586. Not forgiving Amy Grant nearly fast enough.

Here’s the thing Amy, turns out I’m perfect. I know, surprising, right? True, there was some sin in my life in the fall of 1997 and then again during Labor Day weekend in 2001, but those days are long gone. I’m flawless and I thought you were too. I thought you were one of us, but then you went and got a divorce.

Soooo, I had to stop listening to your music. It was bad enough that in the video for your pop crossover hit, “Baby, Baby,” you agreed to dance around with some dude as if the song was about loving a guy when all your real fans, the people that have supported you through thick and thin, knew that wasn’t the real meaning of the song. That’s when I first got nervous that you might actually be human. But as a diehard fan I cut you some slack, approximately .2 inches of slack.

But then you got divorced and married Vince Gill. Apparently you forgot you’re a role model Amy, not a human.

Sure, I could see how this approach might help create a Christian culture where we put famous Christians on pedestals. I could see how this might encourage our leaders to never admit small mistakes. I can understand how this might help contribute to prominent Christians lying about the little things for fear of losing my attention until finally those little things stack up and fall over, crushing the leader under the weight of decades of secret sin and stunning his followers who never saw a single crack in an otherwise perfect façade. But I didn’t say being perfect was easy. I just said I expected it.

I got rid of all of your CDs. Don’t worry, I didn’t burn them. I learned my lesson the hard way in high school when I destroyed all of my music after getting really fired up after a retreat. A month later I started buying the same CDs again when the fervor of the retreat wore off. (Again, a fairly dark period of my life that involved repurchasing and throwing away the Bangles, “Walk like an Egyptian” and perhaps even wearing my sunglasses at night, so I can, so I can, see the light that’s right between my eyes.)

Nope, instead of throwing away your music I just put you in my “judging box” in my closet under the stairs. That’s where I keep the things that I might need to keep my eye on for the next few years. If you want to earn your way out of there I suggest a documentary about how you blew it. Maybe an apology concert of some sort and perhaps one more television show where you make the dreams of the less fortunate come true. Only this time, make sure it’s on TBN and not NBC Amy. You’re not going to earn your way out of the judging box with a show on any of the major “netjerks.” (wordplay!)