Peace in Life and Death

Today Denny laid to rest one of his closest friends, his little dog, Talula, who has been with him since he rescued her as a pup about fifteen years ago. 

He posted a picture to Facebook, of Talula on her last day, and the condolences began to roll in. Among them, however, there was a comment from a local chap with whom we are nominally acquainted, a Christian who never comments unless he sees an opportunity to witness to us. Why we have remained friends online is a mystery even to me. Maybe I’m reluctant to shut anyone out. He’s not been unkind, just pushy about his faith. He likes to argue and feel like he’s making a point. I’ve occasionally engaged with him when he’s commented on my wall because he’s a perfect example of the bold, condescending, and ignorant nature of evangelical Bible believers in my area.

Among the many unbelievers who offered their condolences and love to Denny, here’s this man's comment:

(I’m leaving his typos in for the full effect.)

“In times of sorrow and sadness for the loss of loved ones and things I am able to turn to my faith for solice. I know we share no faith but you always can turn to that cold mistress science that says the matter that makes up that wonderful creature that you have known for 15 years is never destroyed but only changes form. Science says your pup will live on throughout the eons changing form and shape over and over again. Now to me that doesn't give much hope but ya gotta work with what ya brought. Hopefully the chemicals that cause the emotional bonds to your pet fad quickly so you pain responce will ease and mend post haste.”

It took quite a bit of control not to post something in response, something along the lines of “Using someone's grief as an opportunity to discuss your beliefs and mock theirs… How very Christian of you.”

Out of respect for Denny and his grieving process, I’ll just say it here instead. Ha.

But it did get me to thinking about peace. I had my moments of peace while I was a believer, sure. Now I know it wasn't supernatural, it was just me and occasionally the kind words of friends. But I have far more peace in my life these days than I’ve ever had before. I'm not the only one; others I know who have come out of religion, and some who were never in it, feel the same: an overwhelming, solid sense of peace. (To be fair, not all the unbelievers of my acquaintance know this peace, but most do.) I’ve yet to help a Bible believer to begin to comprehend how that’s possible. As far as they're concerned Jesus is the Prince of Peace, the Sam’s Club of happy feelings, and if you don’t buy a membership, you aren't allowed to shop. Try getting them to see the same feelings grow as wild and plentiful as dandelions, free for the taking.

I have no reason to believe in an afterlife and so I no longer entertain the possibility. It doesn't bother me in the least because I love the fact that I am made of stardust and to stardust I will return. I have a deep sense of peace knowing that the molecules that make up my person will return to cycle through the earth and then through the universe for eons. That's something which I'm able to truly know and draw comfort from. Yeah, Bible believers believe the same, but for the faithful that’s just the beginning. From there it branches off into various beliefs based on myth and hope. The thing is, the purely natural cycle doesn't ask us anything in return. It happens whether we're good, bad, or ugly. It's as simple as simple can be. 

And I'm not just saying this because as an atheist I have no options. It true does console me. I don't wish for or need anything more than this.

As a believer I had so many doubts, as any honest believer does, and always wondered whether I was pleasing to God. Did I understand him correctly? Was I living the way he wanted me to? Was I spending enough time with him, learning him, living for him, witnessing for him? I didn’t know if I would make the grade when judgement day came, but I gave God everything I had and hoped for the best. There's precious little peace in that. I dare say my occasional peace came not because of my ideas of God, but in spite of them.

Rest in peace, Talula. Maybe we'll get together in five billion years or so and partake in the birth of a star.

Appreciation Rant

The full quote is, "The woman who serves unnoticed and un-thanked is a woman who loves God more than she desires the praise of others. She is confident that all her unnoticed deeds on earth are noticed in Heaven. She is satisfied knowing she has pleased her Lord."

A believing friend sent me this meme, expressing her frustration with this aspect of religion. It rather burns me, too.

