Barking Mad

And So the Battle Rages on...a Follow-Up to My Thoughts on Christianity

 

Sometimes I feel like that lone tree...standing there alone, reaching towards the sky and hoping for a break in the clouds in order to embrace the light.  It's not a "depression" thing...it's more of an attitude towards spirituality and whether I am indeed able to wrap my arms around something that at times seems so cold and distant and completely unavailable to me.

I want to take a moment before I descend into a vat of bitterness to say thank you for all of the comments, discussion and your willingness to share your own spiritual beliefs with me and with those who read about life here in the asylum, on the first part of this discussion.  So many times discussions about religion descend into heated verbal wars which never get anywhere.  I was honestly expecting a little more animosity when the post hit Twitter and Facebook, but it never went there.   I am not expecting the same result from this post...especially because I'm "calling out" someone as it where.  Maybe that's not even a good turn of phrase to use.  By the time I'm done with this, maybe I'll have thought of something better to say.

I can say without a doubt that this will be one of my longer posts.  It's also going to be one which might make those of you who are very steadfast in your walk with Christ, uncomfortable.   I might use words which you'd prefer I didn't.  Here's the thing...when I get into the place I'm in right now, I use words that some consider profane, vulgar, or rude.  It's just who I am.  I am after all, human and I sin.  Although I'm not real sure about profanity being a "sin" as much as it is something that most think of as really ugly.   Bottom line...this is me, ripping myself open and putting it all out there.  I'm in pain right now - spiritual and emotional, I'm angry and I sure as hell am bitter.  Very bitter.  Having these thoughts and feelings roll around in my head is akin to chewing on lemons laced in vinegar.

I'm also going to admit to something I've never spoken out loud to anyone except my oldest daughter and only those very close to me.  I hope you don't think worse of me after reading this...however, I'll understand if you do.

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I've written briefly before about my inner battles with Christianity.   I was in a really bad place then, having literally just gone through the "Very Bad Thing" and was also in the midst of trying to help Meaghan deal with issues relating to her paternal family on the east coast.   In retrospect, that post barely touched on the crux of what I'm truly going through and in order to understand that, I think you need to understand me and my history with church...or I should make that churches as I've been to a few in my 41 years.

When I was a baby I was baptized into the Episcopal church.  Back then it was a much different church than it is currently.  I remember always being awed though, even at such a young age, by Jesus' sacrifice for us.  To this day it still moves me to tears to read about his Crucifixion.  When I was 9 my family (just my mom, step-dad, and myself - my mom was pregnant with my first sibling at the time), were baptized into the Mormon church. By the time I was 17 my parents and my then 3 younger siblings had their names officially removed from the record of the church.  Mine wasn't because I'd never been adopted by my step-father and never sealed to my parents in the temple...or so I was told.  The thing about being a Mormon, for me anyhow...I didn't really see it as any different than any other religion.  I never lost track of my own personal relationship with Jesus.  I never saw myself as anything other than an ordinary Christian, even whilst "being Mormon."  Sure, Mormons do things differently...they don't smoke or drink alcohol, try and abstain from caffeine and have certain rituals they adhere to.

My parents had very grave theosophical differences and that's what led to the rift.  I never harbored any ill will towards the church.  More than two decades have passed since I left the Mormon church and I've come to realize that due to my own theological education, I would never return to active membership in the church again.  However, I've remained close with a lot of my friends (most who I grew up with) who are generations-long Mormons. It was in fact the Mormon church which helped my family when Joshua died.  I've never held any animosity towards them and never will, despite my own theosophical beliefs that differ from those of the church.

From the time we left the Mormon church my mom went on this spiritual odyssey of sorts that took her through several religions including a more potent version on Episcopalian-ism and even Wicca.  Oh and take it from me, don't ever get a Wiccan a fancy decorative broom as a holiday/birthday gift.  They don't really see the humor in it. 

My mom did her own thing (she's Jewish and says she's always felt as if she has been and is completely happy with the path that's taken her life down.), and I moved out and got involved with the boy who would become my first husband.  I had no idea what "charismatic evangelists" were until I met his family and I can tell you I was not prepared for the rapid immersion into something which seemed so incredibly foreign to me.

