Through a Pencil And Leak on the Sheet...

It's always fun to look back at old papers and poems to see how my writing has evolved:

Christina A. Carter
July 08, 2005
College Writing-125
Mrs. Josie Kearns

It was an Easter Sunday. The altar overflowed with beautiful, white lilies, and the sanctuary glowed with vibrant colors from the sunlight that poured through stained-glass windows. Children scurried through the church in their brand new outfits, careless of the scuff marks they made on their shiny, patent leather shoes. The air had only the slightest scent of baked chicken, greens, and cornbread from the cooks preparing an immaculate, Easter dinner for after service. And though you could smell the delicious food being cooked, the scent of cologne dominated the air. It wasn’t the smell of the young boys who greeted one another with handshakes and slaps on the backs, complimenting each others' crisp, stylish suits or alligator-skin shoes. Nor the scent of the older men, who sat towards the back of the church, impatiently staring at gold wristwatches, ignoring the glares from angry wives as they discussed cars and sports. It was a smell that emanated from the church women, young and old alike. Some women strutted through the church in their revealing Easter dresses, smiling at the men and oblivious of the stares coming from the congregation. Others continuously fanned themselves to keep cool, shouted an “Amen!” to the reverend’s every word, and whispered threatening words to impatient children squirming in their seats. It was also the smell of the elderly women, who proudly sat in the front pews, wearing elaborate hats, calling everybody “Sugar.” That smell has stayed in my memory because it has more than one meaning to it. It not only reminds of what was happening on that particular Easter morning, but that very Sunday, I was baptized.

I hesitated as I descended the stairs to the pulpit, nervously glancing at the basin of the still, cerulean water. Because I was only a ten year old child, the water frightened me, and I questioned if I would choke or, even worse, drown. It wasn’t until I looked up at the pastor that I felt a sense of peace. An elderly man, with black-rimmed spectacles and a warm inviting smile, his presence alone caused my fear to subside. I knew I was ready. Shivering as I placed my feet into the water, I gripped my white robe and walked towards the pastor’s outstretched hand. I closed my eyes, telling myself to remain calm and count down from three:

3…

The pastor raises his arms and says a prayer, asking for God to shower his blessings and love upon me.

2…

He gently places his hand upon my forehead, and tells me to hold breath.

1…

He quickly tilts me back into the water, and whispers “You are blessed, my child.”

It was done. I searched the congregation for my parents, and spotted them amongst a faction of the other proud parents of recently baptized children. They both sat with their heads high, tears welled up in their eyes. I, too, held my head high. Though it was a simple event, it was momentous, a day that I will never forget.


Eh. Not too bad.