Just yesterday I was doing something benign for Denny and he thanked me, quite sincerely. Then he paused thoughtfully and, with much emotion, expressed how sad it made him to think of all the years I and the "amazing" things I do went unappreciated. You know that good, achy, almost-want-to-cry, overwhelmed feeling that tingles in your chest sometimes? That. I do so love this man! It makes me sad sometimes to think of how long I went uncared for. It wouldn’t have taken much…  But, eh, at least it made me hyper-sensitive to Denny’s appreciation and it’s been wonderful for our relationship.

So, yeah, I call BS on this meme! A woman who serves unnoticed and unthanked is a an under-appreciated and 
probably not a very happy woman.

Now, that isn't to say that you should do things just to receive praise. Personally, I do what I do because I love myself and the people in my life. I do what makes me happy, what satisfies me, and I try to do things that are good and pleasant for those I love. I do what needs to be done because I don't feel good letting things go if I can do something about it, even unpleasant stuff like scrubbing behind the toilet or cleaning up vomit, or emotionally draining things like those occasional conversations with your teen you’d rather not have first thing in the morning.

Serving happily can be a tricky balance, especially if what you do does go unnoticed or unappreciated. I lied to myself for many years, thinking that I was at least pleasing God with my actions. It’s not easy to extend yourself with, “You’ll be rewarded somehow after you die,” being the only thing to hold onto. With God out of the picture I sought and found richer relationships with beings who can and do actually give back. It's been very rewarding.

That said, I never had the issues some do regarding motherhood. It’s nice when my children express appreciation, but I have never sought it from them. I don't need it from them. I ask for respect, and try to deserve it, that’s all. I give myself to them because I truly enjoy it and because they are my responsibility. But motherhood isn’t for everyone and not everyone finds the same satisfaction in the work. After your children are born is a very unfortunate time to discover this, as there are very few legal or moral ways to back out of it. My advice to these mothers is to suck it up, do your best, and try to add something more satisfying to your life. You’ll be happier and should bring that peace into your relationship with your children.

But if your other relationships aren’t rewarding, if you feel unappreciated (and you’re pretty sure you’re deserving of appreciation), the first step is communication. Second step is the same as above— can you add other people or things that satisfy? Can you subtract the negative? Or maybe you just need an attitude adjustment? Being arrogant or needy never got anyone anywhere.

Whatever the case, for the love of pasta, do not settle for pie in the sky!

Er… that’s all, I guess. Just a random rant triggered by Facebook.  Carry on.

A Nonreligious Experience

Happy child of atheist parents.

It’s a sunny July afternoon. Unusually cool and pleasant for July, as the mild breeze drifting casually in through the propped -open door attests. I’m standing near the circulation desk at our small-town library, waiting for two of my older children to finish checking out their books. One of my younger children is near me, her nose in a picture book, and my three year old is playing peek-a-boo around the corner of the desk with a sixty-something year old lady at a table near the resource room. She is smiling at my boy and chuckling when he shyly ducks away where he can’t be seen, only to peek at her again a moment later.

The woman rises, approaches us, and my youngest scoots behind me.

“He’s so cute!” she says. “He was making faces at me over there. How old is he? About three?”

I answer in the affirmative, smiling and patting my shy little one on the head. The woman glances at my other three children, with their stacks of books, their summer glow and happy countenances.

“Are these all yours? They’re such happy, beautiful children!” she says.

“Thank you. Yes, they are. I have three more at home.” True enough, my oldest and two middles are at home. I used to take all seven out with me, but these days they take turns running errands with me in our small car; our 1-ton Chevy van that seats our nine member family, our “homeschool bus,” is neither inexpensive nor environmentally friendly to run so we save it for family trips.

This woman before me looks surprised, but pleasantly so, it seems. Not many people meet our vivacious family with frowns.

“Do you go to church anywhere?” she asks.

Ah well, it’s inevitable in rural Missouri.

“Nope,” I answer truthfully, but not feeling the need to elaborate.

Is she disappointed? Put off? Of course not! This is her opportunity to invite me to her church. I am silent while she works around to it, telling me where she attends, what time their services are and what kind of programs they offer for children. I wonder how many of these conversations I will have in my life. I wonder if I will always be as patient and friendly as I feel today. It’s almost become a game, seeing how long into the conversation I can go before being put on the spot.

