About Moving On. Or Not.

I am no longer a bible-believer.  I suppose it shouldn’t bother me that some christians suppose I was never “saved” or never understood the gospel.  But I was and it does.  For an awfully long time I believed the bible and poured more energy into my supernatural beliefs than most people put into anything besides the Almighty Dollar.  

I have published a book describing my exodus from the faithful flock, my journey out of and reflections on christianity.  With the swipe of an ink pen I have signed my name to dozens of copies of this book, sealing the agreement that I must, perhaps forevermore, engage with people on the subject.  I could have just told my friends, family and blog readers that I was done with christianity and was moving on, is anything else they’d like to talk about?  There’s that supernova in M82 a few months ago that was pretty awesome.  And yeah, I think we should raise minimum wage.  Can we do something in America about teen pregnancies?  Who wants to learn permaculture homesteading with me?

Alas, no.  I stand before the world an opinionated ex-christian atheist.  A secular humanist.  Bring on the controversy, bring on the accusations, bring on the appeals and condescension.

A close member of my family was the first.  I’d called to tell her I was divorcing and explained, in the rocky course of an awkward conversation, that I no longer believed in the bible.  Did she offer sisterly consolation and comfort during this most trying time in my life?  Nada.  From her perch on high she suggested that I had never really been saved, never really trusted God, was always so caught up in all those biblical laws that I had missed the saving grace of Jesus.  It was something between a plea and an accusation, some of the most condescending words I had ever heard.  I didn’t even know what to say and ended the conversation quickly.

Others followed.  There was the lady with whom I used to do business but hadn’t seen in two years.  She hugged me and said she was so glad I was no longer keeping the Sabbath, that that road of bondage could only end one way.  She had watched me and seen this coming.  Jesus’ yoke is easy, she said; there is freedom only in Christ, she said.  I took an absurd amount of delight in explaining to her that I hadn’t actually come around to her way of thinking; I’d really gotten free; free from the whole kit and kaboodle; no bible, no god.  Hmm, I’d never seen her speechless before that.

For the most part, mainstream christians who never understood why I strove to keep the Torah (the instructions of God found in the old testament), all say the same thing.  They all say it’s no wonder I think the bible’s a disaster and that my faith is gone; I’d been doing it wrong.  Maybe I was never even really saved.  They say this to my face; I can only imagine what they say to each other as they gossip and pray over me.  I don’t lose sleep over it, but I wonder.

And this puts me in a very interesting position.  I want to defend myself.  It truly bothers me that people don’t understand me and I find myself wanting to make them see.  I end up expending gobs of emotional and mental energy coming up with ways to explain that I did believe in Yehovah God, I did believe every word of the bible, I did live my life in accordance with his will (as best as I was able) and, except at the very end, I did believe in the saving blood of Yeshua/Jesus, his atonement and forgiveness.

But what the heck am I doing?!  I am free of the bible!  Free of christianity!   Am I trying to convince people that I believed what I believed so I can convince them that I no longer believe it?  Really?  I guess in a way I am trying to validate my experiences.  If they don’t believe that I was sincere, my deconversion means nothing.

I don’t know what to do with that.  I don’t want to just not engage people and I don’t want to be condescending in return.  Most of these people are sincere and deserve my sincere attention (“we’re all just humans trying to find our way”—my mantra).  The bible, God, faith; it doesn’t mean anything to me anymore, but it does to them.  I think they don’t realize how they sound to me.  I want to meet them where they are and carefully explain where I was, where I am, to respect their position and have mine respected, but it gets so damned tricky.

Maybe my deconversion actually does mean nothing and I need to let it go.  Maybe I can learn to just smile and bring the focus around to something that matters.  I’ve engaged in enough theological and doctrinal discussions in my time to a) last me a lifetime and b) know it doesn’t get you anywhere.  I now have the freedom to brush past the details and either chip away directly at the roots of the bible and religion, if I’m feeling aggressive and well matched in my conversational partner, or completely redirect the conversation to focus on the aspects of humanity we have in common.  Or maybe a middle-ground; the things religions have in common.


One thing I know:  I don’t want to spend the next fifteen years explaining and defending my religious experiences.  Life’s too short.  I don’t have to ignore or deny it; it’s a part of me and always will be.  But there’s more.  And it will take a concerted effort on my part to put more of myself out there.  How would you like to get to know Kaleesha the Mother?  Kaleesha the Gardener?  Kaleesha the Philosopher?  Kaleesha the Astronomer?  Kaleesha the Lover?   Kaleesha the Crazy Goat Lady?  The options are unlimited. 

Sex Ed

Are you going to give your children sex education and how?

Okay, how about some random, rambling thoughts and interesting links?

I'm have been easing carefully into this sexual education bit. It helps tremendously to live on a farm with breeding animals. I know folks who've told their children, upon their surprise at witnessing the mating of chickens, "It's okay, they're just dancing." Seriously? How could you pass up a perfect opportunity to begin your child's education in reproduction and sex?! No, my children know about how sex works firstly from our around-the-farm conversations and events, secondly from my many pregnancies (at least, the older ones had that aspect). I chat with them about it casually. I don’t make a big deal of it and I don’t go into a lot of detail. Time for that later. For my eleven-and-unders this seems appropriate.

Tucker Creek Homeschool Sex Ed Teacher

But down the road? I don’t know. I am so conflicted still about my own sexuality and shame, as some of you have read here. I recognize the need to do something different with my children, to help them avoid some of the shame. I recognize that I may have already done some damage to my older ones by dragging them through the modesty mire, possibly, unintentionally, making them ashamed of their bodies. I can talk with them some, but I must lead by example. I’m still figuring this out.  I don't want to just swing the other way to get as far away from conservative christiandom as possible.

