When I posted this short on Wednesday, I was reminded of another post that I wrote about my Bible Study girls about a year ago but, as of yet, have not used on my blog. I think it's time to come clean...
Dirty Little Secrets
At Bible Study the other night (Yes, I go to Bible Study. I’m pretty sure
that even though it won’t erase the skankiness of my past—ahem, yesterday—my
dirty whore soul can use all the help it can get), all of the ladies were
talking about being forgiven for our sins and how God doesn’t hold anything
against us if we’re truly sorry. Naturally, the heathen college years came up.
“I once cheated on a French test,” one of the ladies whispered, staring down
at her tightly-clasped hands.
“I got a B once,” another piped up, only slightly louder than the first. She
couldn’t meet our eyes; instead, she glanced shiftily from one side of the room
to the other, racked with guilt. I wanted to tell her that maybe if she’d been
smart enough to cheat like Sinner #1, she’d have gotten an A. But I held my
“I yelled at my mom on the phone once,” came from the back of the room. The
miserable offender wiped a lone tear from her cheek.
My jaw dropped farther and farther to the holy floor as I envisioned myself
burning in hell with every confession that came out of my fellow Bible
Studiers’ mouths. And then, after one of the girls shared this wretched confession--"I ate a packet of my roommate’s Ramen noodles once"--and followed it up with
huge, real sobs that rocked her whole body, I couldn’t take it any longer.
“What the hell is wrong with you people?” I gasped. “I was a humongous
skanky whore. I got drunk and had sex with a lot of people!”
I looked toward the back of the room, where the phone girl was still
furiously wiping away tears, bottom lip quivering in disgust at herself.
“You’re worried about yelling at your mom on the phone?" I said to her. "The first time my dad
called during my freshman year, I told him he was a selfish rat bastard for interrupting my hungover
slumber before noon on a Tuesday and took the opportunity to set some phone
call ground rules.” I took a breath before continuing my spontaneous
confession. “I once bought a homeless man a sandwich and a beer so he would
agree to sit on my best friend’s lap in the middle of a bar and lick her neck
up and down while I hid in the corner and watched and laughed. I’d have taped
it, too, if we’d have carried cell phones around back then.”
I paused, watching the memory play out behind my eyes. “Of course,” I felt
compelled to add, lifting my shoulders in a shrug, “I realized when I went home
with him that night that he wasn’t actually homeless. It was just a look he’d
perfected since he preferred drinking beer at the bar every night to eating and
doing his laundry…”
When I looked up again, all of them were staring at me, eyes wide, mouths
agape. They stayed like this for about one minute before simultaneously looking
down to open their Bibles and feverishly thumb through the pages to
find Scripture verses that would make me feel better.
“No,” I said. “No, really—I’m okay.” They paused from the page flipping and
looked up at me again. “I just feel like we should be given a pass for the
college years, you know?”
At this, everyone in the room laughed. Not because they thought I was
joking, but because they get me, my peeps. They just get me.
And thank God for that, or I would have been kicked out a long time ago. In
fact, I’m pretty sure they only keep me in as a sort of after-school program
type deal: If I’m there Bibling it up with them, that’s one less night I’ll be
out on the streets, skanking it up.
The hubs thanks them for their dedication. And I do, too, except for every third
Tuesday or so, when I get to missing the old skank days and I'd rather be hanging out behind the Dumpster of a trashy bar, making out with someone.
But it’s okay, because I
know I can relive those old days during confession time with my Bible Study peeps, and
that’s just as good, right?