“sex is the most awful, filthy thing on Earth, and you should save it for someone you love”

So, I was doing some much overdue blog surfing… and went to one of my favorite blogs – http://parentingbeyondbelief.com/blog/, and I happened to see a post called: “sex and the balls of the evangelical”, and the following quote at the top of the page really cracked me up.

Life in Lubbock, Texas taught me two things: One is that God loves you and you’re going to burn in hell. The other is that sex is the most awful, filthy thing on Earth, and you should save it for someone you love.“ –Butch Hancock, country singer/songwriter

Now, I don’t really know Butch Hancock’s work – but, this quote alone was enough to make me want to run out and buy his CD.  LOL

The rest of the blog post there was also verrrry interesting…  Read the rest of this entry »

Is Disney evil??

A friend of mine emailed me today regarding being worried that her brother in law has gone over the deep end with religion.  This is interesting, since this friend is a fairly new convert to Christianity herself.  Yet, even she see’s there’s something not right here… She said that she came back from a visit with her family for the holidays.  And, that her brother in law is becoming more and more religious.  She said she couldn’t help to think about all the stories I had told her  Read the rest of this entry »

Response to “spare the rod” post at PBB….

What  sobering posts over on the “Parenting Beyond Belief” blog  – called spare the rod (and spare me the rest)“, and responses to “spare the rod”.  He talks about how many people, like James Dobson with Focus on the Family, use the bible to support spanking and different views on this.  As I recently mentioned, I can’t stand Dobson or FOF. I worry about messages being spread still today, and that good Christian people (like my friend who is a new mom) might buy into because they do like FOF and Dobson. 

My parents didn’t agree on much… but, they did both believe in spanking.  I have to say that my brothers got it worse than I did… but none of us ever got it that bad.  I wouldn’t say either my mother or father was “abusive” in their spanking methods, but I realize that’s a relative statement and matter of opinion. 

I do have vivid memories of my father threatening “the belt”, although, he never used it.  He DID spank with an open hand, though… not very often… but, enough that we believed we would “get it” if he threatened it. Usually, he only had to threaten it, and not do it, but we knew he WOULD if we didn’t listen.  My mother was more sporadic.  She’d whack ya with anything in her hand, usually a wooden spoon, if you weren’t listening. But, she must not have hit us very often or hard, because we were not as afraid of her.  She’d save the important spankings for my father to dish out.   They both believed that was part of his fatherly duties.  The old, “wait until your father gets home!” thing. 

One of the more common threats that my Dad use to say was “I’m going to rip your arm off and beat you over the head with the bloody end of it!”.  Ironically, this was NOT something scary, but rather something my brothers and I found humorous.  We knew he meant it sarcastically.  He had a bit of a warped sense of humor (as do I).  This saying did, however, use to scare our friends when they heard him say it.  But, my brothers and I would just laugh and say, “aww… he’s only kidding…. he always says that… and look – we still have 2 arms”.  No, we were more afraid of “the look”, or the threat of “you’re gonna get it!”. 

I do remember witnessing my brothers getting spanked… never with a belt… and never bare bottomed…  but always dramatic.  Often, if one of us got in trouble, we all did.  And, usually he started with my oldest brother.   I was usually hysterical just from watching my brothers get spanked while waiting for my turn…  and, probably because of that, and the facts that I was younger and a girl, my dad would barely swat me, if at all.  This is something my brothers still like to throw in my face about what a faker I was to get off of spankings LOL.  But, I really wasn’t faking.  It really was traumatic just to watch and wait.  

My oldest brother would always try to act tough, and to not cry…  and so, he’d get spanked the hardest I think…  until he DID cry.  Spanking is all about breaking that will and humiliation, isn’t it?  So, ironic… now that I think about it, being taught NOT to cry… and then punished harder for NOT crying.   ??  (I never really thought about that before now… but, wow… that’s pretty screwed up! ? ?)

My other brother, would go the dramatic route.  Running around screaming and yelling “no no no!”… until my father could wrestle him over or force him to come and get it.  Because he was already screaming and crying (moreso out of anger and frustration and for the pure drama effect, I think), he didn’t get spanked as hard.  Except for the time he put a book down his pants… and when my Dad hit that with his hand, he was really mad.

