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My Real Memoir
Dinah was stately. She would have made an excellent queen. But she was also sensuous and bohemian. And underneath that creamy skin was a woman hungry for real love, rather than a repeat of the venal versions she’d known. And so we rubbed our pain together and found warmth. Whether or not this what we hungered for, we’d take it.
We were the Neurotic Duo. One minute we were singing “Bohemian Rhapsody” between bites of impossibly sweet homegrown strawberries. The next we were feeding on each other’s depression, or arguing fervently. But even then, Dinah could turn on a dime: “You never insult me. Why? You’re the first man I’ve ever met who fights fair!” And a moment later we’d be entangled on her couch. And yet…
Despite our emotional intimacy, I hid my spiritual yearnings from Dinah. She had no interest in religion. And neither did I, really. But every time “Hotel California” blasted out of my car radio, I’d think, I too live in a place I “can never leave.” Unless… No! Religion was intellectual suicide. Only fools believed such things.
Then I recalled the movie Brother Sun, Sister Moon, an imperfect but tender biopic about St. Francis of Assisi, famously called “God’s Fool.” Ironically, Francis, a romantic materialist like me, had found true freedom in a prison cell. Could I find freedom in my own mental prison?
A few mornings later, I arose and fed a dozen impatient sparrows. Then I glanced over at the soporific little “miracle scroll” on the adjacent wall. In contrast, there were words that had awakened something truly uncharted inside me; they were the words of Jesus. In the movie Godspell. In the Index of a hotel room Bible. In a guru’s autobiography. And in a little book of Jesus’ sayings. And yet I’d never actually read his teachings in context. Why?
Impulsively, I pulled on my hoodie and sunglasses, and drove undercover to a religious bookstore. Entering sheepishly (how appropriate), I told an employee I was only interested in reading “the parts of the Bible with Jesus in them.” She smiled and steered me toward a big leatherbound King James. It read like Shakespeare (I loved Shakespeare). And even better, it had everything Jesus said in red!
I drove home, tore down the miracle scroll, and began reading The New Testament (there was also an Old one!). Riveted, I read till dinner, and again at bedtime. And then right after the sparrows were fed the next morning. Despite my original intention, I read the black letters too. There were references to people and incidents I didn’t know about. Nevertheless, a picture was beginning to take form in my mind, one that was more all-encompassing than I’d ever imagined. And it seemed to encompass me as well.
At the end of the week, I sat Dinah down. I knew that, being an atheist, she might dump me on the spot. Still, I felt I had to tell her the truth. Echoing Kafka, I said, “I’m afraid I might be turning into a Christian.”
She didn’t dump me. She was actually “kind of intrigued,” she said. Plus, she figured it would probably blow over in a month.
It didn’t.
My Real Memoir is a series. To read the next one, click here.
Mitch, this part of your life–the MOST important part–hits straight to my heart!
Thank God it didn’t blow over. God bless you!!!
Likewise, dear friend❣
❣️🙏🏻
A fairy tale continuation of your memoir would have Dinah’s intrigue eventually convert her to Christianity as well. 🙂
Impressive, you read the red AND the black words. I only ever read the red ones and the rest read too much like history. And funny, your mention of “Hotel California.” I heard it on the radio just yesterday and thought, I don’t know why, exactly, but this song has always creeped me out! I do enjoy your wry sense of humor.
Thanks, Christina.
I’m looking forward to Dinah’s reaction. Will it be curiosity or discovery?
“Could I find freedom in my own mental prison?” Wow, that’s profound. Thank you.
My privilege, Chanél.
Great story, look forward to more
Thanks, L.G.
Religion often promotes a healthy culture, largely. The birth of religion is linked with the geographies they are being praticed within.
So being religious helps you in being inclusive or you might get curious regarding your own ancestors.
Yesterday I was reading about the Christian missionary activities in British India during 18th-19th century.
They actually questioned some ill social practices. Indian social reformers also supported them.
And for society’s good some ill practices were banned legally; such as1) the Sati tradition in which a woman was asked to burn alive, willingly or unwillingly when her husband died; many young girls got marry with older man at that time, in another attempt slavery was banned.
The conversion practices among religions will always get criticised.
I am not very religious, on my level. Sometimes I realise living an atheist life is better.
Life is above the religion. There’s no doubt about this!
I wasn’t interested in religion either, Lokesh (I’m still not). I was compelled by Jesus’ teachings and character (and still am).
Loved your story can’t wait to read more.
Thanks, Diane.
Beautifully told.
Thank you, Mary.
He finds us when we’re not looking, and he speaks in ways we can understand. Only he knows what, when and where, he already knows you.
Exactly, Pete.
Thanks for this jewel from the treasury of your memoirs. God knows where we live. I will never forget the red print that “encompassed” me. In a hotel room Bible. I will never forget the living breath of it. I will never forget how my being became alive at the reading of it. His grace still amazes me. Shalom, Shalom. 🙏✝️👑🕊️
🧡 A precious memory indeed, Patricia.
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For me, the turning point in my “spiritual searching” was a pocket NIV New Testament. Someone from the Gideon’s was handing them out on the college campus. I passed the same guy about four times–even gave him a colorful
suggestion for where he could shove that “piece of ^*%”–before finally taking one and shoving it in my back pocket. Instead of throwing it out when I got back to my dorm, I got bored and started reading. I still have that pocket Bible.
Three or so months later, I prayed to receive Christ into my life.
What a wonderful–and colorful–testimony, Michael!
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