Only part of it has to do with the way we dress, but I still think the way we dress is important. We are projecting an image of ourselves and will be judged accordingly by everyone we meet. How can I present myself in a way I’m comfortable and also be respectful of others? Tricky balance. Frankly, I love long skirts, baggy shirts, and long braided hair, I always have, but I am tired of looking like a frumpy housewife. I am experimenting with clothing and hairstyles. I am feeling free to discover myself. You may be laughing or scratching your head; maybe this sounds curious to you. Maybe you’ve taken your freedom for granted. If you knew the culture I’ve been steeped in for the last several years you would understand.

Right off I'm thinking of this ultra-modest family we used to spend time with and how I focused so much on trying to dress appropriately for visits to their house. I became hyper aware of my body and my sexuality around them. I went to their home one evening wearing a button-up shirt I thought was very modest (read that: not attractive in the least) and had just stepped through the door and been greeted when my host discreetly pulled me aside and kindly buttoned the very top button of my shirt. She said nothing, but smiled a matronly smile. Of course, I was uncomfortable all evening; not just from the choking collar of my shirt, but oh my, what else was I wearing or doing that was unacceptable, immodest? I was ashamed of my skirt which came only to mid-calf instead of to my shoes like those on all the women in their family. I was sure everyone was staring at my legs the whole night.This is only a small bit of the type of shame I felt and the way christians, in my experience, focus on sexuality by trying to avoid it.

For myself and my children I want to find some balance between this shameful restrictiveness and flaunting of our sexuality. I am a sexual being, yes, but that’s not all I am and it's not necessarily the aspect of myself I want to bring to the forefront. How about a tiny bit of sexy with a side of humorous and large helping of brilliant? Yeah, that sounds good. Ha. Balance… balance… Who do you want to be? Create yourself. Put thought into it. That’s what I want my children to understand.

But beyond appearances...

I’d like to share a letter that I wrote to my children last December, after writing those bits about sexuality and shame. This is in Free to Be (page 217 in the paperback):

To My Dearest Children, 

Today you cannot fully understand how getting out of religion has changed the direction of our lives. Because we live in the midst of a culture of Bible-believers it may always be a part of your lives, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Seeing this culture around you will challenge you to think and make your own decisions. I guess that’s what I want most for you, the ability to observe and consider, to think critically and make careful decisions. This will be the key to your happiness and that of the people around you. 

Spending almost 33 years in a christian culture myself I learned some things I want you to be aware of, some things I want you to watch out for in your life. I learned that these things were true but now I know they are not. 

I learned that God was watching out for me. Now I know that I am in charge of my life and that I have to watch out for myself and learn to trust others in my life to watch out for me, too. 

 I learned that God would judge me. He would reward me if I was good and punish me if I was bad. Good and bad were decided by God and the rules written in the Bible. Now I know that the Bible was written by men who were just trying to make a culture (a group of people and the way they live) to be just the way they wanted them. It’s not for our culture today. We have many tools the writers of the Bible didn’t have, like our modern science, that enable us to make an even better world than they envisioned.

Not everything the Bible says is wrong, but some of the things it claims are good aren’t good and some of the things it claims are bad aren’t bad.

No one is going to judge you when you die. This is your life, here and now, and you can do whatever you want with it, but please, never forget that the things you do affect other creatures here on Earth! You will need to pay close attention and put thought into your actions. Decide for yourself what is good and bad. Does it hurt you? Does it hurt someone else? Does it hurt the Earth? 

I learned from the Bible and christianity that sexuality was something to be ashamed of, that if I kissed another person or had sex with them without being married to them that I was sinning, that I was doing something very wrong. Now I know that it’s not wrong, it’s a very normal thing to want to experience. Our sexuality is a very special part about being human; as far as we know, no other species experiences it like we do. Kissing and touching and sex are very beautiful ways to express our love for other people. Because it’s so special, we should be very careful with it. Though we are free to practice it with whomever we want, we should apply the same thoughtfulness to it that we do to other things. Ask yourself, will this hurt me or anyone else, physically or emotionally? Talk about it with the person you want to be with. Communicate.

Of course, you may decide some of this or all of this is something you want to wait to experience until you marry or find just the right person to commit to. That is a fine and beautiful choice, too! Just think about what’s best for you, what you want, and how to go about making it happen that way. Think.

Sex requires a little more thought than some other things in our lives. Because sex involves body fluids, diseases are sometimes passed from one person to another this way, sometimes very serious ones. Sex is also how we make babies, and babies shouldn’t be brought into the world unless or until you and your partner want them. So, be thoughtful and wise, get educated. There is much to learn to practice safe, healthy sex and the information is readily available. There are books at the library and you can always talk with an adult you trust. 

You know that I got pregnant with Farra before Daddy and I were married. We were just having fun and we didn’t think about the consequences. You may also know that we wouldn’t have gotten married if it weren’t for that. I felt a lot of shame because my culture, christianity, told me that what I had done was very wrong. I thought getting married would make it better; it did, as far as my culture was concerned, but it was not a good idea for Daddy and I. Of course, neither of us regret having Farra, but neither of us was really ready to be a parent. Also, we were not a good match for each other and shouldn’t have gotten married.

I wish someone had just hugged me and told me that it was okay that I made a mistake, that someone had helped me to see what the next best step would be for me instead of just trying to make things look better on the outside. But then, I cannot regret all of that because if we hadn’t gotten married we wouldn’t have the rest of you awesome kids!
That’s one of the funny things about life... it is what it is. Sometimes it’s what you make it, sometimes it just happens to you. If you don’t put the effort into making it what you want it to be then more of it just happens to you, which can be very hard! But, accept your mistakes and pick yourself up and move on to do your best. Surround yourself with good quality people who will help you do this. 

Anyway, it’s a lot easier to do the work and make life what you want than living under pressure from your culture and an imaginary God to be and to live a certain way, or to believe that a higher power is controlling things. It’s very nice to be free and I hope you all will grow up happy and confident in this freedom.

I love you so very much,
Momma

I don’t have all the answers. I’m still figuring out things myself, but I want to carefully lay foundation I can build upon later. I think I can do that even if my goals are as vague as “I want my children to be unashamed of their humanity” and “I want my children to think things through and to communicate.”