Then there was me.  Watching and waiting… trying not to cry, but failing miserably at times like this…  obediently going over when called without trying to run… and, I must have looked so pitiful, that my dad couldn’t/didn’t really spank me most of the time.  A couple times, he shut the door so my mom and brothers couldn’t see, and he whacked the bed or himself instead of me for sound effects… and told me to not tell (my mother) that he didn’t spank me. 

This leads me to believe that he didn’t always want to be “the enforcer”, but did feel like it was his job… and like he needed to do it to make my mom happy sometimes.  Which also leaves me feeling a bit bitter and resentful…

Looking back, I can not think of a time that I feel these spankings were really beneficial.  I have a hard time remembering what any of them were even for??  All of the memories that I DO have of important life lessons, or times I DO think I learned something good – had absolutely nothing to do with being spanked. 

I admit to having spanked my first child a couple times… which was more like a swat on a padded butt…  and nothing like the “proper spankings” described in the post at PBB. Each time I did, I immediately felt guilty and regretted it.  Each time I did, I was completely frustrated, upset, and/or scared when I did it.  Like, when my son was at the defiant 2 year old age and liked to  say “no” and run away as most 2 year olds do.  One day, though, he almost ran in to oncoming traffic as I called him and chased after him.  When I caught him, I was both relieved and upset, and it was almost a reflexive swat that I gave him. Part of me thought it was just the normal and right response.  Like it was something I ‘should’ do, or ‘had’ to do… “for his own good” (ugg… I am wincing at that saying as a I type it).  Once I calmed down, a bigger part of me just felt it was wrong. 

I am glad that I felt that way, and that I did not continue to use spanking as a form of punishment.  I realized there were other ways….  better communication, and if necessary threats and punishments (time outs, no more TV or Computer, no treats, etc.) that I could follow thru on more easily, that were also more effective and obviously the better choice.

It’s funny, we do not spank our boys now (ages 5 and 10) and we do not go to church.  My boys are also probably more concerned with doing the “right” thing , and “being nice” than most of our friends kids that go to church every Sunday.   I’m not just bragging here, and I know I’m bias – but, I can’t think of ANY kids we know that have better behavior or attitudes than our boys.  Sure, our boys and aren’t perfect angels – but, I tell you what… they are genuinely GOOD kids.  You might not believe me, but, this is not just my opinion.  We constantly have have friends and family tell us how they are impressed by how well behaved our boys are. 


Threats of Hell…

After reading a post on “Parenting Beyone Belief”, called “god’s burning love for me”, I found this “The Reality of Hell” video from here: http://www.rapturealert.com/video/realityofhell.asp:

I couldn’t help myself…  I had to watch it.  Nice, huh?  Lovely. 

Utterly ridiculous, is what it is.  To threaten people… scare them… into believing something.  No thanks.

 When I was a kid… probably about 8, I remember our church one Sunday night had a “special”… and it was a whole movie like that clip.  It showed people meeting Jesus, having flashbacks on their lives and all the wrong things they had done…. even things like chances they had to “witness” but didn’t.  And, then it showed them going to hell… burning…  I especially remember one scneene where they showed what looke like live worms crawling in and out of some poor guys burning flesh as he screamed. 

 I was horrified.  Shocked.  Scared shitless.  And, petrified for my father and brother, and all those other lost souls.  Somewhere, in the back of my brain, I feared for myself as well, even though I thought I was “saved” at the time.  Was I really saved?  What had I done wrong?  I knew there had to be something.  Why would my father deserve to go to Hell, but not my Mom or myself?  What made us so much better?? 

There was no real peace at all in the knowledge that I was “saved”.  How could I know for sure I was?  And, how could I be peaceful, or live “happily ever after” knowing that my father and millions like him were burning in eternal hell?  How is that peace?

But, I believed back then…  and, I remember my mother telling me (and everyone) that my Dad WAS going to hell constantly.  She constantly hoped for a miracle of his salvation.  We prayed and prayed.  I confronted him.. and begged him to come to church.  I sang in front of the church, just to get him to come, for years.  Way past the time I wanted to sing.  They made me feel like I HAD to… it was my duty.. since that was the only time Dad came to church (to see me sing).   When I started not wanting to do it anymore… they really put the pressure and guilt on me.  Not just my Mom, but other adults of the church too. 