“So, will you come?” she arrives at the point.

I love this part.

“No, thank you,” I smile, my sweet children beaming next to me.  “We’re atheists, actually.”

Judging by the combination of confusion and surprise on her face I’d say that we were her first. And that she didn’t expect atheists to smile and have happy children.

Sometimes I have too much fun being an unbeliever in the Bible belt. But I feel I deserve to enjoy it occasionally, as much grief as it brings our family other times.

The woman regained her composure and apologized. She did what? Yep, apologized. That was a first.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course. How could you possibly know?” I am still exuding genuine friendliness which now seems to slightly alarm her. She takes a couple steps backward toward the door. “There aren’t a lot of us here in Fredericktown,” I whisper conspiratorially. She looks the children over, as though she’s still trying to get it straight in her head. She fumbles around for an appropriate goodbye, apologizing again so that I almost, ALMOST, feel bad for her. I say goodbye. She turns and walks out the door.

True story.

Tightening of the Bible Belt

My parents visited us the other day. They live only 30 mins away but we don’t get together very often. No particular reason, just life things. And we’re each 15 minutes from town, in opposite directions, so there’s no just stopping by on your way somewhere. It was a nice visit.

My mom emailed me the next day to let me know they’d enjoyed the visit and to fill me in on their adventures afterward, which included swinging by the park to visit with my sister and watch my young nieces play soccer. (We all see my sister even less than we see each other, though she lives right in town.) My sister is a believer and she fellowships with many of the same people I used to a few years ago, including neighbors of mine. One of these ladies, with whom I was fairly close and whom I see upon occasion, struck up a conversation with my mom. They hadn’t seen each other in ages, didn’t ever know each other very well, but were friendly. 

During the course of the conversation the lady mentioned me and tried to encourage my mom that she’s praying for me, that I am still young and that there is hope yet that I would come around and get saved. My mom is not an atheist, but neither is she a christian. She retorted, “Saved from what? From her peace and happiness? I certainly wouldn’t wish that on her!”  Ha. Go Mom! That apparently ended the conversation.

It’s been awhile since I’ve felt that pang of sorrow I felt reading that. I’ve faced more strangers recently as an atheist than I have former friends. I’ve made new friends and moved on with my life. It’s still interesting to me to think about how many people I have loved and shared my life with, most of whom now all feel sorry for me. Now, right now, when I am the happiest I have ever been and when things are finally going right for me and the children.

Incidentally, in the beginning I had much grief over the sudden distance between myself and the people with whom I used to be close. Some friends I dreamt of over and over, I missed talking to them and hearing what was going on in their lives. I tried to continue to reach out—as an unbeliever I had nothing stopping me from friendship with anyone I pleased—but it was awkward. I finally made peace with it when I realized that talking with me just made my former friends sad. Deeply sad. They had truly cared about me and they were sincerely saddened by my life choices. Any true conversation could not take place without their discomfort. I decided to walk away, give up, stop reaching out. I let them go.

I digress.

Er…. Where was I?

It’s interesting to note that, typical of believers in my local area, this lady that approached my mother assumed Mom had similar enough beliefs to 
her own that Mom would be comforted by her words.

There's a workable segue.

I’m tired of the bible belt. Yes, it makes for some interesting things to write about, but when I think about raising my children here I grow sad. In our area there will never be anything we get involved in, any place we go, where we will not encounter fundamental christians who are either talking about their faith (a little annoying); assuming we share their faith (awkward); shocked, saddened or angry about our lack of faith (unpleasant); or trying to convert us (unacceptable). We don’t necessarily advertise our atheism everywhere we go, but when put on the spot we are open about it. And it’s surprising how often we’re put on the spot. And how it affects our future dealings with people in our community.

I suppose if it weren’t religion, it would be something else. But it would be nice to be some place where it wasn’t as prevalent. A little progressive thinking would be great.

Is it regional thing or a rural thing? Surely there are rural places in America that aren’t so populated with churches and closed minds? I don’t want to live in a big city. I love my little place in the country, I just wonder how my children will grow here.