I'm pretty simple when it comes to how I worship.  I like the quiet and serenity that a worship service in a traditional church offers.  I feel a sense of peace and, well - OK, "communion" with God.  I like traditional hymns and a heartfelt sermon.  I guess I'm just a traditionalist in that sense.  So when my former husband, my then- fiance, took me to his church it scared me a little bit.  I could not figure out why people were almost dancing and standing and waving their arms around and speaking aloud, and there was a band on the stage - a real band with guitars and drums and a keyboard.  I'd never heard some of those songs and felt lost at sea amidst a bunch of Christian rockers. 

If all that wasn't already enough, a couple of people around me started talking in some sort of language that sounded like a mixture of Indian and Chinese with some Spanish thrown in.   I had never in my life heard of "speaking in tongues" and thought it was little more than emotional babbling.  I was ignorant.  Mormons and Episcopalians don't speak in tongues.  This was entirely new to me.

If I'm being honest, it felt distant to me and I wasn't comfortable (but I'm not in any way saying that people who do worship this way are wrong to do so.), with that kind of worship.  However "M" (my ex), assured me that in time it would be like home and in the meantime he and his family would pray for me and have their pastor pray for me.  Okie dokey.   I figured it would be like getting used to a new pair of jeans...after a few squats and stretching them out a bit, it would be a comfortable fit.  Those jeans just ended up getting tighter.  

At one special service there was a well-known pastor from South Africa who'd come to speak to the congregation and he had an "altar call" after the service and M asked me to go up there. Um...OooooK. We stood around the altar whilst the pastor went around anointing everyone's neck with oil.  The minute he anointed them they fell over.  I watched both of M's sisters go down, then his mom, his dad and then he went down.  The pastor got to me and I prayed that God would guide me and help instill a deeper love for his Word within me...and then I was anointed and prayed over and the pastor stepped back and then...nothing.  I just stood there.  The pastor moved on and every single other person that took part in that altar call fell down and I was the sole person left standing.  Yeah, you can imagine how odd I felt, standing there alone whilst everyone around me was on the floor passed out.  I should have taken that for the omen it was.  Instead, I ended up feeling like I had this big sign on my forehead that said, "Relationship with Jesus - You're Doin' It Wrong!"

Fast forward a few years and I still have what I thought was a great personal relationship with Christ, but I just wasn't sure about the whole charismatic/evangelistic thing.  Then my world collapsed when Josh died. We were living in a small mountain village at the time and I was lonely and for a time had turned back to the Mormon friends I had up there, and the church.  I knew it wasn't what I believed in but I needed the friends. M hated it.  M organized a prayer meeting for me with people I didn't know.  That was the night we lost Josh.  He felt the Mormons were devil-worshippers and that I needed help being pulled away from the church.  So now in addition to having lost this wonderful child, I have all this guilt heaped on me about it being my fault...had I not gone back to the Mormon church there never would have been the need for the prayer intervention, we never would have left Josh with that sitter and well...you can paint the rest of the picture yourself.

Moving along several years, I've left M, I've had a nervous breakdown, the kids are living with him and I'm trying to figure out how the hell to put my life back together.  I go church when I'm not working, on the air, or at school.  I still pray but it's different.  I'm not altogether trustful of a God who would rip a child out of my arms.  I'm not sure I can ever give my whole heart to a God who would intentionally inflict this kind of pain on a mother or a child and take the life of a two year old in such a painful and cruel way.  It's a very cautious relationship with God.  

I work through all the changes and switched radio stations over the years, moved several times and attended various churches with friends.  One of them was a church that...well, I don't even know how to explain it.  The women were all modestly dressed as well as the girls.  No females were in pants, anywhere.  The preacher was jumping around on the pulpit and the organist who had to be Little Richard's white twin, was banging out some old time tunes on the organ with a little bit of hellfire and brimstone added for effect.  And then the weirdest thing happened.  The men and women in the pews started to scream and yell and flop around on the floor.  At first I thought someone was having a seizure but then everyone started doing it.  Even the small children were in utter hysterics.  I eventually discovered that this was called "being slain in the spirit" and despite having attended a couple of services at that church with a friend (who I could swear suffered a head injury on one occasion after flailing around on the floor), I was never myself, "slain."  It might sound sacrilegious, but I'm grateful for that fact.  I reckon that if the Spirit decides to show himself within me, he'll have more sense than to throw this here fat woman on the floor...I probably wouldn't be able to get back up without the help of a few EMT's.