Looking back… it makes me so mad.  I know now that my mom was sick.  Other adults, the pastor, must have known she was too.  Yet – nobody told me she was.  I believed everything she told me for a long time.  I can forgive and excuse her actions… BECAUSE I now know she was sick. 

What I can’t get my brain around, is how all these other adults… elders of the church.. the pastor(s)… how they all encouraged her behavior and the things they told me too!?  What in the world were they thinking?  That is was GOOD to worry a little girl sick about thoughts of hell and fire and brimstone?  That God would want them to tell a child over and over that her own father was going to hell unless SHE could MAKE him come to church so maybe the church congregation could win him over to God’s side? 

I liked my Dad….  and loved him even more.  But, I had to believe he was doomed to what I saw in that movie unless I could save him.  And, I didn’t dare ask WHY he was such a bad guy?  WHY did he deserve eternal hell and fire?  I knew he didn’t go to church…  or believe in God.  But, he was a great Dad.  He was a loving, caring, and wonderful man.  It just never made sense to me.  And, it still doesn’t.

I like this video from George Carlin on religion much better…   now, HE makes sense… (and makes me laugh LOL)



No more sleigh bells for my son…

Whelp…. my son is on to us (my husband and I). We will never be able to make him jump into bed again with threats of hearing sleigh bells on Christmas Eve…

I was reading my new “Parenting Beyond Belief” book… laying on the loveseat this morning with a cup of coffee, while my 2 sons were across the room watching cartoons. Or so, I thought!

I happened to be on the chapter about Holidays and Celebrations. There was a part called “To Easter Bunny or Not to Easter Bunny” (which was by, and can be found on “Agnostic Mom’s Blog” here)… and, as I’m peacefully reading, I suddenly hear my 10 year old say – “What’s that you’re reading about the Easter Bunny? HmmmmmMMMMMmmm??”. He was smiling and looked like the cat who ate the canary…

He caught me off-guard. Mostly because I thought he already was well aware that there wasn’t an Easter Bunny… he’s 10!

But it quickly dawned on me that he never really flat out asked or announced his disbelief. I just assumed he was going along for the sake of his little brother still. I smiled at him… and he smiled back. He looked like he was proud of himself – not upset. He started chanting, “There is no Easter Bunny! There is no Easter bunny!”.

I sort of shot a glance to him and eyeballed towards his little brother (who just turned 5), and told him to “ssssh”. Then, I called him into the other room so we could talk privately.

Me: “First of all… the book I’m reading was talking about all different holidays and celebrations and beliefs and religions… and how some people believe one thing… and others believe something else.”

DS1: “OoooooOOOOOOoooh. ….       But, IS there an Easter Bunny???? hmmmm???” (smiling)

Me: “what do you think?”
(I thought – wow… what good timing that I was JUST reading about this and different approaches to handle it! Of course, if I HADN’T been reading it, this wouldn’t be happening, because he wouldn’t have seen it! LOL)

DS1: “Nooooooo. I don’t think the Easter bunny is real” (laughing)

Me: “Well then, it sounds like you already knew then. And, yes… you are right. You didn’t really still think there was a bunny bringing you eggs and candy anymore did you?”

DS1: “Noooo. (more laughing). So what about Santa? Is HE real??”

Me: again, “Well? What do you think?”

DS1: “No. There’s no way he could go all the way around the world in one night! (more laughing)

Me: “Well then…. Again… it sounds like you already knew. So you aren’t surprised if I tell you that you are right again, right?”

DS1: “Ah HAA! I KNEW it!!!” (big grin)

Me – surprised: “So you still thought maybe there were?”

DS1: “Well.. I KNEW the Easter Bunny wasn’t real for sure… and I was 99% sure about Santa but wanted to make sure just in case”

Me: “Well… you know… the SPIRIT of Christmas and Santa is real – about giving to others and all”

DS1: “oh yeah…. Sure… but, there’s not a guy who flys around.  The presents come from you and Dad.”

Me: “right. But it was fun to pretend and believe in magic for a while, wasn’t it?