But they take after their momma, and I’m think I’m pretty good at growing where I’m planted and making the best of whatever situation I’m in.

Considering the World

September 10, 2014

Here we are, on our way home from Hannibal, Missouri, the childhood home of Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain) and the office of a lovely oral surgeon who was good enough to remove my eldest child’s wisdom teeth from her small, crowded mouth so that her braces might be more effective in correcting her teeth. Little of that is relevant to this blogpost, but since when have I limited myself to the relevant?

Long drives are good for conversations. Denny and I have been talking while Farra snoozes in the backseat, gauze hanging out of her mouth. 

I’m fascinated by landscapes. I’m fascinated by humankind's impact upon the earth. (More pleasantly by the former, less so by the latter.) This particular trip took us further north in our state than I’ve ever been. As we got up past St. Louis the land began to stretch out in bigger, flatter fields of corn, a little less rolling with less rugged forest than we have down in the St. Francois Mountain foothills. I consider the scenery and imagine it in other parts of the world. I marvel at the vastness of our small planet. So much happening on this little earthship floating around space.

And look at all these buildings, these roads, these motor vehicles transporting people hither, thither and home. Yes, I think about ants and how we are similar in many ways.

Once upon a time, humankind didn’t exist. Now we rule the world and have unveiled the Apple Watch.

Look at what we are capable of!

I’m growing fond of Apple. Actually, the only time I have ever seen a gadget advertised that I felt drawn to was when the first iPad was released. I remember thinking, “Now THAT is cool.”  They have a remarkable way of bringing amazing technological advances to the layperson. Few people have heard of the Large Hadron Collider, one of the world’s largest machines and a fascinating example of what humankind can do when it puts its collective mind to something (watch Particle Fever if you get a chance), but I don’t know anyone personally who doesn’t own an i-something or at least know what it is.

So what?

Well, so we privileged 1st-worlders are without excuse. When you look at the technological advances in the last 100 years, in the last 50 years, and project forward at the same rate of progress, you see we are capable of doing what we need to do to save ourselves.

And we need this. We have royally f**ked things up. If the rate of destruction continues without intervention, our species simply won’t last and, to boot, we’ll take a large number of other species with us on our way out of existence.

No, it’s not all us. Even if we get our shite together this planet has an end-date. If not by asteroid sooner, we will eventually be fried and absorbed by the growing star we call Sun. This planet has an expiration date. In as little as a few hundred million years (yes, very little in the grand scheme of things) Earth will likely be inhospitable. 

Wouldn’t it be nice to be comfortably established in a new solar system by then?

And why not, I say? We are fully capable of preventing our self-destruction and coming up with a way to get off of this rock when we need to, before it becomes an unbearable sauna.

But is humankind thinking of these things? Mostly no. We haven’t made it over our excitement of the Apple Watch and how it will improve our daily jog.

I’ve thought a great deal lately about the evolution of humankind. In a way our collective species focuses on our primitive needs; food, water, shelter, reproduction; not so different from other animals. Because of our consciousness we tend to take these things to excess, always striving for more. Tastier food (not necessarily more nutritious), larger homes filled with more stuff, sexual partners to satisfy all of our desires. Yes, we are so focused on these things. We create industries out of need and desire. We run, run, run, trying to have it all plus a bag of Jelly Babies. We want to feel good. Turn on the TV. It’s all about feeling good.

But there ARE people who are thinking of other things. I like to think it’s part of our evolution. Maybe someday, if we haven’t killed ourselves first, the collective humankind will focus more on what is good for us (and other species) than what feels good. (Insert Star Trek references here.)

It wasn’t that long ago that my focus was very limited. My world revolved around my home, my husband, my children, living righteously, and looking to the return of Christ, just as the Bible says a woman’s world should.

Titus 2 tells older women to “admonish the young women to love their husbands, to love their children, to be discreet, chaste, homemakers, good, obedient to their own husbands, that the word of God may not be blasphemed.”