So many thing have popped up in my internet wanderings this week regarding sexuality. First, this breakdown of sex education in America, presented by Upworthy is shocking. It’s no freaking wonder we have the highest teen pregnancy rates in the world. Second, this absolutely amazing and articulate piece, The Failures of Sex Education, by tween activist Madison Kimrey, whom I have begun keeping my eye on since reading her feminist rebuttal to Phyllis Schlafly awhile back. She and her young friends are blazing remarkable paths in our world. True inspiration and hope for our youth. If you have nothing else to do tonight, and even if you do, go read this article. I’m just gonna share the first couple paragraphs to give you a taste:

High school is a complicated time in life. We’re preparing for college and careers, we’re defining and expressing ourselves, and we’re thinking about sex. However, the way many of my peers are thinking about sex is extremely unhealthy. Many of them are thinking about it as a way to level-up their relationships, as something that will make them more adult-like, and many view sex as something dirty. 

The messages teens get from many adults and from society do little but to reinforce these unhealthy views on the topic. It makes many adults uncomfortable to have frank discussions on the subject, either with or in front of teens, and because of this, teens are even less likely to engage in frank discussions themselves.

Even more disturbing and unhelpful are sex education programs designed to indoctrinate teens into a particular mindset regarding the most personal of topics. Abstinence-only programs are the manifestation of adult fear. In order to keep teens from making “bad decisions,” adults step in to attempt to control the decision making. The tactics used in such programs range from instilling fear into teens that any sexual relationship will lead to STD’s, pregnancy, or feelings of shame to directly trying to shame teens by comparing those who are sexually active to a piece of passed-around chocolate or chewed-up gum.

I won’t keep you because I want you to go read the whole article (and it's so hard for me to write about a subject when I've just read someone else's wonderful insights). Be sure to watch the video at the end of Texas Governor Rick Perry fumbling around, trying to answer a point-blank question about abstinence.

Girls like Madison inspire me. I don’t know yet what a complete sex ed will look like for my children, but I have reason to believe we’re on the right path.

On Home and Fruit Trees

Prizewinning French Evereste Crabapple

Denny and I ordered a crabapple tree in April.  It arrived today.  It’s raining now, but we’ll plant it in a few days.  Planting it will be deeply satisfying to me. Just having it sitting in a bag of damp shredded newspaper in the corner of my office is satisfying to me.  It’s sort of symbolic. (Not the damp shredded newspaper bit, but the tree and the planting of it.)  Symbolic of the love Denny and I share with each other and with the land upon which we live.

  I have always wanted fruit trees.  My ex husband and I moved to this property (my dream home in the country) seven and a half years ago.  There were a few neglected and dying fruit trees.  I did the best I could with them, but the inland hurricane in 2009 did significant damage.  Goodbye pears. Goodbye peaches.

I knew that the sooner I could get trees in the ground the better.  They say the best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago.  We never really had the money to invest in fruit trees, but more than that, my ex never had the heart to invest in this land.  He had no ties to land, to home.  He would rather our family live in tents, traveling like gypsies.  We were very ill-matched.  Not that I don’t see a tiny bit of the appeal of that life, if done properly and for the proper reasons, but it’s nothing compared to my desire to put down roots, to call a place my own, to work with the land to make it beautiful and sustainable, to encourage it to feed my family and other animals.  It’s tied in with my desire to be a part of a bigger community, to be surrounded by people and places I’m familiar with.

After the first couple years at this place my ex wanted to leave, to take us all on the road to live “free.”  This was probably the beginning of the end of us.  I tried to be the good, Christian submissive wife, but there were always many problems with his plans and I waffled between compliance and resistance.  He waffled between resentment and, perhaps, wanting to please me.  There were painful times when he was out of work and frustrated that he just wanted to sell everything and hit the road.  Being obedient to him by photographing and listing my beloved home at his request was one of the most agonizing things I had to do.  “It’s just a house,” I told myself.  “God will take care of you anywhere.  It will be okay.”  But I didn’t feel it.

Our shut-ins this evening during the rain, from up on the hill

Yes, it is just a house.  Well, not just a house.  There are five beautiful acres of mostly woods with a creek running along one side, a creek running through some of the most amazing shut-ins I’ve ever seen.  At this moment I can look out my dining window and see the creek, see the waterfalls rushing, hear them roaring from the last three days of rain.  It’s a marvel now and it’s a marvel when it’s tame and the children spend sunny afternoons in it, swimming, throwing stones, watching frogs develop from eggs and catching crawdads.  It’s a marvel to sit in the sun and dip my toes in the cool water when I’m feeling drained by other elements of my life.  It’s like tapping back into my power source, recharging my batteries.

The 1966 chateau style house sets back from the quiet state highway, nestled cozily on the gentle south-facing slope that forms the main yard.  The lower story is built out of cinderblock, solid and strong.  A steep roof perches on the upper half-story, boarded and battened by dark-stained, rough-sawn oak, probably from a local mill.  A large chimney rises regally out of the center and in the winter puffs gentle clouds of white smoke while we warm ourselves and dry our mittens by the wood stove inside.

The yard surrounding the house is dotted with huge old oaks and hickories.  The land levels out some between the house and the creek and there’s enough space between the trees to let the sunshine in.  Here is where I planted my vegetable garden; three 4x4 beds the first year, increasing after that until I had a 50x60’ area fenced in and primed for growing. The soil is naturally darker and richer here with fewer stones, I suppose because it’s the topsoil that washed down the hill over the course of many years.  I couldn’t ask for a better spot to cultivate tomatoes and children.

The day we moved in I remember standing on the back deck with my mom, overlooking the yard and what would become the garden, and gave my four children permission to play, that the place was ours.  We’d finally found the place I wanted to raise my children.  They trooped down the steps and ran laughing across the yard.  I glanced sideways at my mom and we were both choking back tears.  Just one of many beautiful moments of awareness tying my heart to this place.  

