My First Time...With the Holy Ghost

I grew up going to church.  Often, I’d hear the adults make reference to “getting the Holy Spirit” or “being filled with the Spirit.” I didn't know what it meant, but I really wanted it to happen to me.

When I was younger, I thought that being filled with the spirit was in direct correlation to evidence of my faith.   So I prayed hard, read my bible diligently and waited and waited and waited…but nothing. After all those hours of Sunday school, morning worship, Wednesday Night bible study or Vacation Bible School, not even a tingle.

By the time I was 12 or 13, I was convinced that it wasn't going to happen for me.

(I know. Seems a little young to have already decided on such an important issue, right? Well, now you have a glimpse into the mind of preteen Shayla.)

What I didn't know was that all I had to do is be patient and wait for 1988.

It started out as a Sunday like any other.  I woke up, got dressed and ate breakfast.

The trip to church was uneventful; we spent the 15 minute ride in the usual way: listening to gospel music while my mother hurriedly extinguished her cigarette before we reached the church parking lot, where she’d douse herself with perfume she kept in the glove box and shove a stick of Doublemint in her mouth.

    

The choir sang; the collection plate was passed and we were in the home stretch, the sermon.  That particular day, the pastor seemed especially fired up.

Inexplicably, I suddenly felt this exquisite warmth.  It begun in my hip and began to radiate across my lower back.

Finally, I thought. This is it! I’m getting the Holy Spirit!

I couldn't wait to see what would happen next.  

Would I heat up like a supernova?  Or maybe I'd feel the urge to jump out of my seat and shout!

Meanwhile, my little sister was sleeping at my side, her head gently leaning on my shoulder.  She looked so peaceful and serene.  As if she didn't have a care in the world.

The warmth stayed with me.  It had now expanded from my hip to my thigh.

I touched my leg.

Why did I do that? 

It was wet.

I'm in the middle of service.  How could my leg be wet?

I pressed my fingertips to my nose.

Shit.

It was pee. 

Yes. My sister peed on me. In church. While she slept.

I thought I was getting the Holy Ghost.

We were sitting in the third row from the front.

I won't bore you with the details of my own walk of shame from my seat to the bathroom all the way in the back, with the big wet spot on my skirt.

Needless to say, my outlook on the spiritual experience was changed. 

Forever.