Shells

Along with the Christian stuff I could see, hear and touch came some more sinister stuff.

A kind that didn't pile up in my house, but in my head- a heavy, darkening cloud growing ever more menacing but never dumping any dang rain. I became a prisoner to it. I kept trying to break out, but couldn't. I had to behave rightly in order to earn a reduced sentence. And I just. could. not. do it. I forgot joy, grew depressed.

Oh, the stuff of Christian rules. The kind that aren't in the Bible. The kind that are weirdly magnetic to new Christians who are truly grateful to be free in Him yet don't quite understand exactly what that means. I felt this overwhelming need to express my thankfulness by doing stuff for Christ, by trying my very hardest to be like Him. As I walked along the "holy" road I saw these little, gleaming shells. They appeared to be pure and beautiful, to embody goodness and wisdom, so I picked up many. Soon I had a collection. One I admired, took great pride in and polished regularly.

Thou shalt rise and gleefully serve the Lord at 5:00am. 
Thou shalt have at least one uninterrupted, solemn hour per day of quiet time.
Thou shalt write thank you notes to everyone who so much as smiles at you.
Thou shalt never see a rated R movie.

These were some of the (stupid!) first shells I found. Of course I failed miserably to heed any of the wise little anecdotes. I guess I thought if I collected enough of them righteousness would eventually be mine. So I picked up more. And billions more still. Enough for a full suit of armor. Which is exactly how heavy they felt.