Shall Set You Free

by Gale Acuff

God lives in Heaven but visits our church 
every Sunday. I’ve never seen Him there 
but He must arrive pretty early and 
then hide somewhere, maybe inside a wall 
or on the backside of a pew, I mean 
wooden folding chair, we’re not rich enough 
yet for pews, or underneath the altar. 
Or in the Jesus behind the altar 
and on the all. That would be a good spot 
to hang. That’s the last place I’d look for Him. 
Anyway, in Sunday School what happens 

is we feel Him, God and / or Jesus, or 
at least I do, and likely Miss Hooker, 
our teacher. I don’t like the other kids 
much or maybe they just bore me since I 
see them in regular school five days straight 
but I guess they’re got the right to come here 
same as I do but sometimes I’m not sure 

why I show. If we could talk about that 
in class some Sunday morning that would be 
good but Miss Hooker wouldn’t go for it, 
not that she’s not fair-minded but that she 
might think we’re plotting a revolution. 
A revolution? Really? We’re only 
ten years old to her 25 so she’s 
been around some and to give her credit 
she’s good at sticking to the subject of 

saving our necks–or souls–from Hell. I got 
saved a few weeks ago but it didn’t 
last, I backslid, but I didn’t tell her, 
Miss Hooker I mean, because I don’t want 
to break her heart and then she might lose her 
faith and wind up in Hell when she’s dead same 
as I will. At least we’ll have something in 
common. After Sunday School this morning 

I asked Miss Hooker how come I can feel 
God all around me but I can’t get Him 
to show Himself to me. What’s the big deal? 
I don’t know, she offered, but if you do 
lay eyes on Him, tell me all about it. 
I said, Yes ma’am, but I was lying. I 
wonder why. Lying’s a sin. Sin means Hell. 
If the truth sets me free God might kill me.