Personal Narrative - Baptism Essay -- Personal Narrative Essays

Personal Narrative - BaptismI took my first metre down into the font and mind. Baptisms are funny things. The brightness of it all is profound. It seems as if in that respect is angiotensin-converting enzyme brilliant mirror reflecting boisterous cheer everywhere. The root is to pack as much happiness, either real or faked, into one too-hot room in the hope that it will be absorbed into the perfectly petrified soul of the prospective individual about to be baptized. The joy was so thick that it bounced around the walls and the floor searching for something to absorb it, something to hold it in permanently. The beams certainly had many obstructions to navigate around. There were too many lucubrate women with satiated grins do wider still by the application of inordinate amounts of heavier-than-air crimson lipstick. Hair that reached ever upward in a maddeningly upright gyre, as if they were competing with steeples in an effort to be closer to God. Maybe they thought the prepo nderance of hair would be a better conduit for God. With all the flare hair spray, their hair had to be a conductor for something. Maybe there was a wateryning rod tucked inside the cocoon of hair. Indeed, the hair imparted a degree of luminosity to the scene. At just the right angle, the artificial light would hit the summit of hairdom and create an angelic halo around their persons. maybe it was one big conspiracy. Perhaps some secret Relief confederacy tome specifies that women should wear eye-dizzying lipstick and hair spray in proportion to their weight. That made it all so bright. The Spirit, this pure being of truth, was being artificially deep-rooted into the baptismal font through the use of cosmetics and cover-up. The brethren ruined the conspiracy theory, or maybe they just didnt have ... ...ed her head against my chest, tucked it among the folds of my baptismal clothes, seeking the light she radiated, seeking the unproven great causation I wish I had. It was a b ig businessman that even my grandma couldnt define, though I knew she had it. The power of tension, the power of electrons, even the power of gravity paled in comparison to the power possessed in this embarrassed but strong old womanhood standing at my side. I wondered why everyone didnt come to gain this power. but I already knew the answer. The truth behind this power could not be given in equations stitched on the back of a research lab coat. It could not even be obtained by simply reading of its source. The power is personal to us all. It is different for everyone. My grandma found her truth and her power, and I found myself clutching frantically for the beams of light that raced joyously out of her still quiver frame.