Later in the same chapter, “For the grace of God that brings salvation has appeared to all men, teaching us that, denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly in the present age, looking for the blessed hope and glorious appearing of our great God and Savior Jesus Christ.”

I took those words to heart.Also these:  1 Thessalonians 4: “Make it your goal to live a quiet life, minding your own business and working with your hands, just as we instructed you before.”

As a believer I needn’t worry, God had things under control. I did, still, I admit. Occasionally. And about things that hit close to home.  But the future of humankind was laid out in scripture. We were to do our best here on earth in the time that we had, acting our part in God’s grand play, for he had a wonderful future in store for us: admittance to his kingdom. That was all we needed to focus on.

I see this all around me here in the bible belt. People who take God’s word somewhat seriously, people who believe he is returning soon. They act accordingly. What do you suppose that looks like? How do you suppose that effects the collective mind?

Denny and I have an acquaintance, a local religious man with whom we’re friends on Facebook. Time and again he tells us, “I don’t care if you believe or not, so why do you care if I do?” 

For starters, that doesn’t make him a very good christian.  That aside, I care because what we believe about the world determines the way we act. The way we act determines the outcome of our species, many other species, and the earth itself. I care very much about this because we’re all in this together.

Inevitably these thoughts and conversations come down to, “Well, what can I do about it?”

Denny has lived most of his life as an activist. He has observed, studied, contemplated, and acted; all in the name of the betterment of humankind. 

I was going to go somewhere else with that. I was going to contrast it with the way I had been living my life inside my bubble. But it strikes me that I was doing the same thing with my life, as are many sincere bible believers today. We just had/have a different set of facts before us on which to act.

Hmmm.

Believers will ask, “Wouldn’t you rather be safe than sorry?”  They suppose that we would all be better off assuming there is a god, so that when we die we can live in eternal bliss. (They also assume we have some ability to believe in things that we don’t believe in, as though it were a switch we could flip.)

Why not turn it around? Why not ask the believers to consider living as though Jesus isn’t coming back, as though this life is all we have, that this world is all we will be able to pass on to our children when we die. How, then, would we live?

Denny did spend his time in a considerably different sort of active, thoughtful way. He poured every ounce of energy he had into making a difference in the world. In a way, after many years, he burned out. He didn’t stop caring—well, not entirely—but he changed focus. Me, I am only just now beginning to see the world the way it really is, to see humankind's possible demise contrasted with our potential. I’m excited, amazed, saddened, outraged, thrilled, afraid, hopeful…

Our conversations have been interesting, to say the least.

A teacher at heart, I always want to know how to apply things practically. How do we take all of these thoughts and put them to good use in our lives? What do we teach our children?

There must be some balance. Ahhh, you knew I was going to say that, didn’t you?

If this life is all we have, both our personal lives and the life of humankind on earth, then why not make the most of it? Why not just enjoy it? There’s no end to the things I find beautiful and just plain enjoyable. I’d need eight lives to cover it all.

But can we balance it with living considerately, with a mind to the future. It’s so cliche, but it really does come down to individuals. If everyone made decisions and lived each day with tomorrow in their sights…  No, it doesn’t seem like much when it’s just you, but it matters. “Just you,” not only makes a difference, you make an impression on others and the effect snowballs.

You don’t need me to tell you all the things you can do to make a difference. If you really can’t think of something, that’s what Google is for. But please, don’t just leave it to someone else. What if all the someone elses decided to leave it to someone else?

Work with me, people. Work and play and enjoy a meaningful meaningless life with me.

Sci-fi, Fantasy, Religion

Another tale from a rural, mid-American atheist.
Because what is commonplace here might just make an interesting story somewhere else.

A bit of rambling backstory first.

With a houseful of rapidly growing children who are receiving their education at home, we are keen on opportunities to get the family out of the house for worthwhile activities and socialization.  Trips to the feed store, library and dentist are great, but they don’t quite cut it.  There are doubts that the weekly homeschool playgroup we’ve attended the last two years will come back together this fall, so we have been discussing our options.