DS1: “yes”

Me: “so, do you think you can not tell your little brother just yet and we’ll wait til he asks? I think he likes to pretend too”

DS1: “I already tried to tell him last year that Santa wasn’t real – but he got mad and hit me”. (laughing)

Me: laughing back… “See? He doesn’t want to know yet. Let’s wait. He’ll know soon enough”.

DS1: “Okay”

I pause… studying his face briefly. He doesn’t LOOK upset. Still.. I can’t help but worry. It’s my job as a mother – to worry. I find myself wondering if he’s going to be damaged for life now and gingerly ask,

“So… what do you think about all this now that you know for sure?”

DS1 paused… and, blurted out, “I can’t believe when I’m a grown up I’m going to have to spend all that money on my kids!!”…

We both laughed hard… and I gave him a big hug…. I told him he didn’t HAVE to spend anything… you give because you want to… and that he didn’t HAVE to have kids… (to which he said “YAY!” ;)… but, I continued.. “But, you know… your father and I love you and your brother very much… and you are worth every penny.”….


All in all… I think it went very well… I see no visible scars.

I know there’s a lot of controversy on this.  My Christian friends struggle with it too.  I always thought, my being NOT religious, made it easier to pretent because I wasn’t worried about sending the wrong message of the holidays not being religious enough. 

I seriously don’t remember being upset myself when I figured it all out.  I don’t even remember when I actually DID figure it all out.  I think I was like him, where I knew for a long time… but, went along for a while anyway.. just to make sure.. and because it was fun. When my next son wants to know the truth… we will tell him… but for now… I don’t think it is hurting him at all to have a little magic in his life.

 Of course, I could be wrong.  Someday – they might hate me for it…  and I’ll loose my mother of the year award – again. 😉

~ smj

“Why should we have “the fear of the Lord”, Mom?”

“Why should we have ‘the fear of the Lord’, Mom”?   – That was what my 10 year old asked me when we were at his cousins baptism recently.  We went to a very nice catholic church, beautiful.. and, it happened to have all these little signs/banners around the pulpit.  They read things like “Truth”, “Love”, “Respect”, and one said “Fear of the Lord”.  

 My 10 year old son whispered to me this question (“why should we have “the fear of the Lord”?”).  I guess he could understand the others good traits like “Love”, and “Respect”, but, being afraid of God just didn’t make sense to him. 

I thought back to my childhood… where regular church sermons with threats of Hell and fire and brimstone were the norm.  Where I was taught who got to go to heaven, and who would burn in hell, and why.  We prayed for those poor lost souls (like my dad and brother who didn’t come to church) regularly.  Yes, I KNEW what “the FEAR of the Lord” meant at a very early age.  And, I was scared back then.  I was sacred for my Dad… for my brother… for anyone who didn’t believe what I was taught.  And, I was scared for myself whenever I “sinned”.  Which was pretty frequently according to my mother.  As if being afraid of any punishment from my parents wasn’t enough.

But that all ended years ago.  Way before I ever had kids and decided “enough with church and all these threats and promises”.  My husband and I don’t go to church…. either do our kids.  We are “bad parents” in that way.  So, I guess this little banner would confuse my son.  “Fear of the Lord“??.  What little he did know about God was all good.  (Yeah, believe it or not, I do try to teach my kids the basic bible stories).  So, this made no sense to him. 

I was glad it didn’t make sense.  I felt like, it shouldn’t make sense, because it DOESN’T make sense!  SOOO much of it doesn’t make sense!!   Still, I couldn’t help feeling this tinge of guilt (and what else is new?), and I felt like  he SHOULD understand it. 

I quickly whispered back to him, “I guess it means that you should be afraid that if you are really bad God will punish you”.  My son shot me a bigger confused look… hinted with fear this time.  I quickly regretted saying that.  I didn’t want to scare him about this stuff (like I had always been).  I wanted him to understand, but, not be scared.  Understand, but, not necessaruly believe what this church and most christian religions preach.  So, I whispered… “like, REALLY bad… like, people who kill people…  they don’t mean God would punish you for just doing something little.”… I got the same confused look.   I was confusing myself.  I could see this wasn’t the time or place to discuss this.  “We will talk more later, ok?”, I said. 

