Personal Narrative - Baptism Essay -- Personal Narrative Essays

Personal Narrative - BaptismI took my first step bring down into the font and thought. Baptisms are funny things. The brightness of it every last(predicate) is pro lay down. It seems as if t pretendher is whiz brilliant mirror reflecting boisterous cheer everywhere. The idea is to channel as much happiness, either real or faked, into one too-hot populate in the hope that it will be absorbed into the absolutely petrified somebody of the prospective individual about to be baptized. The joy was so thick-skulled that it bounced around the walls and the floor searching for something to absorb it, something to hold it in permanently. The beams for sure had many obstructions to navigate around. There were too many fat women with ingest grins made wider still by the application of inordinate amounts of heavy blushful lipstick. Hair that reached ever upward in a maddeningly vertical gyre, as if they were competing with steeples in an effort to be closer to God. Maybe they thought the preponderance of pilus would be a better conduit for God. With all the glistening hair spray, their hair had to be a conductor for something. Maybe there was a saplessning rod tucked inside the cocoon of hair. Indeed, the hair imparted a full point 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. Perhaps it was one big conspiracy. Perhaps some secret Relief Society tome specifies that women should tear 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 implanted into the baptismal font through the use of cosmetics and cover-up. The brethren ruined the conspiracy theory, or peradventure 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 mightiness I wish I h ad. It was a power 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 feature in this embarrassed but strong old woman stand 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 non be attached in equations stitched on the back of a lab coat. It could not even be obtained by simply reading of its source. The power is personalized 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 trembling frame.