Heaven, Hell, and A Double Stuf Oreo

Indoctrinated young, I attended church services quite often. I was part of the Awana program — a cubbie in the beginning with my blue vest and side pockets (which a single Oreo can fit snugly into). Throughout my church tenure, even as a cubbie, I thought about how strange all of the stories and sermons were; how incredulous I felt considering that all of these “written truths” offered no form of repeatable and verifiable form factor of which I could observe. Not that I wanted to prove it all wrong; quite the opposite. I wanted to see monumental and miraculous things because who doesn’t? Mostly though, I felt scared. Church frightened me. I didn’t understand my feelings then, but now I can tell you that elders were trying to take something away from me… my curiosity? Wonder? My single Oreo? Whatever it was, it felt essential to me. The gaps were then filled with a sense of fear and inadequacy; that I was tragically and eternally flawed. I was manipulated into believing that the only fix was to follow a set of beliefs even if they did not make any sense. And the Oreo?

One evening, after “church games” (yet another weird layer for antisocial me) and snacks, we headed to the sanctuary. I sat on the edge of the pew happily swinging my feet because, this time, I had a secret. Tucked into my cubbie vest’s single-button square pocket was a delicious Double Stuf Oreo. I remember that evening clearly as the youth pastor was trying to convince the older kids to loudly exclaim “Alllllright” instead of “Woo Woo Woo,” as each new speaker was welcomed. I personally didn’t understand what the big deal was as I reached for my yummy snack. I unbuttoned the pocket and pulled out that glorious Oreo. This was going to turn an otherwise grueling event into something a bit more palatable (pun intended), the proverbial “dot” on what was to become an exclamation point of an evening. SNATCHED! Before I could even take a bite, one of the elders came up from behind, took it from me and chastised me for bringing it into the sanctuary. Humiliated for drawing attention, I stared silently forward at the hymnals resting in the back nook of the pew in front of me. He lectured me for a few moments before retreating. My jovial little swinging legs stopped and, with my hands clasped together in my lap, I watched as the cookie thief sat himself across the aisle from me in the opposite pew. Legs crossed and staring forward, already apathetic about the situation, he watched the speaker talk about what I’m certain was just nonsense. I didn’t hear any of it.

They got my Oreo, but they never managed to get me.