And we did.  And when we did… I told him how people believe different things about God, and Heaven and Hell, and how you should bring up kids, and about what happens when you die.  I told him I didn’t want him to be afraid of what other people worried about…  and that he was a good kid  and he didn’t ever have to worry about that.  I told him many people got a lot of joy and comfort out of their religious beliefs in heaven and God, and from going to church,  and it wasn’t supose to be scary.  I went on to say that it was good for him to understand different beliefs / opinions and he could make his own decisions as he learned things.   

Of course he asked me what I believe.  I was hoping he wouldn’t… but, of course he  wanted to know.   I’m always hesitant and leary on sharing my wish-washy beliefs with anyone, let alone my own kids.  It’s one of the things I struggle with as a mother.  I feel like I am pretty jaded in this area and don’t want to say the wrong things.  I don’t want to force my skeptical outlook and agnostic beliefs on my children.  But, I also want to be honest with what I do believe.

So, I told him I wasn’t sure exactly what I believed, about God, or heaven and hell.  I wasn’t sure they even existed – but, it was nice to think that someday I’d see Pa again, etc.   I told him I did believe we live on thru our loved ones, and all the ways we impacted other lives and the world when we were here.  I told him I did believe that what goes around, comes around… and in the golden rule.  

 I also told him it was easier to say what I didn’t believe… and, that I didn’t believe a lot of the things I was taught when I was a kid.  I didn’t believe that if there was a God, he would send good people… thousands.. millions of them to hell for not being a certain religious faith.  I told him I didn’t believe anyone really had all the answers or knew everything, and that the ones that think they do should think twice. 

We actually talked for a while.  I even wound up telling him for the first time a little bit about my Mom, and how I think she’s a little sick.  How she was very over board with the religion when I was little and how it made me not like it.   It surprised me how interested he was in this.  And, how surprised he was.  He even got a little mad and acted like I should’ve told him about my mom before.  Maybe I should have.  But, I didn’t think he’d get it.  And, I didn’t want to turn him on her… he loves her…  and she is a good grandma to him.  But,I wanted him to understand.  I also wanted him to be aware in case she says or does anything a little off the wall around him, and understand why he never stayed with her alone.  He’s finally old enough to start understanding, I think.    

I asked him if he was curious to learn more about church, or religion… (since we don’t go), and he quickly said, “no”… and before I knew it, we were talking about school and moved on to lighter topics. 

I’m glad we talked, though.  
And, I’m glad he didn’t know why we should have the “fear of the Lord”. 

He has enough to worry about growing up…   

Still  – I bought a book called “Parenting Beyond Belief” (http://www.parentingbeyondbelief.com).  I think it might help me the next time we talk.    =)


I saw the light!

I was the youngest child in our baptist church to be baptized.  The baptists don’t baptize you when you are  a baby like the catholics.  They believe you have to be old enough to understand what you are doing and to want to do it. 

I think it was the summer of 1971.  I was a devout born again.  I loved church and all that it stood for.  I wanted to do everything right.  I was five. 

I remember being home one morning with my mother.  My dad was at work.  My brothers at school.  She was playing the piano and singing away.  I was bored, as usual.  I saw the light in the hallway was still on… and I sat and stared at it… mesmerized… just looking and feeling the burn.  I had never done that before.  And, when I looked away… suddenly I couldn’t see so good.  There was a big spot everywhere I looked.  What had I done???  

Worried, I interrupted my mother’s piano playing.  You had to be insistent to get my mom’s attention…  and I was…  getting a little more frantic each time she didn’t respond and noticing the “spot” was following me everywhere.  

Worried, I asked her, “Mommy?!  What is that light?  That spot following me??”.  Finally, I had her attention.  She curiously examined the room and inspected where I was looking.  She asked me if I still saw it.  I said yes… I was scared. 

She however, suddenly acted like she was filled with glee!  She was so happy, I suddenly was too!  She excitely told me I was seeing the holy spirit!” 

I was confused.  She explained it was sort of like a gohst… but, that it was a GOOD gohst…  it was an ANGEL…  It was a MIRACLE!!  She began praising the lord and praying and hugging me…

She asked me over and over, excited and happy, “can you still see it?? where was it now??” 

I replied ethusiastically, “yes… it’s there!  no… wait… there!… now there!!  it’s followinig me!” 

