I was as besotted with Bonnie as ever.
 
 
 
 
 

8th grade was a year of widespread religious revival in our school.    I was as besotted with Bonnie as ever, but 8th grade was a year of a widespread religious revival in our school.  We held non-stop fellowship meetings filled with tearful group hugs, meandering personal testimonies, repetitive, guitar-accompanied sing-ins, and seemingly endless prayer circles.
I felt shame for the forbidden pleasures that thoughts of her drove me to, alone in my room.
    I was enjoying my prominence as a leader, winner of souls and would-be publisher of a fledgling Jesus paper.  The little broadside never got off the ground, but I got a lot of mileage out of thumping my tattered Living New Testament and exhorting classmates to give their hearts to the Lord.  Ironically, although I considered myself a new man in Christ, baptized with the Holy Spirit, and sanctified by His grace, I still felt unworthy of Bonnie’s love. And I felt guilty for the passion she inspired in me.  I felt shame for the forbidden pleasures that thoughts of her drove me to, alone in my room.  So I kept my distance.

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