The story is that Jesus died for my
sins and that, of course, was good of Him, I
wonder if it was better for me but
then if He's the Son of God how could I
outdo Him? I won't outlive Him, either,
at least until I get to Heaven, if
I rate and since, I guess, God is older
than anything, especially people.
And even though I'll go to Heaven it's
for judgment, my soul's that is, I might not
be permitted to stay, I'm a sinner
and not just the way all folks are but I
seem to have a way to sin beyond what
Adam and Eve only handed down. In

Sunday School my teacher swears that even
though Jesus was crucified for the likes
of me that's no guarantee that I'll go
to Heaven for good--forever, that is.
But at some churches in our town I get
folks get to go no matter what they do,
the Crucifixion's the Crucifixion
even, I guess, if they're evil for good,
so to speak. So I asked Miss Hooker just
why I should bother with goodness at all
when in the end I get what's coming to
me and it's all good, and eternal. Damned

if she didn't start to cry. I don't know
how she managed to keep from falling as
she wailed and wailed, rocking back and forth but
she was sitting on a stool. I call that
a miracle, I guess a minor one,
the kind God makes in our modern world, like
after class when it thundered all the way
home and me without an umbrella or
raincoat or rubbers but the flood held off
until I went into the house and then
all Hell broke loose. There's a lesson to be
learned here--next Sunday I'll ask Miss Hooker
just what the Hell it is. This should be good.