By this point I'm seriously starting to consider the fact that I have sinned by such incredible proportions that I'm just some sort of "Christian dud" like the fireworks you get that never go bang!   I assume that I've committed a couple of serious sins and this is God's way of punishing me.  He takes my child and then numbs me from feeling any sort of connection, genuine connection with him again.  In short, I felt shunned.

Why?

I'd had two abortions while I was with M.  One before we got married and another shortly before we split up.

Two.  Two abortions.

I figured that God was just evening up the score.  I took two lives and he took one back.  It pissed me off though.  I didn't think it was a fair trade but then who am I to call the shots?  I'm just a mere human.  A sinner.  A mother who failed her son and probably doomed him before he even took his first breath. 

Yet I still hung onto whatever tatters of this vitriolic relationship with Christ for the very simple reason that I do believe in him, despite everything, I do and I want to see Joshua again.  With everything in my being I do believe he's in Heaven.   But something tells me that God doesn't play like that.  I don't remember reading anything in the Bible about asking Jesus to be your personal savior just so you can see your dead son again.  

Several years down the line, another divorce, I finally get it together and have my life moving ahead in the direction I want it to.  I had begun the reconciliation process with my children from my marriage to M, have dealt with breast cancer, and been blessed with a child who I was told I'd never be able to have because of what chemo likely did to me and because of my obesity.  Gaby was a miracle.  A miracle we almost lost.  I did seek the Lord when her life hung between the living and the valley of the veil.  I told God that it was a deal breaker if he took her away from me.  I know he doesn't play that way.  I know he doesn't take bribes, even if it is you're soul we're talking about.  I won't lie though...I had several moments when I thought to myself, "OK, tit for tat.  There's still another soul up there, a life I took that has to be paid for and the sonofabitch is probably going to collect on that debt after all!"  Crude, but looking back on my journal, those are the exact words I spoke.

Gaby made a miraculous recovery and look at her now.  She's amazing.  Four years down the road and you'd never know how perilously close she came to dying and how terribly ill she was at birth.   When she's being defiant and a pain in my ass, I often think back to those really scary days in the NICU and watching her hooked up to all those machines and sedated out of her mind on Morphine.  I'd rather have a million toddler meltdowns than go through having another babe torn from my breast.

Despite it all I still feel like God doesn't really like me much. Hell, I rub a lot of people the wrong way and maybe he's not down with some of the stunts I've pulled.  I wasn't present for a lot of my older children's lives and despite them having forgiven me (no one else has, but they really don't matter...or at least I keep telling myself that, and honestly I wonder if my kids really have forgiven me, they're young yet.), maybe God hasn't.  I guess the abortions may have forever placed a huge scarlet letter "A" on my chest as well.  A is for Audrey...Asshole...Abortion...and Absent in the eyes of God. 

All of this brings us to here and now.  There have been a few more bumps in the road but nothing we haven't dealt with.  I've realized that my attitude has a lot to do with how I fare through these trials.  So many times it's how you react to things and whether or not you're going to consciously decide to get through it, or bitch and moan and groan your way through the mud which ultimately dictates whether you'll survive.  I've done a lot of all of the above, but like I said, am learning to react differently and see the solutions instead of seeing the problems right off the bat.

The thing I can't see my way through though is Christianity and after reading Jennifer McKinney's ("MckMama" from My Charming Kids)  blog and hearing about her remarks at Blissdom '10, I'm even more pissed off and bitter than I was before.   I've been reading JM's blog for a long time.  I cried and prayed when Stellan was so close to death's door.  I sent money and gift cards when the need was great and continued to pray...not because I wanted anything in return but because it felt good doing it and it was the right thing to do.  The entire time though I had this niggling feeling that would remain after reading some of her posts that left not only me, but a lot of people feeling like she was inferring that she was somehow more special in God's eyes because he was healing Stellan. 

