LITMIR.BIZ

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      I watched Pastor Landris as he seemed, for one minute, almost to peer into my very soul. Then he said, “Break the stronghold of religion, legalism, and tradition. Just because you’ve always done something one way or believed in something all your life, doesn’t make you right. There’s a big difference in religious dogma and a relationship with Jesus the Christ. If religion has a stronghold on you, it’s highly likely you don’t truly know Jesus. And if you know about Jesus and don’t know Him—if you haven’t truthfully accepted Him as Lord and Savior—then you’re no better off than a sinner who has never accepted Jesus. Don’t deceive yourself. Ultimately, every knee will bow, and every tongue will confess that Jesus is Lord.” He nodded his head several times.

      “When you get to heaven, you won’t be asked: What’s your religion?” Pastor Landris continued. “Don’t be deceived. You don’t want to be standing there trying to say what you did in God’s name, and have Him tell you He never knew you merely because you failed to confess your sins, accept Jesus and all He did on the cross, and believe that God raised Him from the dead.” Pastor Landris’s voice began to wind down. He scanned the sanctuary. “Joining a ‘church’ is not equivalent to being saved. And that’s what some of you unknowingly did at the time—you joined a group, but not the body of Christ.”

      Blasphemy! That’s what I thought of Pastor Landris and his sermon. Blasphemy! Oh yes, I rebuked that. And I fully intended, after I got out of this place, to never darken this church’s doors again. But then Pastor Landris said words I’ve heard myself say to so many people over the past years of my life.

      “If you died today, do you know—with certainty—where you’ll spend eternity? Because you are going to die, if you’re not caught up during the rapture; and you will spend an eternity somewhere. If you died today, do you know—with assurance—where you’ll spend your eternity? Salvation is not based on works, lest any man or woman should boast. If you’ve been living under the strongholds of merely a religious disguise, don’t gamble with your eternal life. Come…sign up for Abundant Life Assurance and make sure you’re not just covered against fire, but that you receive all you’re entitled to: full life coverage that includes among its many benefits theft protection with complete and full restoration. People, this is too important.” He held out his arms. “Won’t you come now? If you’re not sure, you can change things today. Let’s pull down some strongholds today.”

      Before I knew anything, I found myself standing with a crowd of people who I’m sure, have boo-coo problems. I then heard a voice deep inside of me whisper, “Get the plank out of your own eye, before you worry about removing the splinter from someone else’s.”

      I can’t help but wonder: Who was that message for? God, who here do You want me to relay that message to? Who can it be? This has to be the reason I was drawn to come up here. It must be to help someone already up here.

      Has to be.

      Elaine

      I didn’t want to come to church, but the woman I’ve been staying with is something of a church fanatic. In fact, one of the reasons I chose to move in with her as opposed to getting my own place was because I believed she’d be a great cover.

      I’ve been sort of in hiding for the past four years, just laying low until people quit looking for me. The only reason I came with her today is because Arletha is upset with the church where she has been a member for about a half a century (boring!), and she didn’t want to visit this new church by herself.

      “I hear it’s rather a large church,” she said with what I’m learning to be her signature whine as she stood in my rented room in her house. “They say white people go there, so you wouldn’t feel out of place.” I didn’t bother to tell her once again that although I look white, I’m not white. “I just don’t know,” she said. “You have to be careful with some of these so-called churches.”

      If I could have put her off, I certainly wouldn’t be here. But I can’t afford to get on her wrong side and get kicked out of her home. Not yet anyway.

      Just last month, someone came knocking on the door where I was staying in St. Louis. The person who answered the door managed to turn him away, but still. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why, at seventy years old, I’m still such a high priority for anyone to want to find so badly after all these years. Every time I think they’ve left me alone, there’s another knock on the door or ringing of the telephone. “Yes, I’m looking for Memory Elaine Patterson Robertson,” they always say, before using the name I may be using in that place at the time.

      Of course, I don’t always use my real name when I move to a place. But somehow, this private detective or whatever he is, has a way of figuring out just where I am. I barely had time to get out of St. Louis a month ago. I decided to come down deeper south this go ’round. Who will think to look for me here in Alabama, especially with Ms. Super-religious Arletha Brown answering the door? For sure, if anybody’s going to get into heaven, it has to be this straight-and-narrow woman. She can be as mean and ornery as a rattlesnake, yet she forever brags about what all she’s doing for the Lord.

      I figured out early, this woman doesn’t have a clue. And quite honestly, I think she needs to buy another vowel. Her “I this…” and “I that…” has gotten on my last nerve, and I’ve only been with her for this short time. Somebody please give her a u or an o; anything else! But like I said, she is a great cover and her home is the perfect place for me to hide until I decide on my next move. Few people seem to want to be around her; that’s a plus for me. I don’t even think Jesus has come to her house in years, if he’s ever been here at all. There’s no room for Him, especially since she seems to believe she’s saving herself, all by herself, with all of her goodie-good works.

      I am getting tired of running though. This moving around…being in constant hiding in more ways than I can say, takes a toll on you. I know Lena and Theresa are still upset with me about that Alexandrite necklace. No matter what I try to tell them, they’re not going to believe me. That’s the problem when you lie and deceive people (although I wouldn’t totally say I did either): people won’t believe anything you say after that.

      To begin with, that necklace was mine. I don’t care how anybody might try to spin, dice, or explain it away. In my heart that necklace has always belonged to me. I asked Lena if she knew where the contents of that wooden box were a long time ago, and she said she didn’t, which, as it turns out, she obviously did. What else was there left for me to do other than what I was forced to?

      Clearly, I couldn’t just walk up to Theresa’s door, ring the doorbell, and say, “Hi, my name is Memory Patterson. Theresa, I’m your grandmother, and Lena is my daughter. I’m not really here trying to get to know either one of you better. In fact, I really only came to get a necklace I am convinced Lena has in her possession. If one of you could go and get it and give it back to me, you could save all of us a lot of trouble and heartache, and I can be on my merry little way and out of your hair for good.”

      Had Theresa protested, I could have told her what a horrible, self-centered person I was, and how much they all would be better off having me out of their lives sooner rather than later. Nope, that would never have worked.

      But I did make one, ultimate miscalculation. I didn’t count on them treating me like family. Nor did I know being with my own flesh and blood like that would cause me to start changing. I admit: I got a little soft.

      Whoever is looking for me, though, I hope it’s worth their while. I would have given up after all these years myself. So either Lena or Theresa called the police on me and filed a report that has caused the police to try and find me (which I seriously doubt the police would be looking this hard for somebody like me), or someone else I’ve wronged somewhere through the years has hired someone to stay hot on my trail.

      Nobody, which includes Lena and Theresa, can prove I took anything. And even if they could prove anything, they have no evidence. I figure little Miss-High-and-Mighty Theresa is the likely culprit behind this man who has been following me from town to town. She’s probably more upset about me having left her back in 2001 the way I did when she was in labor than

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