 Gradually, the spot faded away and my vision was back.  I was relieved.  She seemed let down. 

 But not for long.  She promptly called the pastor and all her church friends and told them her little girl had just seen the holy spirit..  an angel!  I must be special.  And, that while she was worshiping the lord in song and music… I had been visited by God himself… holy-gohst style!

She was so darn proud. Hell, I was too.  I didn’t know what I did… but, if she thought it was great and said I was special… well, then… It must be!  

She had me meet with the pastor that week, and the following Sunday I was baptized before the church.  He said I was the youngest child he ever baptized.  He asked me, are you sure you know what you are doing?  What it means to be born again and baptized?? I thought, are you kidding?  Of course I knew!  I was five whole years old and a miracle child.  LOL

That Sunday, I remember feeling very confused as I stood in line with all these grown ups waiting to be baptized.  What the heck was going on?  I didn’t even know how to swim yet?  Where was my life jacket??  I was scared… they all assured me it was fine.  When I actually got baptized, I remember him picking me up, in my long wet white shirt, so the congregation could see me.  They all applauded and I thought, wow… am I special or what??  It’s good to be born-again! 

About a week later, I must’ve been bored again and I stared into a light bulb again.  Hey!?!?  Whadda ya know??  The spot was back!!!  This time, my brother was there… he obviously knew about this trick and he stared with me and we both watched the spots come and go. 

I remember silently figuring it out in my head.  I had NOT seen the holy spirit… It was NOT a miracle… It was what happens when you stare in a light-bulb.  Who knew????  Well… now I knew. 

I thought about telling my mother about… but, I didn’t want to disappoint her.  She was so happy.  Besides, had I done something wrong?  Would I get in trouble for lieing?  Even thoght I didn’t know what it was?  And, what about being baptized???  I had already done it.  Would it be in trouble?  Would my mom get in trouble?  

 I decided a couple things that day…

 1) I couldn’t believe my mom about everything… and she didn’t know everything.

2) It was easier to keep my mouth shut and play along than to upset the apple cart. 

I was half right, at least…


reason vs. evil

When I was a kid… my mom thought everything was “evil” or “disgusting”. Rock music. All my friends. My Dad. T.V. Anything. I didn’t believe her- but, I knew what she thought. 

She read my diary once when I was 17 and totally freaked out (even though I personally don’t think I had done anything THAT bad). She started praying over me in the middle of the night, anointing me with oil and speaking in tongues, and accusing me of ridiculous things that I had never done or that weren’t even possible to do that I knew of.

I never told my Dad at the time – but years later I did. He was mad when he found out and asked me why I didn’t tell him back then? He said he would’ve made her stop.And, he usually did “make her stop”. If she said we couldn’t go trick or treating – he said we could. If she said we couldn’t watch any TV (even the show “Happy Days” to her was “disgusting”) – he said we could. If she wanted us to go to church 5 times a week – he said we didn’t have to if we didn’t want to.

They fought a LOT. Screaming – and sometimes she would hit him. Of course, I didn’t like it. But, I felt sorry for her – she was always so sad… crying… it was so dramatic. I felt like I needed to take her side, even though, I didn’t believe my her and was glad my dad didn’t make us do all the things she wanted.

Well, when I was really young – I did believe her. I was in it.  I was scared and belieiving all the “evil” lurking around me.  But, it wasn’t too long before I started questioning things  –  like religious beliefs as well my mom’s personal beliefs/stories.  However, I went to churches that I didn’t like for years – just to make her happy.  I was afraid if I stopped going she would totally “lose it”.   She “lost it” a lot.

This went on for years and years… I stopped going to church finally at age 17, right after she read my diary and freaked out. She called me a hypocrite, and I told her she was right… and admitted I was only going for her and I stopped going. She freaked… but, she survived. It was a relief to me.

I guess I eventually hit a point where reason overpowered all the fear and “evil”. 


Could Mom be wrong?

I grew up very religious – baptist for starters… then more of a full-gospel/pentecostal… and then my current religion of choice – nothing.

When I was just a kid… I went to church 3-5 times a week with my mom and my brother. My other brother, and my dad stayed home.

You see, my father made no bones about the fact that he was an atheist. He then went on to tell us kids that it was our choice… we could go to church with our mother if we wanted to… or we could stay home with him and do chores.