Oh and before you even go there...no I don't really care about all of the other sins of omission that JM has copped to or the other controversy that seems to surround her, her finances and her relationship with her husband.  I don't care about those things.  I care about the fact that she seems to be saying she and/or Stellan are somehow more special and important in God's eyes.  Stellan has been cured!  He's healthy and perfect and beautiful and ya know, that's awesome.  Truly it is.  I used to hate going out to her blog during the time that Stellan was hanging by a thread because I was so afraid that I was going to read that the worst had come to pass.  I'd tell God, "Come on Dude, don't do this to someone else that has such deep and abiding blind faith in you...that would just suck ass on an epic level!"  Thankfully and blessedly that adorable kiddo is healthy and will probably go on to live a long and happy life! 

This is what makes me so damned angry though, and I'm not the only one saying it.  JM is so convicted of the fact that her child survived because of God's love.  So where does that leave women like me, and the millions of others who love Christ and believe and have accepted him as our savior but have lost children?  I'll tell you were it leaves us...it leaves us feeling like we don't rate in God's eyes and that we're second class citizens and our kids weren't worthy of God's healing love.

JM continues to go on about how Stellan was this miracle of God's love.  Well hell woman...what about the doctors?  Or were they connected to this spiritual miracle as well and worthy of God's love which lead their hands during Stellan's life-saving ablation?  I guess the world-class neurosurgeons that worked for hours on Josh, into what seemed like an endless night, didn't rate either, if that's the case.   So not only did I fuck up and end up dooming Josh, the surgeons and all those people who cared for him must not have cut it either.

And finally, what about all the other hundreds of prayers that went out the night Josh died?  Were those prayers not deemed worthy enough ...did they fall on deaf ears?

Just writing this rips me apart because I know damned well that it sounds bitter and jealous and almost hateful towards a woman I don't even know.  Maybe I am.  I don't know.   And yes, nearly 20 years after Joshua's death I'm still wounded, and raw and bleeding from the hole his death tore into my soul and my entire person...and the void it created in my relationship with Christ.  I'm still left reeling and awash in an ocean of grief, feeling like God didn't love my child enough to save him.

Or maybe, just maybe, at the end of the day it all boils down to the simple fact that I'm not the right kind of Christian.

What's the "Right" Kind of Christian?

  

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I have a reason for asking the question stated above.  It's part of this endless battle I seem to be waging with myself and God and others I see out there who...well, who think they have a direct line to God and because they've prayed a certain way, or prayed period, or are righteous enough, that God listens to them and answers their prayers.

One woman in particular has gotten my hackles up and before I start what's likely to turn into a pissing match, I wanted to ask the question...in your eyes, what's the "right" kind of Christian.

I ask this because I know my readers, the few I have, come from varied religious, theosophical, philosophical, educational, ethnic and sociological backgrounds and I'm curious as to what's shaped your opinions on religion - even if you don't believe.  If you don't believe in God, or even if you're agnostic, I'd love to know why?  Or maybe you're like me, waging an inner spiritual war and trying to decide whether good or evil is going to win, or if the whole gigantic good vs. evil scenario that most of us have been brought up with isn't more than just an huge faerie tale to begin with. 

Even if you're Jewish, Pagan, Catholic, Mormon, Atheist, Muslim, or non-denominational, I'd really like to know what you think the right kind of Christian is.  Maybe Christian isn't even the word I should use, because I think it's arrogant to assume that God or whomever the almighty Creator/Spiritual deity is, only listens to "Christians."  And therein lies my point...I think.

Earlier tonight as I sat with Gaby and said her prayers with her, she asked me if Jesus was still going to be in her heart because she had been naughty and told me, "You suck!"  I told her that of course, Jesus loves her no matter what, even is she tells her mumma she sucks. I reasoned with her that I'd already forgiven her (after asking myself where the hell she picked that one up from?), and that she was sincere about wanting to make sure she was still cool with Jesus, so it's all good. Is it...is it really all good?

I'm sitting there telling her that Jesus loves her NO MATTER WHAT.  But I know damned well that there are some Christians out there who, for some reason, deem their prayers more worthy, and for the life of me, I can't figure this out.

Feel free to elaborate in your comments...talk about it.  Debate it, discuss it.  Just let me know, in your eyes, what do you think the right kind of Christian should be? 

 

Motherhood and Christianity - Some Interesting Parallels

Have we all had enough drama?  What, you aren't sure?  Well, now that I've opened my mouth, just give it a day or two and I'm sure something else will crop up that will set the blogosphere's collective tongue's a waggin'.  Oh wait, this is BlogHer week isn't it?  Well 'nuff said there.  I'm sure some pretty incriminating photos will make the rounds, if not incredibly hilarious ones. 

