Oh, the irony of committing a sin in a church itself. The red satin cushions placed upon each pew.

The sculptures of Jesus and his Disciples hang on each open space of wall; and rays of sunshine
beam through the stained glass. I didn’t understand what sin was at the age of four until I felt it in my gut.
It was a typical afternoon in the small beach town where my Lutheran Church preschool was located. Play time had just ended and the mob of sweaty children burst through the doors in hopes of snacks galore. I was last in line to wash the dirt revenue from my hands. I dazed off into the mural of Jesus on the wall in front of me. Another man in the painting appeared to be asking for forgiveness as Jesus looked down at him.

I stepped into the bathroom, which always had dark lighting, and heard the door, which always remained open, slam shut. I suddenly felt a sense of independence and freedom. I took a step into the bathroom stall.The luxurious sheets of soft toilet paper fell between my fingers. Pull after pull I could not resist the temptation.

Layers of toilet paper covered my small body. The last sheet ripped off of the cardboard core. I found myself surrounded by the white paper that sat there and mocked my shame. With all my might, I shoved each layer of paper down the toilet. With one flush, the paper began to disintegrate in the water. Each flush came with more and more water flooding over the toilet seat until the water on the floor was leveled with my doily socks. Trudging my way through the mess I had made, I bursted out of the stall to quickly rinse my hands and find myself a seat at the snack table.

As I sneaked back into class, reveling in my rebellion. I happily sunk into my chair, shoving the vanilla wafers into my mouth.

The classroom doors sprang open and I could have swore it was the devil himself. Dressed in all red, and fire fuming out of her eyes and ears, Mrs. Cay rose above the class. Cookies fell out of the mouths of every child whose jaw dropped in fright. Slowly pacing around each table, looking for guilt to appear on each child’s face, Mrs. Cay came to a stop directly behind my pastel yellow chair.

I took a gulp of my fruit punch as if it were my last. I felt sweat dripping from my forehead down my face. My cowardly face read every sign of guilt as Mrs. Cay strolled past. I shoved the rest of my vanilla wafers down the table to Sally Jansen who devoured everything in sight.

I waited for the announcement of the flooded bathroom, feeling the guilt of dishonesty build up in the pit of my stomach.

The teachers investigated each little girl that day, asking who committed the crime of abuse of toilet paper. My head hung low as I claimed to not be the girl to blame. The first walk of shame I experienced was a long one as I retrieved my backpack.

Before leaving, I took a minute to myself and sinfully walked down the hallway which connected the church and classroom.

The echo of the church doors startled me. I walked up to the first pew and sat down. I stared at the sculpture of Jesus hanging on the cross. The light beaming in through the window turned to dark skies and pellets of rain shook the painting on the wall. As I began my journey onward, I pulled the remaining sheet of toilet paper from my pocket and left it under Jesus hanging from the cross.

That day, I knew why Jesus hung over the pews. Not only did I experience sin, but I felt it too.