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Authors: Jake Hinkson
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to do.”
He sighed and said, “Daniel...You’ve got nothing to prove. You’re going to leave your job over a bumper sticker ?”
“No,” I said. “I’m going to leave over a principle.”
“Look,” he said, standing up and coming around his desk. “Maybe it’s not for me to say, but you have a sick wife at home. I know this adjunct position doesn’t pay much, but don’t you have your insurance to think about?”
“These last few years I’ve learned to trust the Lord’s grace, Henry.”
“Yes. Well, in my experience the lord’s grace is less dependable than our HMO. And that’s not saying much.”
He smiled, but I extended my hand. “I have to go,” I said.
He sighed and shook with me. “Fine, you dumb bastard, quit. But remember I told you that you’re making a terrible mistake.”
*
Walking out to my car, I felt good—better than I had in a long while. The feeling didn’t last long, however. Before I even got my door unlocked, a fear started tugging at me. I had bills to pay. I had many bills to pay. My wife, Jennifer, had been hurt years before in a car accident. She was now mostly confined to her bed and required a tremendous amount of care. I knew I should head home and see her, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to face her yet. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her what I’d done. Since her accident, she wasn’t always as supportive as she should have been. I would have to figure out the money issue myself.
I could no longer ask anyone at the Baptist church for help. That much I knew. I’d long since fallen out with those Sunday morning Christians over how best to fight the abortion plague. They might have trumpeted their commitment to Christ, but it was impossible to actually get them to do anything about the death clinics. You can’t even get most Baptists to a march. One day during a service, in the thrall of what could have only been the Holy Ghost, I had stormed out on them, swearing never to return. And I never did.
Soon after that I joined up with some rural Pentecostals, but we also eventually parted ways over the abortion issue. Some of them would actually show up for marches, but in the end, I suppose we had different priorities. My first night in church, the congregation all put their hands on me and started praying in tongues. I took that as a good sign, because they were more authentic than the Baptists. But the problem with the Pentecostals is that they’re all about one thing: the Holy Ghost experience. It’s always the Holy Ghost this and the Holy Ghost that. If they’re not babbling in tongues, they’re not happy. They’re worse than drug addicts.
So the Baptists and the Pentecostals were all talk. The Baptists talked Jesus and the Pentecostals talked the Holy Ghost, but none of them wanted to actually do anything for God. And it’s the doing that shows your commitment. I simply don’t know what religion means to people for whom religion doesn’t mean everything .
So Henry McSween was right. I had a sick wife and many, many medical bills. But as I drove away that afternoon I reminded myself that I had stepped out on faith. I knew the Lord was leading me where he wanted me to go.
*
He led me to the local death clinic. Some believers are scared to go near them. I never was. It settled my mind, somehow. In the midst of confusion or stress, it helped me to be near something that gave me an absolute sense of clarity. It felt good to be near people I could hate without reservation.
We had three clinics in town, and one wasn’t too far from where I lived. A tiny building hidden behind the medical towers, it had powder blue vinyl siding—an almost sarcastic color for a house of horrors. While a small sign out front stated that the building was a “woman’s clinic,” the entrance was located in the back with a full-duty security guard inside.
I walked around to the back and sat down on the concrete base of a light pole in the middle of the
He sighed and said, “Daniel...You’ve got nothing to prove. You’re going to leave your job over a bumper sticker ?”
“No,” I said. “I’m going to leave over a principle.”
“Look,” he said, standing up and coming around his desk. “Maybe it’s not for me to say, but you have a sick wife at home. I know this adjunct position doesn’t pay much, but don’t you have your insurance to think about?”
“These last few years I’ve learned to trust the Lord’s grace, Henry.”
“Yes. Well, in my experience the lord’s grace is less dependable than our HMO. And that’s not saying much.”
He smiled, but I extended my hand. “I have to go,” I said.
He sighed and shook with me. “Fine, you dumb bastard, quit. But remember I told you that you’re making a terrible mistake.”
*
Walking out to my car, I felt good—better than I had in a long while. The feeling didn’t last long, however. Before I even got my door unlocked, a fear started tugging at me. I had bills to pay. I had many bills to pay. My wife, Jennifer, had been hurt years before in a car accident. She was now mostly confined to her bed and required a tremendous amount of care. I knew I should head home and see her, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to face her yet. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her what I’d done. Since her accident, she wasn’t always as supportive as she should have been. I would have to figure out the money issue myself.
I could no longer ask anyone at the Baptist church for help. That much I knew. I’d long since fallen out with those Sunday morning Christians over how best to fight the abortion plague. They might have trumpeted their commitment to Christ, but it was impossible to actually get them to do anything about the death clinics. You can’t even get most Baptists to a march. One day during a service, in the thrall of what could have only been the Holy Ghost, I had stormed out on them, swearing never to return. And I never did.
Soon after that I joined up with some rural Pentecostals, but we also eventually parted ways over the abortion issue. Some of them would actually show up for marches, but in the end, I suppose we had different priorities. My first night in church, the congregation all put their hands on me and started praying in tongues. I took that as a good sign, because they were more authentic than the Baptists. But the problem with the Pentecostals is that they’re all about one thing: the Holy Ghost experience. It’s always the Holy Ghost this and the Holy Ghost that. If they’re not babbling in tongues, they’re not happy. They’re worse than drug addicts.
So the Baptists and the Pentecostals were all talk. The Baptists talked Jesus and the Pentecostals talked the Holy Ghost, but none of them wanted to actually do anything for God. And it’s the doing that shows your commitment. I simply don’t know what religion means to people for whom religion doesn’t mean everything .
So Henry McSween was right. I had a sick wife and many, many medical bills. But as I drove away that afternoon I reminded myself that I had stepped out on faith. I knew the Lord was leading me where he wanted me to go.
*
He led me to the local death clinic. Some believers are scared to go near them. I never was. It settled my mind, somehow. In the midst of confusion or stress, it helped me to be near something that gave me an absolute sense of clarity. It felt good to be near people I could hate without reservation.
We had three clinics in town, and one wasn’t too far from where I lived. A tiny building hidden behind the medical towers, it had powder blue vinyl siding—an almost sarcastic color for a house of horrors. While a small sign out front stated that the building was a “woman’s clinic,” the entrance was located in the back with a full-duty security guard inside.
I walked around to the back and sat down on the concrete base of a light pole in the middle of the
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