Seriously though, I've had enough hate mail and tales of trolls and plagiarism to fill my need for salacious gossip for quite a while, Mmmk? 

I wanted to preface this post by making it perfectly clear that I don't want to ruffle any feathers out there or offend anyone.  There are so many wonderful writers out there who chose to use blogging as a platform to make an impact.  That's awesome and I'm not slamming it, as a matter of fact, a couple of you are my favourite writers, (I'm trying to steer clear of the term mommy-bloggers for a while because it's obvious some of you have mad skillz when it comes to writing and I think "mommy blogger" while not inherently negative, removes any hint of genuine talent you possess), and it would bother me to think I'd insulted you.

What I hope this post does is perhaps initiate a dialog between moms who parent differently, make alternative choices that someone else might not make, but yet who all have the same goal...to raise happy, healthy, well adjusted children who go out into the world and will have become compassionate, productive adults. And maybe perhaps a couple of my peeps who have commented that I'm heading to hell in a hand basket because I am not currently going to church or worshiping a particular way will chill after reading this.  Just remember, in the end it's all good.  Word!

I had to laugh when I was thinking about how various sects of denominations in the Christian world tend to act like "My God is better than your God!" because I totally saw another bumper sticker in my near future..."My God Can Kick Your God's Ass!"  The same can be said for mom's who get up in your grill about breastfeeding vs. formula feeding..."My breastfed kid is smarter and healthier than your formula fed kid!"  I see a killer bumper sticker with boobies and bottles.  I'm still a bit fuzzy on the wording though.  Maybe I missed my calling.  Perhaps I spent too much time on the air and should have been thinking up and marketing smart-ass bumper stickers. 

I digress...

It never fails to boggle my mind, watching different denominations argue about why they vs. the other denomination are the right thing, no, the ONLY thing to belong to and means of practicing their faith and walk with God.  Isn't the bottom line the same though?  You wanna live a Godly, Christ-like life and get to Heaven?  OK, maybe I've oversimplified it, but that's the gist, yes?  Oh and the other biggie, you want to bring other people to love and know Jesus and ask him to be their Savior?  So how on earth can that be accomplished with all this in-fighting, backbiting, name calling and divisiveness?  I don't get it.  Well let me be brutally honest here.  I just don't get organized religion.   My issues with organized religion have preceded the biggest spiritual crisis of my life and whilst that's neither here nor there, it doesn't help when trying to come to some sort of conclusion on my own, of exactly where I stand.   

Sometimes I just wanna say; "OK, ya'll can just bitch and gripe and moan and groan amongst yourselves because I've had enough of this, I'm outta here!"  In the past, with the different churches I've attended I've not always been fortunate enough to come to that decision before feeling so ostracized from the general church body because I don't do things the way they feel I should.

Case in point.  Years and years ago when I was dating Josh, Matt, Meg and Zack's father (who would soon become husband number one, but please, I try not to dwell on that) I went to an evening church service in which a special guest pastor came all the way from South Africa to speak and minister to those present. Let me just tell you, he must have been some kinda special because my former in-laws were ten different kinds of excited! 

After the pastor dude spoke there was an alter call (now keep in mind, I came from a fairly reverent organized religion...OK I'll just tell you, I grew up Mormon but am no longer active.  Don't ask questions because I'll tell you no answers.  Just read!) and not being altogether too sure what an alter call was, I just followed everyone along for the ride.  But I did this with what  I felt was a genuine heart and desire to become closer to God.

We all stood around the alter whilst pastor dude walked around anointing people with oil and praying over them.  And I was really trying to feel God's presence and get into things but I was distracted by every single other person DROPPING LIKE FLIES!  I had never seen anything like this in my entire life.  Not even before I was Mormon (we converted to the Church when I was nine) and was an Episcopalian. I was seriously starting to freak the hell out! As pastor dude got closer and closer all I could think about was not falling over and hitting my head and ending up in a coma and who in the hell was going to explain this to my mother and friends and why on earth was I there in the first place?  I am not knocking it but it was just so incredibly foreign to my [then] almost eighteen year old mind. 

