RandomPokesConfessions of a Pixie Stick AddictSteve Dennie
Some people have real good reasons for feeling guilty--theft, drugs, alcoholism, and all the other things which make exciting testimonies and bestselling books. But not me.
I grew up in a Christian home, received Christ at age nine, and have always lived a clean life. You'd think my conscience would get bored, perhaps clocking in only part-time and moonlighting in the mind of a Columbian drug kingpin.
You'd think, anyway.
Fact is, I'm possessed by an overactive, nit-picking conscience which treats me like I belong on death row. As soon as I commit a minor sin, my conscience erupts in vehement protest, like I just spray-painted the Mona Lisa. Stray a few feet from the straight and narrow, and my ever-vigilant moral monitor rubs its hands in delight and says, "Steve, you've had it now. Prepare to feel baaaaad!"
Take, for instance, that little incident in third grade.
Mom sent me to the corner grocery store to buy milk and bread. Without her permission, I spent a dime of the change on Pixie Sticks, those straws filled with powdered candy. Squeeze open one end, tilt your head back, and let the sugary sweetness pour into your mouth. I bought ten Pixie Sticks (just a penny apiece back then) and downed them on the way home.
Stealing a dime isn't exactly a felony, especially when you steal it from your Mom. But for goody-goody Stevie, it was gutter delinquency. And my conscience screamed harsh accusations at me: "You lousy, no-good, deceitful, disrespectful crook! How could you do this to your dear mother!"
I felt rotten. After getting home, I knew I had to confess. I just couldn't take it any longer.
"Mom, can I tell you something?" I asked timidly, head lowered.
"Sure, Steve. What is it?"
"Well...will you promise you won't get mad?"
"Mad about what?" Mom asked, quite interested now. Being all-knowing, as Moms are, she probably already knew what I'd done.
"About something," I said. "Will you promise?"
"I promise I won't get mad," Mom assured me. "Just tell me what's wrong, Steve."
So I told her. With eyes watering and forcing back sobs, I admitted the entire heinous act.
I fully expected to get spanked, yelled at, or exiled to Mars, never again to watch Saturday morning cartoons. But Mom just listened nicely and then said, "It's okay, Steve. Thanks for telling me. You're a good boy."
Ha! Just tell that to my conscience! It relished the moment, having idly waited years for me to do something worth jumping up and down about. And for a long time afterwards, it reminded me of my complicity in the Great American Pixie Stick Caper.
Actually, I'm thankful for my jumpy conscience. God mainly speaks to us through the Bible, but He also speaks through the conscience to remind us of what's right and what's wrong. So having a talkative conscience isn't all bad.
When your conscience doesn'tprotest wrong-doing--that's when you should really worry. It probably means you've committed that particular sin so many times that your conscience figures it must be okay and doesn't raise a stink. That's called a "seared" conscience.
If the Bible says that what you're doing is wrong, but your conscience doesn't say it's wrong, then maybe your conscience is seared concerning that particular sin--whether it's stealing Pixie Stick money or mocking classmates or stealing someone's stereo. That's why we need to keep checking our internal conclusions against the Bible.
I'm sure other kids could have misspent that dime without being bothered. I'd rather be bothered. It means everything's working okay.
Copyright 2005 Steve Dennie |
