Sometimes Life Feels Like Hell
A place I no longer fear and hope isn’t real
When I was little, all of the other kids at Sunday school said God was an old, white guy with a long white beard, and that he was really, really big. One of my favorite toys was a peachy pink, plastic E.T. the size of my thumb from a McDonald’s happy meal. I was sure God looked like this Hollywood version of an extraterrestrial.
As a half-Jewish, half-Christian kid whose parents didn’t believe in hell, I found myself the oddball out in the Oklahoma bible belt. One summer at swimming lessons, as we took a break, leaning against the edge of the pool chatting, some Baptist girls talked about hell.
“Do you believe in hell?” they asked me. I told them no and looked away. They informed me it didn’t matter because hell was real and I was headed there for being half Jewish.
The thing is, hell scared me. A lot. What if it was real? Even though I said I didn’t believe in hell, I was terrified they were right about where I was going.
When I lived with mom, my Gram — her mom — sent $50 checks in the summer for me to mow the lawn. It helped mom and gave me spending money.
At fourteen, I began working at our church’s nursery. It was perfect. I got out of listening to the boring sermons. I was put in the…