Pastor dude eventually got around to me, prayed over me, anointed me and I'm waiting, waiting to fall over, to drop like so much wet laundry off a clothesline, waiting, waiting... oh wait, I feel something, nope was just a sneeze.  And then.... nothing!  Not a damned thing happened.  Hello God, it's me Audrey, where are you?

I was the only person left standing.   Talk about feeling like a butt-naked stripper walking into the wrong room at a bachelor party, only to find herself standing in front of a nun's convention!  So of course I immediately thought something was wrong with me, and that somehow I was not good enough in God's eyes.  I could feel the awkward stares and glances from those who hadn't gone up to the alter call.  I also knew that my ex and all of his family knew I wasn't laid out, semi-conscious on the floor!  Score one for not scoring any points with the future in-laws.

In the years since then, I have come to a reconciliation of sorts in regards to my personal spiritual relationship.  It works for me.  Well aside from this little old spiritual crisis I'm having now.  But, I was saying, I do what works for me and try to make the shattered remnants of my own soul feel good.  I try not to make others feel like I once felt for not doing things the way I feel work best.

I've been in so many churches and other assorted religious gatherings over the last twenty years and everyone has their own way of doing things, but what I don't understand is why everyone always has to think their way is the best and only way to do things.  Um HELLO....that kind of thinking hasn't gotten us anywhere in a couple thousand years and it's disparate and sometimes even discriminatory.  Does that make sense?   It's a little maddening.  It's also sad because this kind of thinking and misplaced zealousness does little more than serve as a tool to alienate those you want to reach.  I've heard people say that if you weren't baptized by full body immersion than you weren't really baptized, or if you don't partake of some representation of sacrament/communion then you aren't really partaking of the body of Christ.   My own mom is Jewish and I'm not.  Do I think she's going to hell?  Not on your life.  I know she's a good person and to me, that's all that matters.

So now lets take motherhood, a subject near and dear to most of my readers hearts.   Even if you aren't a mother, you've had a mother, so I'm sure, on some level, you can relate.  Or at least see the parallel I'm trying to draw.  I hope.

With the availability of information on the Internet and all the assorted pregnancy, childbirth and parenting forums it's become easier to gain exposure to different parenting styles and philosophies.  It's also become easier to call out those who do not parent the same way you do and attempt to make them feel inferior or that their child is somehow not receiving the best because the choices you make are not in line with theirs.  Nowhere is this more evident than in the debate between breastfeeding and formula feeding.  It's often a hotly debated topic within online parenting communities with the two sides drawing very distinct lines in the sand. 

I think we've all seen it before, someone trying to impress upon a pregnant mom who isn't quite sure she's going to breastfeed vs. formula feed, the advantages of breastfeeding...but it doesn't end there.  The mom-to-be is then inundated with study after study packed with statistics of this, that and every other benefit of breastfeeding and pitfall of formula feeding.  It often times gets to the point where it goes from sharing information to indoctrination laced with implications of not wanting or doing what's best for your child because you may opt to use formula.

As a personal aside, I have both formula and breastfed my children.  Hell, I'm still breastfeeding the Little Imp (occasionally).  However, because of a medication change, whilst we were originally planning on letter her go until she was three, we are going to have to force wean her in a matter of days.  Not looking forward to that.  My point is, all of my children have been healthy.  For me personally, breast is best.  But I'm not inside your head, or your life, so I can't make that call for you.  If asked, I'll tell you why I chose to breastfeed and you can take the information and do with it as you please.

A lot of mothers I have interacted with on various message boards take it up as their sole mission in life to "educate the uneducated" when it comes to breastfeeding, baby-wearing, attachment parenting and uber-hot topics like CIO...Crying It Out.   Often times the discussions turn from an informal exchange of ideas and information into a witch hunt, calling people who use the CIO method, Child abusers and accusing them of neglecting the infant/baby/toddler.  It's the same with spanking vs. not spanking, and to vaccinate vs. not vaccinating and repeat c-sections vs. vbacs.   We now have women telling other women that if they had to have a c-section, they were "birth raped."  Having had FOUR sections myself, I can't tell you how much that gets under my skin.  Yes, I'm aware of the stats. But I think the term "birth raped" is offensive in the extreme.  But hey, that's just my opinion!  And it's been formed because I have had very good experiences with all of my babies.  Others might not see things the same and I can respect that.