View of the yard and barn, also in this evening's rain

I worked countless hours and dripped countless beads of sweat creating an area to keep goats and chickens in the area around the garden; fence and barn and all. Beyond the barn is a gorgeous shaded area that we used to call The Orchard because the original fruit trees were there.  The word glen comes to mind, but the Webster’s definition isn’t entirely accurate.  Something about the protective semi-circle of forest, the lushness of the grass, the violets that cover the area in the spring.  There are clumps of Maiden grass left by some owner-beautifier along the way.  There are redbud trees and a glorious patch of honeysuckle the odor of which drifts into the barn on summer mornings while I milk goats.

Forest path to shut-ins, glades and observatory

And that’s only the half of it.  Follow a shaded path up the hill from the house and admire the forested portion of land, rich in oaks, hickories, dogwoods, redbuds, paw-paws, maples, elms and cedars.  The trees part on top of the hill to reveal an otherwise hidden rocky glade, replete with moss, lichen, wildflowers and sunning reptiles.  You can park yourself on a blanket here and rest for hours listening to the wind tickle the trees and the creek ripple over its rocky bed.

Back near the house, along the drive and at the edge of the forest there masses of daffodils and day lilies, tucked into the earth by some thoughtful person of yesterday.  Forsythias border the first part of the drive.  I’m told the house was built by a St. Louis couple as a summer home.  I could see that.

Witch hazel lines the creek banks.  Firepink, lily-of-the-valley, dutchman’s breeches, bloodroot, spring beauty, wild phlox, wild hyacinth and so many other flowers I don’t know by name cover the forest floor in the spring, if you can spot them hiding among the mayapples.  We even have a patch of morel mushrooms and a lone wild azalea. 

I can sit on my deck and view the garden, the chickens, the goats, the children, the creek, the curving drive.  I can look out any window and see some beautiful portion of nature combined with the work of my hands.  There’s a soggy-looking hummingbird perched this very moment in the mess of blackberry bushes I planted just outside my dining window.

Three of my children were born in this very house, each in the quiet darkness of a winter night.  With each I lay exhausted in the comfort of my bed, nursing my wee infant as the faint light of dawn crept in the eastern window.

This is my home.  It’s not all I am, not all I have in the world, nor would I be lost without it, but I will not downplay my love for it.
The reason I never set aside money to plant fruit trees was because most of the time I’ve lived here I’ve lived under the constant threat that I would lose it.  My spouse did not see what I saw.  What I loved, he resented.  I invested a lot, but I drew the line at fruit trees, something of which I might never see the payoff.

I splurged two years ago.  After much research I bought two good quality apple trees.  With a mix of fear and hope I planted them in my vegetable garden.  Did my heart know something I didn’t?  Had I made up my mind to stay even if my husband didn’t?  I don’t know.  Maybe it was one last grab at fleeting hope.

Trellis and flower beds, some of many improvements

Denny has lived here with me for almost a year.  He loves this place.  He gave up his cabin in the woods by a lake, a place equal in beauty to mine, a place he had put almost as much love and sweat into.  I have to say, his place was the only one I’d ever seen I would consider giving mine up for.  We chose this place, but seeing his made me to understand that this is a man who can appreciate land and home the way I do.  Together we walk in the woods and quiz each other on the names of wildflowers.  We sit by the creek and dip our toes as the children play and bring us smooth or sparkly or striped rocks.  We talk and dream and plan.  With the children we have made amazing aesthetic improvements to both home and property, and we’ve only just begun.

We must buy fruit trees and bushes as soon as possible, he says.  Apples, peaches, pears, blueberries, raspberries, black berries, hardy kiwi and more.  There is no time like the present!  He has not hesitated to invest time and money into this place, like he has not hesitated to invest everything in the children and I.  My heart is healing.  My heart is satisfied.

We will plant this crabapple tree together.  It will be the first of many trees and shrubs that will nourish our lives in the years to come here at Make-It-Do Farm.  

To Vaccinate or Not to Vaccinate?

I have long opposed the routine vaccination of children.  My seven never received a single shot.  I’d like to tell you why I held that position and why I don’t any longer.

At age nineteen I began my career as a mother. My world was suddenly filled with things I had never contemplated before.  Physical exams and tests, round-the-clock morning sickness, birthing options.  The possibility of having a home birth was something that wasn’t even on my radar until I met the midwife who worked at our rural health clinic.  It seemed so right for me, so natural.  For a variety of reasons a natural route appealed to me.

Fast forward several months.  I’d had a wonderful home birth with a super midwife and no pain meds.  My baby girl was growing fabulously.  I was learning to breastfeed, to change diapers, to interpret cries, to function without the precious sleep I’d been accustomed to.  I read books and magazines about child development and parenting.  My mind reeled with information.  Obviously I tuned into the items that sounded more natural and less invasive and became quite adept at scoffing in the direction of anything coming from traditional medicine.  I had defied modern medicine; I’d birthed naturally in the comfort of my own home.  Our bodies were made of stronger stuff than they were credited with.  God had made us, God had made everything, all we had to do was work within his parameters, ask his blessing and trust him.  

At my daughter’s two month checkup I watched other mommas carrying their screaming infants out of the exam room, asking those of us waiting to excuse the noise, that their babes had just received their immunizations.  I knew already that I would not be subjecting my baby girl to this. Not without doing some serious research, I told myself.

For a few years I told myself this.  I’d heard the word autism thrown around in connection with vaccinations.  I’d had a run-in with a power-hungry medical doctor during my third pregnancy.  I met other wonderful moms who chose the natural way.  My opinions were increasing, but my knowledge was not.  I thought I was playing it safe by not vaccinating; better safe than sorry.  Who knew what the pharmaceutical companies were up to?  Who knew what would happen if I got my children vaccinated, injected them with all these unnatural chemicals?  Did the vaccines even effectively immunize?  And against what?  A bunch of illnesses that were hardly even around anymore, at least not in my country.  And they were simply going overboard; my siblings and I had chickenpox when we were kids and we were fine; a friend of my parents had polio when he was a kid and was told he’d never walk again but he walked just fine.  Herd immunity?  My children are not part of a herd, they are my children!  And we were God’s children; his will be done.

