Debbie came in through the kitchen when she got home, stopped in the living room where her parents were watching tv, said hello, waited. Her dad was asleep in his recliner, Sunday truly his day to rest after working in the diner six days a week. Her mom looked up from her knitting.

"Hello, honey, how was youth group?"

Fellowship, Mom, it's Youth Fellowship. "Pretty good. Pastor Frank had a guest, a visitor from Denver. He was pretty nice." That's nice, dear.

"That's nice, dear."

Life with a mom who didn't believe and didn't really seem to care. Oh well.

"I'm going to bed. I want to read for a while."

"Ok, honey, sleep well."

"Night, Mom. Tell Daddy good-night for me, 'k?"

"Alright dear."

Back to the knitting and the tv show, something trite Debbie made sure she ignored as she headed to the upstairs bathroom to get ready for bed. She put her long, black hair into two thick, loose braids; scrubbed her face to the point of stinging; three minutes of brushing her teeth. She flossed and then rinsed thoroughly with mouthwash. Half-a-dozen Q-tips to clean her ears. In her room, she hung her bib overalls neatly in the closet, the longest thing she wore so next to her winter coat, the long blue one she saved for Christmas and Easter and other special cold weather events. Like her Gran's funeral the previous March. She slipped into her nightgown, buttoning the neck fully and then slipping into thick, long socks.

She hated being cold. She hated feeling exposed.

She got her Bible from her bag, along with the notebook she carried everywhere to write down thoughts the Spirit might give her. She was reading the Old Testament, the books in order, and she was in Proverbs right now. More interesting than some of the books, but sometimes she wasn't exactly sure what the Lord was revealing.

"My son, eat honey, for it is good,
Yes, the honey from the comb is sweet to your taste...."

Huh? Honey? This was the kind of thing that she just couldn't understand at times, God talking about eating honey?

"Know that wisdom is thus for your soul;
If you find it, then there will be a future,
And your hope will not be cut off."

Oh. And if you'd just kept reading.... She felt annoyed with herself, letting herself be distracted like that, doubt just stopping her cold when all she had to do was keeping going. She pushed herself to the end of the chapter, but she knew she had missed almost everything there. She took her notebook, opened it to where she had been writing at Youth Fellowship earlier, but her mind was empty. Well, not empty, but she didn't want to write about being irritated with herself, especially because of why. It was stupid. It was almost sinful.

Instead she read what she'd written of Bob's words:

Found himself with thoughts of lust for OTHER MEN! ugh! But he went to a Bible study and was saved. Prays for deliverance; Jesus helps him every time.

She looked up from the notebook. Every time? How often did this happen? How often did he feel ... whatever it was he ... felt? Towards men? What could he feel? Lust? Not love, surely not love, that just wasn't possible. Ugh, two men wanting....

Shaking herself, the nastiness of what sin could do to people made her feel the sinfulness in herself against which she constantly struggled. The doubt was never far away: She was not good enough, her faith was not enough. There were times when the doubt almost made her hate herself, but that was just pride. Wasn't that what Pastor Frank had said once, or maybe it was Anna: When we let doubt undermine our faith, it's pride in disguise. It's the Enemy trying to harm our faith. Cast it out! Your faith is strong enough.

Setting aside the notebook and Bible, she lifted her hands in supplication, raised her face, eyes closed, up to the Father, a thought pushing hard at her: Bob's faith is enough. Jesus, let my faith be enough. Forgive me my doubt. Strengthen me! Help me to serve you. Make my faith stronger, for Your Name's sake! Jesus, for Your Name's sake!

The house was empty and dark when Mike got home, but it was what he expected. His mom must be out with that guy she'd been dating for the past few weeks. Stan? He thought that was it, didn't really care very much. She'd be dating someone else soon enough. She was always dating someone knew.

He went into the kitchen, but there was nothing in the fridge. There didn't ever seem to be anything in the fridge these days, not even left-over casserole. Sometimes lunch stuff, but his mom preferred to give him money and let him buy whatever was being offered at school. Or at "Benny's" across the street from school; Mom wasn't too picky about his eating habits these days. Mom wasn't too much about anything these days, not to do with him; Mike was learning how to make soup and grilled cheese pretty good, Hamburger Helper, whatever she bought that took six minutes to cook and could be left for him to heat up when he got home. She needed her time for her: dating, golfing, whatever it was she was doing these days. Mike didn't let himself thing too much about that; asked the Lord to keep her safe. It was just easier to give her over to the Lord's care and get on with his own life. Probably what she wants anyway.