I've heard many people refer to these kind of heated debates as "Mommy Wars" and you know, they're right.  That's exactly what it's become. 

Once again I'm left sitting there, shaking my head and saying; "Alrighty ya'll, I'm out. Have fun tearing each other down and making asses of yourselves!"   I simply don't understand how accusatory discourse and alleging someone is abusing their child because they parent differently is helpful, much the same way that battling over different religious choices over the past two thousand years has led to wars, bloodshed and a general division amongst  those who make other choices.  How many wars have been fought over religion?  Too many to count.  And now we have mothers on one side of the line making every endeavor to have formula banned or at least, available only via prescription.

I guess I just don't see where any of this gets us.  I'm not suggesting we all put down our Bibles and bottles of formula, bear our breasts and our souls and sit around holding hands singing Kumbayah.  Please!   But then hey, if that torques your motor, be my guest.  I'll be the one sitting over here breastfeeding her toddler,  protected from prying eyes under the hooter-hider.

I guess my point to this long, semi-lucid and quite possibly incoherent ramble is this...No one way is the ideal or "perfect" way.   We've all been raised differently and come to the table with our own preconceived notions of right and wrong, good and bad and carry strong impressions of how we were raised, into our own families. 

There's room on both sides, be it motherhood or religion, to allow some leeway and tolerance.  Much like the young man who leaves home for college a  fully vaccinated, circumcised child, the product of Bible-belt Baptist parents who formula fed him, comes home years later an adult, and a parent at that, who via education and dialog with others returns as a Seventh Day Adventist,  who chooses not to circumcise his son and whose wife has decided to breastfeed until the child weans himself and as parents have made the joint decision to forego vaccinations.   Are his own parents going to see the boy, now a man, as any less of a person, inferior in any way?  His son is happy and healthy and well cared for...and above all else, is loved deeply.   

In the end, that's ALL that really matters.  You love your children deeply and make the choices you feel are best for them.   You love your soul deeply and you worship in the manner you feel is best for you.

So mah peeps...hopefully you don't think I've gone off the edge.  Was just in a very "thinky" mood today.

Word!

Bearing My Soul

This is a onetime shot. A once-in-a-lifetime chance to view the Swiss cheese that is my soul. I probably won’t ever get this candid about my life and personal spiritual beliefs on my public blog, ever again.

A word of caution…you won’t find any “funny” in this post. I am literally, as the title says, Bearing My Soul. To be honest, there hasn’t been a whole hell of a lot of “funny” in my life lately, save for The Little Imp, Meg, and my absolute rock of a husband. I think you’ve all sensed a change. I also wanted to preface this by saying as genuinely as I can that if you are reading this and don’t go to church, or even if you don’t have a personal relationship with Christ or any sort of spiritual deity, please know that I do not, and I won’t ever judge you. This is about me. This is about my spiritual crisis and a window into my soul.

Writing has always been cathartic for me, and I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that I might possibly be good at it. Especially the funny stuff. Lately though it’s become a chore. I have to struggle to write about the more amusing aspects of our day to day lives. Before January that probably wouldn’t have been hard at all. But now it’s like I’m wading through waist high mud in order to see the more amusing aspects of my life. It's not a stretch to say that I am really having trouble.  Yes, I’m working with someone, as a result of certain things that have happened recently, to get back to “me”…”working” being the ideal word in the above sentence. Maybe once I dig through all the crap and can find “me”, maybe then will the “funny” be back. That’s my hope at this point.

Anyhow, it really isn't anyone's business why we aren't attending church this year for Easter services.   However, people have asked me and Meg and I have been talking about all things religious lately. She told me when she first set foot in Maine that she didn’t want to go to church, further to that, with everything going on lately in her own life – it’s not exactly enamored her of church -  anything additional to that I’ll let Meg handle explaining if she so chooses), I will delve into some of our reasons.  And you know something, it really sucks that I feel I have to justify our reasons at all.  I will say this, a lot of it has to do with feeling comfortable with a home church, and frankly, I haven't felt at home anywhere around here lately. The people in this community scare me.  That’s a whole other kettle of fish…my deep longing to return to Cape Elizabeth and those I know and am comfortable around. Quite simply, its home.

