus liked it or not I was getting saved.

That night I boldly rose from the mourner’s bench and announced neighbors and kin, “I am saved.” 

I  refused to be devil-tied; I refused to be hell-bound.