And there she was. I scribbled a pornographic note on the back of a receipt. I walked over to her. She didn't look at me. Her head down. I gave her the note. Our fingers brushed. I walked away. I stared at her from the Children's section.
What it is, is this: she was not offended by me. Greater love hath no woman than this: she does not ask me to hide or apologize for myself. I can live true.
Jesus says that in Hell the condemned will weep and gnash their teeth. I suppose many assume it is physical torment which produces the weeping and gnashing. I've never doubted the reality of the Savior, nevertheless, being unfit to judge myself, I must contemplate the possibility of damnation. I would therefore project my own damned tears and teeth grinding to a bittersweet knowledge Christ's judgment is true. Eternity bitter at the endless contemplation of all those moments I deceived myself. Eternity sweet at the endless contemplation of Jesus showing the better way.
What will this moment in the library turn out to be? It will be the same as all the other moments in life. I am either saved or damned, thus all my actions are the acts of either a saved man or a damned man. I can make neither heads nor tails of my life story, because I am not the author. . .
I could be completely wrong about all of this. . .
Of one thing, as I stand gazing at the girl in the library, I am certain: I did not choose this life. . .
She is walking past me, now. I see the body in motion. My reaction is not at all unnatural, for man is part animal, part Seventh Heaven.
What will come of this?
Life lived on a Golden Avenue?
Or weeping in Endless Torment?