I Repent

I went home the other day.

To the town where I grew up.
To the house where my parents still live.
I drove by the high school where I graduated,
And past familiar store fronts and churches.

Back home, to the same town where I went on my first date,
Had my first kiss,
And got my first speeding ticket.

It’d been a while since my last visit, but not much has changed.
That seems to be the siren song for small towns –
Not much ever changes.

This small town happens to fall right smack dab in the middle of Kentucky.
It reads like the lyrics of a John Mellencamp song.
Everybody knows everybody else.
People work hard.
We fly the flag on the Fourth of July,
Put on our best and brightest for Easter,
And stand in the cold to watch the Christmas parade. 
But above all else, the soul of this town is its people,
Who are more than willing to lend a helping hand –
No questions asked.

My father loves telling a story about his high school days.
After walking into Sophomore English, he was greeted by an elderly instructor.
She started the class by saying,
Rather shrilly,
“Students!  You are sophomores.
Sophomoric means ‘wise-fool.’
You are wise-fools.
Don’t forget that.”
Obviously, my father never did.

I was one of those wise-fools. 
Growing up, I never realized just how good my life in small-town America really was;  
All I could focus on was how little my hometown could offer me.

On the weekends, after escaping the trappings of high school,
My friends and I spent our time at one of three places. 

We’d go to Walmart, the only store open twenty-four hours,
And spend our time rummaging through the electronics section,
Having sword fights in the toy aisle,
Or gorging ourselves on string cheese and cheap energy drinks in the parking lot. 

Plan B was the movie theater;
But with only four screens at our cinema,
There was a pretty good chance we’d have already seen the featured films.

If those plans failed, we’d retreat to our basements,
Playing video games like Goldeneye and Super Smash Brothers until the sun came up. 
We learned, early one, that if we didn’t put the video games down, we’d never get girlfriends.
It was still hard to stop.

One night, after exhausting all our options,
My friends and I jumped the fence into the graveyard.
After the adrenaline rush faded, it was pretty obvious that the graveyard was just like our town:
Pretty dead.

Of course, like most small, Southern towns,
Ours didn’t have a shortage of churches.
You could find them on nearly every street corner.

It just so happened that my father was a pastor of one.
A Southern Baptist church.
A gathering of believers with strong beliefs,
Plenty of support and love for one another,
And great potluck dinners.

Church was my second home.
My closest friends were there.   
The girls I dated were there.
My life revolved around this building.
And because my father was the pastor, I had keys.
(I’m not saying an ex-girlfriend and I snuck onto the roof once,
To watch the sunset and look at the stars –
But it would have been a good idea.)

The lessons I learned underneath that steeple were instrumental, life-changing.   
At that church, I learned of God’s plan for salvation,
The sacrifice of Jesus,
And the coming Kingdom of God.

It didn’t happen often, but every now and then, there seemed to be a disconnect. 
It was as if part of our lives were to be affected by the gospel
While others remained unchanged. 

The Messiah I knew was content to only change my life halfway;
He wanted me to stop cussing and watching R-rated movies,
But He didn’t seem to have much use for environmentalism or Democrats.

Like a good student, I did not question my teachers.
I didn’t know enough to do so.

But a day was coming when everything I learned would be undone.
I would ask questions, find answers,
And seek out a Messiah that would influence
Every part of my life.