Mother and the Black Magic-Marker Man

Everyone has their own special lenses through which they see the world. When we are young, we are myopic and our world is small. We see only what our caregivers reveal to us.  Once reasoning kicks in about six or seven, we can take in the view spread out before us and make some sense of it. With the help of Hindsight, from past experiences we can begin to predict future outcomes. If I touch that hot stove, I will get burned. If I spill milk on the floor, my mother will scream. If I say a bad word, I will go to hell. 

As a small child my world was insulated inside the thick protective walls of a religion with lots of rules--rules that came from a Rulebook passed out to the members of our church.  To get your very own Rulebook, you had to become a member of our church and pay 10% of your income every paycheck. Or, you could chose to not become a member and come to church anyway, put a dollar in the collection plate every week, go back home and sin to your heart's delight. 

There was no sinning going on in our home. Nope. None. Nada. Zip.  We were all good in the eyes of God, and good was all we had to be to get into Heaven. Well, that and a few other things like accepting that God had a son and his name was Jesus, being baptized in holy water, paying your 10%, following the rules and...okay, there's more than just being good, but that's one of the biggies.

"Go forth and be good," was one of many Christian-based plaques that hung on the walls in my parents' home for fifty-two years. I always thought that was a direct quote from Jesus, but recently I Googled it to find out who really said it, and the "best answer" was, "It was my uncle Johnny's cousin." 

Mother's purpose for placing these plaques strategically around the house was simple. She wanted everyone to love Jesus as much as she did and go to Heaven along with her. While spending time inside our home, a sinning visitor who takes the time to read the walls might be converted over to the good side. Devil be gone! Jesus, Here I Come! Hallelujah! and Amen! Mother's motivation for putting so many Christian plaques all over the house was not unlike the motivation of the man who travels around the country in a Dodge Van, and while everyone is sleeping in the wee hours of the morning, he climbs up on a ladder and nails black magic-marker signs to telephone poles that say "Trust Jesus" or "Follow Jesus" or "John 3:16."  (Yes, it's a man; Yes, it's a van; And, yes, he uses a ladder; no one is that tall.)

Mother and the black magic-marker man want(ed) only one thing: Everyone needs to go to Heaven; the only way is through Jesus, and if it takes a message on a wall or post, they would be more than happy to oblige. And that's a good thing. Imagine if it were the other way around. What if the signs and plaques that my mother and the man in the van were posting were promoting bad behavior? The world is plenty bad enough without people crusading for evil. What if children were being raised in homes that worshiped the Devil? Oh, I'm scaring myself, so let's move on.

The lenses through which I viewed my narrow space as a very young child were smudged, but I could still see through them. The people with whom I shared my early childhood painted beautiful imagery on the walls that surrounded us with pictures of how they fantasized the world to be. Jesus was not physically living with us, but he was with us in spirit as was his Father, God. Their pictures were everywhere and they spoke to us daily. There were life challenges and family difficulties but through them all, we knew we were not alone. There was a plan and everything, in the end, would turn out in our favor. And in exchange for this wonderful life and piece of mind all we have to be is good...and a few other things that I mentioned above.

From my earliest memories--two or three--there was one message that looped around me constantly: All little children are cherished and loved by Jesus and his Father. Even me, the defective one. I was young, I was myopic and my world was small. I could see only what my caregivers revealed to me, and here is where the gratitude comes in.  I have my mother, her family, our church, and the entire village that helped hold up the walls and paint the pretty pictures to thank for that deep-down sense of well being that was instilled in me during my innocent, vulnerable early years, and even though I sometimes grapple with self-esteem, somewhere way down to the core of me is that long-ago Jesus who says, "I know your worth, Carol Louise. You are good and no matter what, I will always cherish you."

Yep! I'm crying. Not the ending I expected, but I'm keeping it.

Mother welcomes visiting sinners