Yet I was relatively quiet about my decision because I knew I hadn’t done the research.  I’d intended to, I just never found time, never made it a priority, not until my fourth child was born or sometime around there.  I don’t remember how I ended up with the book I did; a friend or the library maybe, but it seemed like a very balanced book.  I knew that I needed to read both sides of the vaccine debate to make a good decision and this book was written, if I remember correctly, by four or five individuals with alphabet soup after their names who were each attempting to make their case for or against vaccinations.  I felt like I was getting a balanced view, in a very convenient format, and that was enough for me.  

I talked with my husband.  He was completely indifferent, the decision was mine alone.  I considered the things I'd read.  There were risks either if we vaccinated, risks if we didn’t.  My faith in God was strong.  I trusted him to lead me.  I prayed.  I felt no leading of the spirit, no voice came from heaven, but I assumed he would guide me to make the best decision for my family.

The ultimate deciding factor was how I would feel if something bad happened either because I didn’t vaccinate or because I did.  I felt that, worse case scenario, I could more easily bear the consequences resulting from my being inactive than proactive.  Doing nothing and taking a chance felt better than actively taking a chance.  I mean, if I got my kids shots and they got sick, I didn’t think I could live with myself!  But if we should happen to be exposed to something, God would take care of us, we would pray, his will would be done.

That was as much logic as I could muster under the circumstances.  I just didn’t know better.  I was intimidated by the sheer volume of mixed information. 

How do you make any kind of logical decision when you credit or blame God with everything that happens?  When you believe he is guiding your every move?

Skip forward another few years.  I am pregnant with my sixth child (another area in which I completely trusted God, though I didn’t much want to be pregnant at the time).  My fifth child, eighteen months old, had a small but persistent cough for over week.  About the time this cough registered in my brain (with all the distractions of a homesteading parent of many) it disappeared and some of the older kids started coughing.  Within a few days they were running fevers.  They were up in the night vomiting and violently coughing with a terrible whooping noise trying desperately to catch their breaths.  I’d heard about this.  Pertussis, “whooping cough,” or the “ninety day cough."  I did some research and concluded that we were beyond the point that antibiotics could help (and I believed antibiotics were over-prescribed anyway) and the youngest and most vulnerable of our five children had been mercifully spared the worst part of the illness, so I ignored the advice of friends and family that we see a doctor.  Yes, it was awful to watch my children suffer, but what could a doctor do for us?  I found some herbs and over-the-counter medicine that barely helped with some of the symptoms and we hunkered down for three months of quarantine.

We survived, no permanent damage done.  I wore that fact like a badge on my sleeve, though I “knew" God had protected our youngest one; it could have been so bad for him.  My stomach turns a little now that I know we were completely on our own; no god watching out for us, just dumb luck.  Very dumb luck.

Can you believe it was another six years before I would vaccinate my children?

Today I do not believe there is any deity is watching out for us.  That changes a lot of things.  I’m telling you, I took the Bible at it’s word and I believed in the power of that God.  My life was shaped by that belief.  I lived in a bubble of sorts, shut off from much of the world and stuck in a Bible-centered culture where not much mattered as long as you served God with all of your heart and taught your children to do likewise.  I have a much broader worldview now.  Outside of the bubble I began to understand that we humans have to take care of each other (and our fellow animals).  God is not controlling these things.  It’s up to us to stop the spread of disease.  

I began to understand the scientific method.  I learned to think more skeptically.  I have learned to better weigh evidence, using tools like peer-reviewed science (see Denny’s blog post on skepticism).  My new non-Christian, scientifically minded friends frowned on the anti-vax movement and were very patient with me as I carefully and curiously explored the topic.  It seemed like everywhere in science that I turned I saw frustration and ridicule toward anti-vaxers.  "There must be something to this and it’s time to ferret out the truth," I said to myself.  I realized that years ago when I “studied” the topic that I had approached it with a strong bias and stopped when I found evidence that supported my existing view.  I had comforted myself with the idea that I was getting a balance of information, but I realize now the book was largely biased.  It looked good; the essays seemed to be written around well-founded reports, but I didn’t understand sources then, didn’t take the time to really look at the sources, I didn’t know how peer-reviewed science worked.

I’m also aware now that much of the anti-vax, “natural,” fundamentalist Christian culture I was part of was grounded in the assumption that the secular world was scheming against us, against God, against the Bible, and that this “science” was mixed in somehow.  It sounds so absurd now, but I thought They were out to get Us, that They had an Agenda and that if it wasn’t of God, well… Yeah, you know what team They play for.  They taught evolution, for crying out loud!  I am not a monkey and They are not to be trusted.

 Of course, and as I’ve written before, I understand now that the secular world just sort of does it’s own thing, studying evidence and bizarre things like that, and, for the most part, pays theists no mind.

Are there big pharmaceutical companies just out to make a buck?  Probably.  Science is a tool that can be used by anyone for any reason.  We don’t toss it out just because someone is abusing it.  Science is our one and only tool for discovering truth.  It is possible to sift through the information and find some presented without an agenda.  There are a few basic steps, some basic questions to ask.  Michael Shermer discusses ten such questions in the following fifteen minute video, a perfect example of skepticism and science, a must-watch:  Baloney Detection Kit 

I pushed the ignorance-based fear aside and tackled the issue of vaccinations with my Baloney Detection Kit in hand.  I discovered that the autism hype was false; the original author of the paper linking autism to vaccinations, Dr. Andrew Wakefield, later retracted his paper.  It didn’t hold up to peer review. His results couldn’t be reproduced, there was evidence that it was all set-up.  But the damage was done; a huge number of people stopped vaccinating and refused to vaccinate their children, largely in England but also in the U.S.  Pockets of diseases that had almost been eradicated by vaccinations began to pop up again; measles and mumps and pertussis, oh my!

It’s easy for our generation to fall for the anti-vax hype because we grew up in world a where the diseases prevented by vaccination were not prevalent.  It seemed long ago, something we didn’t have to face anymore.  But, these illness were under control because of vaccinations!  And they are coming back because we have stopped guarding ourselves against them!

