The Legoland Convention

The first time someone asked me if I was going to get into heaven was at an Independent Baptist church that a friend had invited me too. I'm not sure what made it independent, it possibly could have emancipated itself from its parents, but that's just shoddy guesswork. I don't really remember why I was there in the first place, as it is not the sort of location one frequents when drugs are addling ones brain. I'm sure there was a wonderful sermon involved (there usually is), but I seem to recall being somewhat distracted by something during the wonderful sermon, which may have something to do with the beautiful young lady sitting beside me, which is as good a reason as any for being stoned in the presence of God. Anyways, in an attempt to dissuade me from my distraction, the Pastor had the congregation bow their heads and close their eyes, which did not so much dissuade me from distraction as much as it freaked me out a little bit, since someone had neglected to tell me that this was normal in church. That being said, with my head down and eyes closed, the Pastor asked if we thought we were going to get into heaven. As I was (still am) a bit of a smart ass and was quite high, I knew the answer, of course I'm not getting into heaven. I knew that if I was in charge of heaven, I sure as heck wouldn't let me in. I would probably shut off all the lights and pretend I wasn't home until I left (you can try deciphering that thought later). Things didn't end there, as the Pastor asked anyone who wanted to get into heaven to look at him. Now granted, I knew I wasn't getting in, but even the remote possibility things could work out well had me slightly intrigued, so I looked at him. then I prayed with him, as in he said words and I said the same words back, which included my sin, awful human being, Jesus, forgiveness and Amen. I didn't really know what was happening, possibly because I had been, currently was and really wanted to be high. Regardless, I said the prayer, got the Book and wham, bam thank you ma'am I was a Christian. How did I know I was a Christian? Well, firstly everyone told me I was, including the cute girl who referred to me as a brother (in Christ), which did a number on the attraction factor, and secondly, they told me I was and I was in no position to argue. So I celebrated with them, threw around some, "Amen brother's" and drank the church juice, after being assured it wasn't the electric kool-aid, and after explaining to them what electric kool-aid was. It was exciting, they were an incredibly nice group of people, and I didn't have the heart to tell them that I had no idea what they were talking about. At best I could throw down a Hail Mary and Our Father, which I helpfully let them know, but I was told that they don't believe in the diefication of Mary, so I apologized and didn't let them on to the fact that gibberish wasn't one of my known languages. I really liked these people, and it felt like they wanted to get to know me and were excited I was there, it was like insta-friends. So, in order to celebrate this brave new world, I went home and smoked the fattest joint I could roll. All for the glory of God of course.