Steven Curtis Chapman

[laura]

Okay, so reading about Steven Curtis Chapman's daughter dying was upsetting enough. It's such an absolute tragedy for everyone involved.

But if you listen to his song, Cinderella, with this horror in mind, I think it becomes impossible to remain stoic

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[suprdialect]

Suppose I wish to go to heaven, well I suppose that everyone would wish to go that is if there is such a place. Well suppose further that I am absolutely sure of its existence, I have seen it, I have racked up philosophical proofs for it, I have the authority of the king and all his men on my side, I heard it from a bird (really from a bird, for what motivation would there be for such an animal to lie). Further suppose that once every night I was transported to the pearly gates and I saw St. Peter himself and he stamped my hand like a bouncer at a bar, and when I woke up I could see the ink, somewhat smeared, for I sweat in my sleep.

Suppose moreover, that every time I see him I ask "Well, your majesty (do the saints have royal titles? who knows? I might as well be polite, I'm too sincere to be considered a fawner, I just wish to show proper respect) I know this is an annoying question, and perhaps all temporary visitors pester you with it. But, I can't restrain myself... If this was it, right now, my final destination, and I came to a fork, an interesting fork, one who's tynes run up and down... well, I'm not good at metaphor... I mean would I pass through the gates?" Suppose that St. Peter offered me an affirmation, and not only that, I would wake up with a deed to my future residence in heaven, a spacious apartment near the Chinese neighborhood.

But, St. Peter reminds me every time that all is up for grabs. All believers can turn to sin. The world is a temptation. All of our faith hangs on a thin string that could snap at any moment. And then, the deed would go up in flames, and I would be sent to the depths of hell.

Well, then I guess I would have a perfect thing, except that time was out to destroy me, to condemn me to hell. The only sure thing, would be for me to die right then and there. My body, pumping its red blood cells, fighting against old age. God, what is my body but in revolt against my soul. My body arouses me, arouses me towards all crimes, all unholy passions.

Well, I say if such a situation arises, It's best time for a lobotomy, scoop my brains out, until sin becomes too difficult of a task for my feeble brain.
It would be of the greatest service to me, securing my place in heaven, and preventing my descent towards hell. I would be eternally grateful. Moreover, you would be a hero, a pre-emptive hero, a hero hated at his time, but justified in retrospect. A moral martyr.

I don't want my lobotomy yet, but I'll tell you when.