I read a story about a mother whose two boys have auto-immune disorders that prevent them from being able to receive vaccinations against childhood diseases and also leaves them extremely vulnerable to those diseases; what would make one of my children sick would be fatal to one of hers.  I began to understand herd immunity.  I began to understand that I am not only risking my children’s health, but I’m putting other people at risk.  They are counting on the rest of us to stop the spread of disease; their lives depend upon us.

A few weeks ago I broached the subject with Denny.  I told him I was thinking about having the kids all vaccinated.  He said he would stand by that decision, would help me in any way he could, was very supportive.  I think he was rather waiting for me to come to that, but never pushed me.  So, I called up my local health department and together we took on the arduous task of forming a schedule for each of my children.  We discussed which vaccinations we would do.  I researched the ones I was unfamiliar with and decided to do just about every one of them.  When I looked at everything with a skeptic’s eye the risks were so minimal weighed against the remarkable science and success behind these vaccinations.  

I feel good about my decision.  My children were all brave and are all doing well.  I am pleased to live in a world where we are able to prevent the spread of disease.

Any questions?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Skeptic Toolkit -- Peer Reviewed Science

I'm quite excited by this series Denny has begun posting on his blog; Skeptic Toolkit.  Our culture is inundated with pseudo science; information that looks like science but isn't.  How do we know which is which?  Who do we trust? How do we search out answers?  This is a great introduction to skepticism and I hope you'll all read it.  

http://ourtomorrow.blogspot.com/2014/04/skeptic-toolkit-peer-reviewed-science_26.html

Reflections of an Unintentionally Undercover Atheist

I went to the dentist earlier this week.  I’ve only been to this office once, but I like the people, they’re friendly.  Having taken the children to a dentist in a nearby town and getting my oldest into an orthodontist up near St. Louis I’ve come to the conclusion that people in and around the dental profession are some of the friendliest, sweetest-natured professionals in the world.  I’m told they have to be because so many people hate dentists.  But that’s not what I want to talk about today.

While laid back in the dentist’s chair, waiting for him to return to finish the work he’d begun on my teeth, the hygienist and I made small talk; weather, gardening, kids.  Mostly only interesting because half my mouth was numb.  The context of our conversation was irrelevant, benign really.  At some point she interjected something about the sermon she’d heard in church Sunday, about how we are to love each other in spite of our failings, how we are accountable to God and not to men.

I had no words at the time for this absurdly interjected piece of faith-related small talk.  Granted, I was also having tools shoved in my mouth again, which somewhat limits my conversational abilities, but I lay there thinking that I could say something to the effect of, “As an atheist I don’t believe we have to answer to anyone when we die, but we answer to each other while we live and yes, it is best to love others.”

This has stuck with me.  More and more often these things stand out to me.  It occurs to me that people outside the Bible Belt might really have no clue how public religion has become.  It is not a personal thing anymore, if it ever was.  In Smalltown Midwest America faith in God and involvement in church is the rule, not the exception.  It is assumed that you are one of them.

Yes, one of them; us and them.  I cannot see it differently.  I immediately feel like an outsider when someone starts talking about their faith, like I’m some kind of spy, an undercover agent.  If this person knew they were talking to an atheist…  I wonder what would happen if I were to be found out?  Should I reveal myself before they say anything more to incriminate themselves?

But what if I don’t want to announce my unbelief to the world?  As it is, it takes effort to push this glaring difference aside and remember that this is just another human being in front of me with whom I might have all kinds of different and amazing things in common.  Humanity; focus on the humanity.  But isn't it interesting that no one stops to ask if their conversation partner is a believer?  I guess they just assume we are or hope that something they say will intrigue us if we’re not.

It occurred again today.  Seth and Blue went in for their first dental check-up/cleaning.  The hygienist and I chatted about the weather, the children, laundry, gardening, my dental care.  When she found out which practice I use she raved about what a wonderful doctor and staff they were and punctuated this with the statement: "You know, they pray every morning before they begin their day’s work."  I was supposed to be impressed.  She didn’t ask me whether I believed in the power of prayer.  I smiled and didn’t comment and wondered what I could or should say.  I wondered this all the way home.  That’s interesting.  I don’t personally believe in the power of prayer.  I used to, but I’m an atheist now.  I could have told her about my first book, written about my first year post-bible, a copy of which I happened to have with me.  Part of me wishes I’d spoken up.  I almost feel deceitful not saying anything (am I ashamed of who I am?) but another part of me insists I don’t need to go there.  What would be the point?  I needn’t broadcast my unbelief to anyone.  However, I was yet again suddenly thrust into the position of Unintentionally Undercover Atheist.  If I didn’t make myself known, was I merely cementing her assumption that I shared her delusion?

Apparently.

Soon after the above she recommended a movie her family had just gone to see; “Heaven Is For Real.”  She raved about it.  She raved about the book and insisted we read it, that we would love it, that it proves the existence of heaven.  I didn’t know all the details of the story, but I began to imagine, and again I wondered if I should speak up?  I asked her what it was about, buying myself information and time to process my thoughts.  As she excitedly told the story of this three year old boy who had died and returned to life with tales of lost loved ones and Jesus and angels singing, my mind bubbled and boiled; possible responses, observations about the situation itself and how odd to have two such situations in one week, both with dental hygienists no less, skeptical thoughts about the story…

What I wish I’d said:  “That sounds interesting.  I’m personally very skeptical of such stories and happen to be a former christian turned atheist who doesn’t believe in an afterlife.”  It could have turned into a conversation about how such anecdotal evidence is not true evidence.

What I actually said:  “Hmm.  Interesting.”

Some days I just don’t feel up to engagement.  It’s been one of those weeks for me, to be honest; worse than my occasional withdrawn mood.  Feeling very much like I would just like to crawl in a hole and take a break from the world.  Rather, I'd like to work in the garden with absolutely no distractions for a week.  The social demands upon this introvert have been high and I’m drained, but it doesn’t stop my mind from engaging.

