There was an old bathtub he used to sit in when he was a kid. Toys floated on water; tug boats, fire engines, plastic men wearing life jackets. He played with them until the clear water turned cold.

At the end, when he heard his mother calling, he would say, Death to sin and alive to Christ, before submerging his head under the clear water. He would come up from the depths of cleanliness back into a world of sin.

One day, he prayed, he would be baptized at church. Wear the pure white cloth, and be applauded by a whole congregation of people; happy to see another soul saved. Another life that shall not perish.

Mother would put him to bed and ask if he’d said his prayers. Yes, he replied. If the Lord takes me tonight, I’ll go straight to Heaven.

Well, mom said, You better be good. God doesn’t take just anybody.

The kid worried himself to sleep. Kicking under covers, he dreamed, Am I good enough? Does Jesus want me?

Tears rolled down his face. He prayed immediately for more forgiveness. Forgiveness for lying, for thinking unpure thoughts, for swearing, for calling his neighbor a fool, a host of sins. He named them all. A complete confession. His stuffed animals looked on.

Amen.