He made a big bowl of Froot Loops, skim milk. Jeez, if she was going to buy food for him only, she could at least buy decent milk. But then she'd have to know he hated skim milk. Mike took his cereal downstairs to the tv room, sat on the floor in front of the set and ate the cereal while trying to find something worth watching. NBC: nothing. CBS: nothing. ABC: nothing. Educational tv: yea, sure. But the Canadian network, fuzzy and dim but still able to watch it ok, that weird show from England, the really bizarre comedy show. Python? Dang, it was almost over, but it was still better than the junk on the regular channels. And then, oh my God, they showed a woman's tits! On tv! A naked woman. Mike couldn't believe it. Wow. Not the first he'd seen; his friend Phil and him had snuck Phil's dad's Playboys all the time before Mike got saved, and there'd been a couple of movies they had sneaked into. But on tv? Wow. Wait til he told ... well, he didn't really have anyone to tell this kind of thing to anymore, but wow: a woman's tits on tv!

So of course when he got up to go upstairs to his room, he had a huge boner. He tried to keep the image in his mind: the smiling young woman, blonde and happy and her tits right there! It had only been for a few seconds, but man! It had almost seemed real. He hurried to his room, left the lights off, dropped his pants and lay down on his bed. It only took him a few strokes to get off, and as soon as the warm liquid splattered on his belly, he realized what he'd done. The lust was instantly and terribly replaced with guilt and shame. Again; he'd failed again. He'd let his heart be dirtied, had done it without even trying to stop himself. Had just given in with no effort to let the Lord help him.

He wiped himself off with his underpants, beating himself up with shame as he did so.

Andy's folks were already in bed when he got home; they both worked early, so he came in very quietly. He was hungry and a bit too wound up to be ready for bed. He made a peanut-butter-and-jam sandwich, big glass of milk; he took a couple of carrot sticks just to make him mom happy if she asked tomorrow. He sat down in the breakfast nook; his copy of "Late, Great Planet Earth" was still there, but he didn't feel like reading it. He ate his sandwich slowly, carefully; the thoughts in his head seemed to require that even eating a sandwich be something he did thoughtfully. The thoughts in his head vibrated; he seemed to be in another skin.

He didn't know if what he heard was the true voice of God or Satan's siren song.

Bob had spoken so openly about his sin, his battle with sin and temptation. Lust is bad enough, he had said, Pastor Frank nodding earnestly while looking down at the floor, but to lust after another man — brothers and sisters, it is my witness that this is a terrible sin, and I must seek the Lord's forgiveness and strength daily. Daily? Everyday Bob had to ask the Lord to help him not lust for other men? Andy simply couldn't imagine what that was like. He did know about lust, knew that he had to be so careful when he went out with Carol, they'd start kissing, just a little bit but before too long he was putting his hand where it shouldn't be, she'd let him and squirm against him, they'd kiss and grope each other and then he'd stop, stopping was not easy but the Lord would finally get his attention and he'd stop and go home, burning with shame, ashamed to know he had done all that in the Lord's sight, done all that with the indwelling Spirit in his heart, ignoring God's will, turning his back on the grace given so freely. He'd drive home, or sometimes he'd just drive around town, out of town and around the hills, listening to his tape of "LoveSong" over and over. Driving until he felt calm, until he felt his prayers for forgiveness had gotten through, until he no longer felt horrible and dirty. Until he was able to think again without every thought beginning, Forgive me, Lord....

He chewed the last carrot stick slowly, drank the last of his milk. He washed the plate, the glass, the knife he'd left in the sink. He wiped the counter, picked a few crumbs from the floor. He went upstairs, brushed his teeth, flossed, washed his face, got undressed and put his clothes away, took his time doing everything. Every movement, every step, every action was deliberate, focused. His mind felt slightly disconnected, almost as if he were an observer of his own life. There were no thoughts, however, no thinking or even prayer. Just his mind watching his hands, directing his feet, caring for each detail as if his body had never before moved and needed minute guidance.

But when at last he lay down in bed and there was nothing more to do, he was powerless to stop his thoughts. He tried to force prayer, spoke the words out loud — Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name — asked the Spirit, aloud, to protect and guide him. But his thoughts pushed incessantly. Thoughts that scared him, that left him unable to trust thinking, to wish he'd stayed in the car and never come home. Thoughts about how deep sin drives into the soul, how difficult it was to extract, to exorcise. His thoughts were ugly to him, and he pulled the pillow over his face so he could speak his prayers louder: Forgive me, Lord, o Jesus, show me your light, guide me with Your Spirit, teach me to obey, Lord, Saviour help me and keep me, guide me, Jesus. Prayed into the suffocating pressure; every word came out more painfully than the one before, until no words would come at all. He pulled the pillow off his face, breathed in a deep breath of cool air, and simply rolled over and let his thoughts buffet him until he fell asleep in exhaustion.