My Real Memoir
It was the Easter season, but I wasn’t a believer. In fact, I’d been a devout atheist until the previous year when, ironically, my religion-debunking Folklore and Mythology class had prompted me to doubt my doubts (I’ve always been a contrarian). But that didn’t make me religious. I’d toyed with existentialism but, after sleeping through a production of Sartre’s No Exit, decided it was too dreary a worldview for me. Then, after seeing a far more entertaining production of Ionesco’s absurdist The Bald Soprano, I adopted “I believe life has no meaning” as my stock answer for persistent “what do you believe?”ers.
But honestly, the only things I really believed in were love and sex. I couldn’t not believe in love because I’d had a taste of it and wanted more; I wanted a bigger love, in fact, than I’d yet experienced. But I also believed (because it was convenient to) in “free love,” the hippie term for hooking up. Free love was beautiful, I regularly admonished myself. So why did I have to work so hard to suppress the sense of guilt I felt after using a girl whose face I couldn’t even remember in the same way I’d used vodka and marijuana?
Pinocchio, our touring production, had ended, I told my pen pal Judy, with a “Cold Duck and Hot Chicken” party, featuring copious amounts of the sweet sparkling wine that was in vogue then, and overflowing with bucketsful of KFC. That night, I broke up with Victoria, the pouty-lipped, generously endowed girl who’d played the Blue Fairy in our show. Why? Because, her sensuous appearance notwithstanding, she was a sweet girl-next-door type who felt more for me than I did for her. I knew this and, well, dammit, despite my enlightened views, it just felt wrong to take advantage of that knowledge.
A week or so later, Joey the drummer from my band called. The last surviving member of the Bonnie and Clyde Gang was giving a talk, he said, and his buddy Greg’s music group The Lord Led was the opening act. Greg’s group turned out to be religious (duh), and the last surviving member of the Bonnie and Clyde Gang turned out to be a zealous convert. I’d been hoodwinked by a hood. Nevertheless, I hung around to argue with him.
Afterward, Greg invited us to his house. Cool. More Cold Duck and Hot Chicken? Not exactly. When we arrived, Greg pointed to his band’s rusty peace symbols-and-crosses-splattered van, and told us about “the Miracle of the Tires.” His group, about to leave on tour, had prayed over their four bald-as-silly-putty tires, and the next morning had found four new ones stacked beside their rusty old VW bus.
But the bigger surprise was inside Greg’s candle-lit house. People were scattered throughout, mostly on the floor. Free love! I thought. Well, sort of. They were praying. Fervently, joyfully, many with tears in their eyes. Some, Greg said, had even been “slain in the Spirit,” whatever that meant. It was weird. This was my first up-close encounter with “Jesus People,” and I didn’t know what to make of it. I didn’t believe (how could I? I was a thinker, an intellectual), but something inside me…
Kind of wished I did.
My Real Memoir is a series. To read the next one, click here.
Brilliant, I am looking forward to more of this story!
Me too!
Thank you, Morag and Rhonda!
This was a wonderful time to encourage others to accept the Lord Jesus Christ into their lives. It was actually cool! Hopefully, many were sincere in their acceptance of becoming a Christian and still have that fire for the Lord-if they’re still alive! 🙂
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My wife, Momo was part of that first Jesus Revolution in the early 70s, I followed a few years later. I had the long hair, the rock band, all the curriculum that goes with it, but was never completely engulfed with the lifestyle. Always on the edges until realizing I was being sold a load of it. Moving on to now and I find it’s hard to look back at those times with any fondness, well, maybe the music I played, and surfing, but other than that, it stings. Momo and I are much happier than we were then, and even though age has captured us, we are wise and grateful. Nice read, Mitch.
Thanks, Phil.
Love your story, Mitch. God had his eyes on you and was working on your heart. An empty heart is empty, no matter what the era or the ‘fun’ trappings that went into the sensual lifestyle.
Right you are, Hazel.
👍
I remember those days…Glad He doesn’t.
Mitch,
The Lord used it all to get you bigger and better love. Peace of God,
Gary
Gary Avants Forbear Productions * *garyavants66@gmail.com garyavants66@gmail.com
In His time, yes, Gary.
Jesus hippies and some slain in the Spirit, what an encounter! I wonder what happened next…
Your narrative beautifully captures the complexity of belief, doubt, and human experience.👌🎉
Thank you, John.
Wow, what an incredible read, Mitch! That final sentence has so much impact — I got chills!
Why, thank you, Damyanti.
Interesting! I kept reading to see how the pictures fit into the story.
Really good, Mitch. Thanks for being open and honest.
My privilege, Andi.
Oh, i love this Bus ♥️
You’ve got a poetic flair with the writing! “Used a girl like you used vodka” says a lot in a very concentrated way, very well done. Also bald as silly-putty is a simile I don’t believe can ever be overused.
;>) Thanks, Jerry!
Great post!
Thank you, Mary.
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