My oldest brother went to church for a while.  Then, he was the first one to take my dad up on this option. He opted to stay home. My mom was not happy, to say the least. But, my dad was a man of his word, and would not make my brother go if he didn’t want to. This led to the major divide in our family.  My parents had always fought like crazy… but, this divided us 3 kids too.  From them on out, it was my Dad and my oldest brother, against my mom, my other brother, and myself.

I watched my mother tell anyone that would listen all about how awful my father was. And, how he was going to hell… and now he was trying to drag her son with him. We prayed for them. A lot. My mother would cry and cry… and we would all pray… the three of us, and anyone else my mother could drag into it.

Then, I would go home.. and my dad would say – “you don’t have to go to church if you don’t want to”. What? And wind up like HIM, I thought? Going to hell in a hand basket? No thank you. Besides, if my mom tweaked out that much over my one brother not going, what in the world would happen to her if I didn’t go too? Did I want my mom telling everyone that would listen about how I was going to hell and praying for me? And, besides.. I believed her.

I believed it all. I was scared to death for my dad and my brother. I belived they were going to hell. I prayed my heart out along with them. I cried and cried too.

Yes, I was a good little christian girl. When I was about 5 or 6 I tried to “save” every kid on my block. Needless to say, I wasn’t very popular that summer. LOL But, I did whatever my Mom told me to do… and I did it because I thought she knew what she was talking about. Along with the pastor and all the other good people at church.

I played the organ and sang in church regularly. I was shy and scared to death… my knees would shake and I felt like I was going to throw up each time… but, I was convinced this was something I should do. You see, this was the only time my dad would go to church. To see me preform. Each time, my mother would gather the pastor and church leaders to pray before each “special” I preformed. We would pray that when my dad came to see me that THIS would be the time that God would speak to him… sort of bonk him on the head with christian fairy juice or something and he would suddenly become the perfect christian father that he should be.

It took me years to stop believing that would happen. And, as I became a pre-teen, my dad had it all figured out too. He stopped coming when I sang. My mom and pastor would tell me to ask him to come… put the pressure on him… make him feel guilty. So, I did. Only, I really felt bad that he wouldn’t come. I wasn’t pretending to want him there. My mom told me to tell him that if he loved me he’d come… and, so, when he wouldn’t come… I actually wondered if he really did love me or not.

It took me a while before I realized that of course he loved me… he was just sick of the plotting and scheming… and, after a few more failed attempts to make him come and see me… I realized I was tired of it all too. I was relieved… I didn’t really want to sign in front of the whole church. So, I stopped “preforming” like a trained seal. I still remember how guilty my mom made me feel for “giving up”. Mot only my mom, but also the pastor and other adults. Looking back, it makes me very angry. Angry with my mom, but also with the church leaders for putting that kind of pressure on me. A little naive girl. How dare they????

Singing wasn’t the only time or way I was “used” by my mom. My mom knew how close I was with my dad. How close all of us kids were with him. She was jealous. He was the one we turned to… and I was without a doubt – “Daddy’s little girl”. He may have been an atheist… and going to hell or not… he was never anything but wonderful to me and my brothers. If anyone taught us positive life lessons – it was him. And, yet, I’d hear my mother trash him every singe day. She acted like he was the devil himself. She and my Dad fought a lot… and, she would use me as a pawn against him.

After my mother’s prompting, I vividly remember apporaching my father… teary eyed and upset… asking him why he didn’t believe in God? why didn’t he believe in the bible? and sobbing that I didn’t want him to go to hell. His answer, I remember explicitly…

He sat me down on his knee.. wiped my tears… told me not to worry and that he wasn’t going to hell… I hopefully listened on. He explained that he didn’t think there was a hell… and he said, “You know your little Thumbelina book that you like so much? You know how it’s a great fairytale and story, but it’s not real? Well, that is how I think of the bible. I think it’s a great book… with lots of great stories… and some good messages… but, I don’t think it’s real”. This answer made me feel better, even though my mother promptly shot it down and told me he was going to hell again soon after. Still.. it planted a seed of a thought… maybe…just maaaaaaaaaaybe Mom was wrong???


~ smj