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 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.