The encounter from earlier in the week joined this one in my brain for a good workout, running laps and jumping jacks; mental fitness during the forty-five minute drive home.  Does it bother me that religious people are often outspoken?  No.  I don’t mind people sharing their passions.  It does get under my skin a little bit now because I see christianity as a huge lie, but even that doesn’t bother me too much as religion is simply, apparently, part of the human experience.  The presumption that I am a believer or, at the very least, interested gets to me bit more; a person wouldn’t just start in talking about golf assuming I knew about golf or was interested.  Why not ask before diving in?  But this is a cultural thing and I suppose some allowance should be made for it.  No, what begins to gnaw at me is that I am put in the position of being an atheist, undercover or otherwise.  There would be no atheists if there were not theists.  Because theism defines the majority of people around me, by default I find myself an atheist, a label I would otherwise not burden myself with. 

I did not go out into the world this week to share with anyone about my unbelief in God.  I don’t feel the need to spread atheism wherever I go (though I am interested in teaching skepticism and critical thinking, reason and logic).  I don’t feel the need to engage with every christian who brings up God or Jesus or the bible.  So what is an unintentionally undercover atheist to do?  I was content to discuss the gorgeous spring weather, swap gardening tips and enthusiasm, connect with other parents about the interesting children in our lives or, imagine, just get some freakin’ dental work done on myself and the children without the staff referencing their imaginary friends.

And I think this is why I don’t speak up sometimes.  Fighting the division, trying to focus on the humanity, on the commonality.  

But, I am an atheist.  And as I think about it, I guess I’m an atheist not only because others are theists, but because I once was a theist myself.  Atheism exists because theism exists, generally, but this is part of my character now.  Part of me.  I do believe that, however it started and why-ever it continues, belief in the bible god is some sort of delusion.  And I saw the wizard behind the curtain.  I cannot unsee it.  I have been down that road.  With hard work and a pinch of chance my journey has been forever altered.

As a christian, I would not have taken kindly to being called delusional.  Or ignorant, but I think ignorant is the most appropriate word.  And for the most part there is no “sin” in ignorance.  Looking around me now and thinking back to my own past, I think there are some who are willfully ignorant, some who are not, and some mixture.  It just does not occur to some to question things.  Some refuse to question past a certain point.  Some question and feel they have found answers, but don’t understand about the scientific method, about evidence, about peer review, about logic and reason.  I fell into the latter category.  I now understand the work involved in flushing out truth.

Ignorance does not equal innocence and is not an acceptable condition to remain in.  An awful lot of damage can be done by the ignorant.  I daresay that’s when most of the damage is done.  Christianity, any bible-based religion, has done its share.  There are consequences to ignorant thought and behavior. I’ve written about some of those before.

So, I am torn, always.  I often hold back in random engagements as described above then unload in writing.  So, am I an outspoken atheist?  I guess I’ll accept the title, since I wrote a book largely about that.  But, like I said, I don’t feel the need to spread atheism wherever I go.  I will occasionally counter christianity when I meet it.  I will attempt to do so in a thoughtful fashion.  I do not aim to provoke and I do not aim to convert.  I am hungry for reason.  I am thirsty for mobs of critical-thinking humans who can begin to make necessary changes to our culture and our world.

A friend suggested to me this evening that people need the idea of God.  Not that he believed God existed, but that the idea of God exists and it exists for a reason.  I admit to believing that the God idea, in its many variations, came directly out of humanity’s attempts to understand itself.  As my friend seemed to be explaining, humanity needs to believe in God to explain the great unexplainable fortunes and calamities of life.  I personally don’t feel the need for this in my life.  I truly don’t.  I've had it, now it’s gone, and I feel my life is much richer without it, more focused.  Denny feels this way, also.  I know many others who do not feel the need for God, but I know many who do.  I know some who reject the bible god, but embrace the idea of a higher power.  It looks to me like they desire what mankind has always desired: a reason for life’s mysteries.  Without getting into my thoughts on the “God of the Gaps” (expounded upon in my book, “Free to Be.”  Today’s mysteries are tomorrow’s knowledge), I see humanity giving God credit for its good accomplishments, accepting blame and condemnation from God for our failings, and believing that all we have do to do is ask forgiveness and he will make everything better.  

It’s an astounding system, a perfect system designed by a humanity that doesn’t know what to do with itself or doesn’t want to bother.  

Personally, I would rather wipe away all the religion, all the ideas of higher power, and get down to bare humanity.  We will look our accomplishments in the eye and own them.  We will look our “sins” in the eye and own them.  We will look around us and ask, “What can we do differently?  What steps can we take to improve ourselves,” instead of waiting for God to perfect us.  We will offer each other the best that we have, physically and emotionally; all that energy we used to pour into worship of God, prayer, bible study, church-building and missions.  I think only then will we be able to heal our communities, save ourselves, save our planet and fellow species.  It will only happen when we accept who and what we are and stop looking to God for answers.  When we stop leaning on the crutch of God and stand on our own damned feet.

One more thing happened today to ‘cause me to stand up a little straighter and look my culture in the eye, unashamed of my non-theism, unashamed of my humanity.

I donated one of my books to my local library.  I’d also had some book-promo bookmarks made up and had left a stack of them with my librarian who set them on the counter with the usual library bookmarks.  A homeschool mom friend writes christian romance novels and I remembered that she had done the same a couple years ago with her bookmarks and that they had prominently displayed her book with a placard declaring “Local Author.”  My librarian friend informed me that a religious patron took my entire stack of bookmarks to “show her minister.”  Stole the whole stack.  My friend wasn’t present at the time, but learned this from another librarian who happens to be a christian.  She suggested to him that he might want to reconsider promoting my book.  I was also told that a new employee, a young christian, saw my book on the shelf (awaiting processing and Dewey Decimal assignment) and scoffed at it.

