We moved a lot when I was younger. I went to four different elementary schools. Much to my dismay, more often than not we moved right in the middle of a school year. Being more than a little shy, this was always a traumatic experience for me. I can still remember the angst I'd feel standing in front of the classroom as the teacher would announce to the class that she had a special "surprise" for them. Some surprise! Just some goofy new girl with fake little front teeth that were as yellow as corn kernels. The teacher would encourage them to make me "feel welcome." They couldn't have been less interested in making me feel welcome. I was stuck standing up there in front of everyone feeling painfully self-conscious. When I was finally asked to take my seat, I'd realize my knees had locked up and I'd "march" to my seat like a little toy soldier.

I had fake teeth because I had knocked out my baby teeth shortly after they came in. My older brother had been walking around the living room with a blanket over his head pretending that he could see through it and, not to be bested, I put one over my own head and took off running, proceeding to knock my teeth out minutes later. I wore the fake little beauties for the next five years of my life. I never understood why my parents settled for the yellow teeth. Couldn't they have at least insisted on beige? I faithfully took them out every night to clean and brush them, but alas, no amount of brushing or cleaning made them any less yellow. When I finally got my adult teeth they were (disappointingly enough) almost as yellow as my fake ones but had the added feature of having jagged, shark-like edges. I was only able to get rid of the shark look years later after I got my braces off and the dentist finally agreed to file them down.

In fourth grade (yet again in the middle of a school year) we moved out to the country. I became a new "special surprise" for a new class in a new school where I didn't know a soul. However, this year proved to be much better than any other year of school, for one reason: Wonder of wonders, a boy liked me! The very first day, when I was standing against the wall at recess trying not to look too pitiful, he came by and snatched my hat off my head. My initial thought was I was going to be the butt of some cruel game these new schoolmates of mine had come up with. I looked away, determined not to be affected by any of their stupid jokes. He came back by me, still holding my hat and, with a big grin on this face, asked "Aren't you going to try and get it back?" I was meant to chase him! I couldn't resist grinning back and set off running after him. He let me catch him, I'd get my hat back, he'd chase me again and so on until the bell rang for us to come in from recess. It wasn't long before I was shyly handed the typical, " I like you. Do you like me? Check yes or no" note.

The following fall a family moved in down the street from us. They had twin girls my age and we became friends. One of them was put into my class and regrettably developed a crush on my boyfriend. Unfortunately she had the sad, misguided idea that he liked her back. Not willing for her to entertain such a ludicrous thought, I set out to set her straight. I insisted my boyfriend put in writing that, unlike she may have believed, he did not, in fact, like her at all. He cooperated, but for some fiendish reason, I didn't think that was enough. Who knows what evilness prompted me to to have it clarified even further...perhaps she didn't seem hurt enough. Anyway, I had him write a second note. This note said that he not only loved me but hated her. Who would have thought that a seemingly sweet fifth grader could be such a manipulative little witch? This second note caused her to cry. How could someone actually hate her? I felt terrible then. What kind of evilness existed in my heart that would want to hurt someone like that?

Believe it or not, I had asked Jesus into my heart in second grade. As Jeremiah so pertinently reminds us: "The heart is deceitful above all things." Anytime I'm tempted to believe that deep down I'm a sweet person incapable of such cruelty, I'm reminded of that wicked little scheme... along with all the other mean thoughts and deeds I'd like to believe are beyond me.

It is comforting that even the apostle Paul struggled with sin, saying: "For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate, I do...I know that nothing good lives in me...for I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out...who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God---through Jesus Christ our Lord!" (Rom 7:15-25)

We can never underestimate the power of sin, but as Paul so enthusiastically points out, we don't have to attempt to fight it on our own. Jesus Christ, who conquered sin and death once and for all, promises to fight by our side. I am ever so slowly learning that I can count myself "dead to sin but alive to God in Christ Jesus."