Screw up

Dustin

In college, I was really good at screwing up. However, I would say I was even better at making myself feel really guilty for my sin for an exaggerated period of time. Somehow though, once the sting of the guilt subsided, I found a way to indulge in a similar sinful activity.

Take for instance my sophomore year of college. At this point of my life I was enough of a believer to feel guilty about getting drunk, but not enough of a believer to prevent myself from doing it. Anyways, that year I learned the hard way that it’s not a good idea to carry a keg across campus when you’re underage and kegs are against campus rules…and you’re in a praise band.

So the story goes that I was enjoying a rowdy evening with my fraternity brothers, when out of nowhere the drummer of the praise band (also my R.A.), was knocking on the door to break up the party. Being prone to stupidity, I offered to sneak the keg out of the window and carry it to my buddy’s truck. Unfortunately, R.A.s are smarter than your average drunkard, and one of my drummer’s cohorts caught me in action.

The insant I realized I had been found out, my stomach dropped and my heart sank deep inside its inner walls. A few minutes later I found myself weeping as I poured out my soul to a room full of my Christian brothers (also R.A.s), confessing just about every sin I had ever committed, especially the ones I had committed after becoming a believer, since according to the old adage, "I should have known better." When it was all said and done, I’m pretty sure my friends just wanted to give me my punishment and kick me out so I’d stop whining.

But, I wasn’t done whining. Oh no, I had to call my girlfriend over so I could explain my blunder to her and cry in her arms for about three hours until she as well grew weary of my self-inflicted guilt trip and left me alone in my devastation. Unable to sleep, I wrote a letter through glazed eyes to the members of my praise band, explaining that I wouldn’t be coming to practice anymore because I was a disgrace to them and to God (when they read it the next day they came as a group to my dorm, individually embraced me and told me they wouldn’t let me quit).

All in all, the first 24 hours of guilt were the worst, but I lost sleep over the whole ordeal for months. You see, I understood in my mind that Jesus had forgiven me, but I couldn’t reconcile in my heart the fact that He had forgotten the transaction altogether, so naturally it was impossible for me to forget it as well.

Until one day, when I woke up and the pain was gone, or at least suppressed, vanishing just long enough for me to forget much pain my sin had caused, leading to yet another opportunity to screw up, only this time it was a little more serious. My junior year I was arrested for underage drinking and resisting arrest.

But that's a whole other story...