So, returning to the list of things that bother me about my recent interactions, it burns me a great deal knowing that if I were to speak as freely about my atheism as christians do about their theism, I would be met with considerable ugliness and be seen as antagonistic and divisive.  The playing field is not level.  The idea that my book could not be as freely promoted by my local library as a christian romance novel rather raises my ire.  I do not ask special treatment, but equal treatment.  In the asking of such I will likely be viewed as a militant atheist.

Bring it on.

I will be calling the library headquarters next week to see if they have a policy regarding promoting local authors.  I will avoid discussing the subject matter of my book and go from there.  I will also be talking to them about setting up a book signing/reading at my local branch.  From there I will see about getting my book into some stores in the area (there’s only one book store in my town and it’s christian.  Hmm).  I think I’m ready.

I, like everyone I know, am just a human being trying to find my way.  I will be met with opposition because my journey is against the grain of my immediate culture, but I will stand tall, unashamed of my experiences and who I am, and I will do my best to connect with my fellow humans.

Cry Baby

Who are you crying for?

Me. I weep for myself, for the me that was.  Part of the grief process, I suppose.  The stark contrast between my life now and the life I was living two years ago continues to jump out at me at occasionally and I end up in tears.  The scars are all there…

All the times I’ve ever felt like I was special to no one,
All the times I wondered if I was beautiful,
All the times the man who was supposed to love and cherish me, to have and hold me, left me doubting that love existed or would ever exist for me,
All the times I laid alone at night wondering where he was,
All the times he neglected to return my embrace,
All the times I wanted nothing more than for him to hold my hand, to give it a squeeze, to reach out and caress me,
All the times we didn’t see eye-to-eye on important issues, like how to raise the children,
All the times we didn’t see eye-to-eye on unimportant issues,
All the times I just wanted to share something with him and for him to share with me,
All the times I just wanted to be near him, to share a moment, and he acted like I wasn’t there,
All the times we just didn’t connect, didn’t understand each other,
All the times I wasn’t worth fighting for… 

And what about God?  What about all the times I cried out, soaked my pillow with tears, wanting to feel his presence, to feel some relief from physical or emotional pain?  All the times I sought comfort, direction, love, all the times I sacrificed and waited…  with nothing in return.
I had a good cry with Denny a while ago, overwhelmed yet again by the realization that those pains really are behind me.  I am no longer bound to an imaginary deity and Denny has brought healing to every other personal wound I can think of, just by being himself.
I don’t want to forget.  I don’t want to take this life and this relationship for granted.  So, I remember.  And I cry for the Kaleesha of the past.  I don’t waste my time with regret, wondering who I would be today or wishing things had been different, but I allow myself to grieve.  It hurts me to think of anyone feeling the way I did so often.  Are there worse things in life a person can suffer?   Of course, but one pain does not diminish another.  My pain was real.  The same pain in another person at this moment is very real to them. 
A few years ago I was receiving a monthly magazine for women based upon the fundamentalist patriarchal view of the Bible; women exist to serve men, to have lots of babies if possible, and they must deny and sacrifice themselves however necessary to make this happen.  I enjoyed the magazine and, with a few exceptions, I found it encouraging.  This morning, as I was crying for myself, an article from that magazine came to mind.  It had stuck with me because over the years I had found myself shedding tears aplenty regarding the neglect listed above.  The word picture in the magazine was of a woman crying.  A stranger approached her and asked her not why was she crying, but for whom was she crying?  The author proceeded to admonish us young women to lay aside self pity, not to waste tears on ourselves, and to trust God’s will for our lives.
I found the article and read it again this afternoon.  The author made some good points about self-pity, I’ll admit.  I won’t say we’re sinful for wallowing in self-pity (she doesn't either, but the implication is that it doesn't glorify God), and I think some things come out during our pitiful times that we really need to consider, but I certainly don’t think it’s a condition anyone should live in.  The real problem lies in the author’s answer to the self-pity issue:

May God help us to change our questions to those that will help to bring us into growth, rather than leave us in the rut, or the pit of despair. God loves us too much to leave us where we are. He is not content with letting us stay the same. He wants to lead us on. He wants to change us into the likeness of Christ, from one degree of glory to another. If God did not allow difficulties to come to our lives, we’d stagnate instead of grow.
Let’s ask this question continually, “Lord, what are you saying to me? I am listening as I read your precious Word. I want to hear you speak into my heart. What are you telling me through these circumstances I am going through?’

Do you know what’s going to happen if you ask God these questions, if you look to him for answers?  The same thing that will happen if I look for answers from the invisible pet dragon in my living room; not a damned thing.  That said, ask questions.  Examine the pity and ask yourself if there is something you could or should do to better yourself or your situation.  If it’s completely out of your control make peace with it, draw upon your inner strength.  You will discover good things about yourself, you will grow, but it probably won’t be enough.
        Reach out to another human being.  I can’t stress this enough.  You do not have to go through anything alone, but you might remain alone if you don’t reach out.  Talk.  Share your pain.  Let someone hold your hand.  That’s real.  That’s tangible.
The only thing that hurts me worse than the injuries is the knowledge that there are people out there right now being told to stop crying for themselves, that this is God’s will for their lives and to just accept it and ask him to give them strength to get through it.  They are being told, “I will pray for you.  God won’t give you anything you can’t handle.”
I used to pray for people.  I’ve found my new response to the suffering of others infinitely superior.  First, I hug them if I am able.  I say, “Here’s my phone number; call me any time, day or night, if you’re feeling alone or scared or you want to talk or you just want a distraction.  I’ll come over and be with you if you want and I am able.  Let me know what your needs are and I’ll see what I can do.  Maybe you need a pecan-topped brownie or some strawberry cheesecake.”
I’m not entirely joking about the food.
Anyway, we are real human beings with real pain and real needs.  We need to be real for each other.
       I’ve found the best cure for my own self-pity is to look toward others, not so much for sympathy as for perspective and distraction.  Maybe I can be an ear for someone else, maybe I can ease their pain somehow.  That’s the idea behind the question, “Who are you crying for?”  But if the answer is, “Me,” don’t trip on it.  You’re only human, after all.