I'm also dealing with some internal conflicts that I don't know that I have the words to articulate and for other reasons, I can’t – I literally cannot give voice to.   Some of you have probably sensed a depression of sorts and you wouldn't be too far off the mark.  So much has happened in the last few months that it's going to take me ages to sort through it all. 

Yes I know, for those of you who do attend church, you are probably sitting there shaking your head and saying to the computer screen; "silly girl, get your butt in church - that's where you're going to get help sorting this all out."   It's not quite that simple though. 

Those of you who know me intimately, know I have a strong personal relationship with Christ, but you also know that I seriously question our religious institutions and the politics involved.  So if I'm sitting there having doubts about a church I'm going to, I'm certainly not going to get so involved with them to the point of opening up about the many internal wounds going on in my personal life that have preceded this spiritual and personal crisis of sorts.

Bottom line kiddies....I have to trust in my own one-on-one personal relationship with Christ right now, because I don't trust the people in the community I live in, so it’s logical that I wouldn’t go into a church in my own community and bear my soul. Part of that bottom line is having the faith to trust in my relationship with Christ to get me through this. Because when you put your cards on the table, at the end of the day it’s not your friends or people you know who you need to put your faith in. It’s God. It’s having faith in your relationship with The Father and his Son. Period.

Isn’t the saying; “Let go and let God.”? So why, when I’m already in a crisis, would I look to a church family to get me through something anyhow…a church family in a town I’m not comfortable in? Not to mention, I have serious misgivings about the decisions those in positions of leadership in our area churches make, all in the name of appearing politically correct and saving face. In my eyes, that’s not how you run a place of worship. It’s not a business nor is it a soapbox for political views or expressions of outrage aimed at our government.

When I walk into a church I want to feel God’s love and grace envelope me. And lately I haven’t. I don’t want to hear about gays, the war in Iraq, or anything that doesn’t have to do with deepening my understanding and love for God’s word. I don’t care to know anyone’s political stance. Church isn’t the place for it.

Add to that, I am really questioning the nature of true Christians.  I can hear the audible gasps from some of you. Wow, I’ve really opened Pandora’s Box with this one haven’t I? 

I can safely say that I think I only know a handful.  That’s right, a handful of people that I think are genuinely Christ-like and isn’t that what being a Christian is? I only know a handful of people who I believe truly live to glorify the Lord and Christ. That’s pathetic!  Oh sure, I know a whole boatload that say they are Christian (and in all fairness, they themselves probably believe they are the epitome of what a Christian is but in my eyes, they are the antithesis of what I think being a genuine Christian is) and go around proselytizing about being a Christian and chastising others for the way they do or do not lives their lives. They act holier than thou and incredibly self righteous. They are quick to judge and they are even quicker to anger. And that bothers me to no end.

It’s not just watching other people who are supposed to be paradigms of Christ and all things Christian that has me where I am right now. There are other issues, some might even say larger issues, at play.

Part of me is asking God; “ok dude, I’ve yelled Uncle, I’ve screamed mercy, when is enough, ENOUGH? Because lemme tell ya Big Guy, I HAVE HAD ENOUGH!”  I know, now that I’ve written it, that you’re thinking; “wow, your life must really suck!” It doesn’t.  I'm just having an incredibly hard time feeling worthwhile and feeling like I have a place in this world.

My point is, all the Christians I have ever known, and even the very Bible itself says to give your pain, your heartache and your sorrow to God and he will heal you.  Well folks, I'm still waiting. 

Then of course there is the anger. There is a whole hell of a lot of anger, probably enough to fill the Atlantic Ocean.

I can’t help but sit here amidst all the other chaos and ask God, “Why…why do you let bad things happen to good people? I think I’m a good person, albeit I don’t always make the right choices, I think I am fundamentally a good person yet I’m getting crapped on time after time lately and it’s getting old!”

All of the above is sad and confusing. It all contributes to my lack of desire to spend this Easter Sunday in a house of worship…in ANY house of worship. And when it all is said and done, I have to feel at home in a church. And right now, the only place I feel at home, or at least am comfortable around, is my own little small family. So we will celebrate Easter surrounded by those we love, care about and cherish and right now, right at this moment in time, if it’s good enough for me, it’s going to have to be good enough for you.