Farra, "dark elf" age 14

Freed from the religious bondage that kept wizards, witches and Klingons at bay, my children have all blossomed into sci-fi and fantasy fans.  My wee ones run around with wands carved by their older siblings, casting spells in Latin with delightful British accents.  My oldest girl and boy have begun working metal, wearing elf ears, and experimenting with stage make-up.  (The cloaks are not new, however.  Cloaks are always in style.)  Our van will soon sport a Star Trek logo with “WWDD” by it:  What Would Data Do?

The children are writing stories about interstellar space travel, cursed elves, magic dogs, and hillbilly children named after, uh… plants.  The creative juices are flowing.  My oldest, at nearly fifteen, shared with me that she would like to be a traveling costumer and writer.  The most benign children’s games can turn into life-long hobbies and careers, you just never know.

So how do we, as parents, foster these seven creative geniuses and their unique skills and interests?  We start a sci-fi & fantasy club.  Duh.

Bonuses:  it involves other members of the community, feeds creativity and imagination in all, encourages each one to set goals and offers the support needed to reach those goals, and helps them develop social skills (especially as we hand over leadership of the group to our older children).  It’s like Scouts.  For geeks.

We put a little extra thought into creating something that would cross the religious bounds of our community.  No atheists or believers here, just sci-fi & fantasy fans.  In our community there are oodles of activities if you are a child of christian parents, especially in the summer with camps and vacation bible schools. There aren’t enough secular families to justify starting a secular group of any kind; besides, who wants to discriminate like that?  Nope, everyone would be welcome in our group.

So, our first meeting of Fantastic Worlds was last night.  We had only a few people outside of our family in attendance (still getting the word out, and it will be interesting to see if we get more or fewer people when school starts next month).  We discussed the purpose of the group, our favorite books, movies and characters, and we were in the middle of making the cardboard and duct tape daggers that one of the moms had bought for a project when in strolled a man that I at first took for a teenage boy.  Second glance put him maybe around thirty years old; he was short and awkward.  He was wearing a dress shirt, tie, and dark slacks.  He had come to inquire after one of our crew members, a fourteen year old boy who’d apparently skipped his piano lesson to join us.  The boy introduced us.

This boy happens to have a special place in my heart.  His grandparents used to live across the creek from us and when he would stay with them (just one of the many places the unwanted chap was passed around to) he would cross the creek to visit with us.  I’ve known him a few years; he’s bright and remains tender-hearted in spite of the neglect of those responsible for him.  Church is one place he’s been well-received and shown love; if not genuine love, then at least attention, and “good, clean” attention as far as our community is concerned.  (The best place for a troubled youth is church, right?  Where else is he going to learn morals?)  As it turns out, this piano teacher was an acquaintance from church.  I overheard my friend talking with him about the next Fantastic Worlds meeting, which would fall on an evening the church was hosting a revival (a hyped up, week-long church service).

The church man turned to me to ask if he could make an announcement.  I guessed he wanted to announce the revival and invite everyone.  Yep, seriously.  An evangelical christian knows no limits.  If there is a group of people gathered, for whatever reason, or even a single person, he or she will take the opportunity to try to get you to their church, or at least get you to believe you are a worthless human being in need of a bloody salvation.

Trying to think quickly, I decided to let him say his piece, but not without putting a word in myself.

His invitation was awkward, but sufficient.  He jazzed it up by saying, “You all are into sci-fi and fantasy.  Well, what I’m offering is even cooler.  All kinds of miracles happen.  People dance with their eyes closed and don’t even bump into things…”   He trailed off.  That was it.  I swear to pasta, that was the miracle he had to share with us.  Frankly, I was slightly embarrassed for him.  I would have been even three years ago, when I was a christian myself.  But my embarrassment for him didn’t prevent me from speaking my piece.  When he hopefully looked my way I took a deep breath for courage and a chuckle escaped me before I said, “Um, no.  Been there, done that.”  He looked at me, puzzled.  “I’m an atheist,” I said, clearly, proudly.  Maybe it was my imagination, but the look on his face turned to wonderment.  I like to think he was an atheist virgin and that I was his first.  Ha.  I continued, “I was a believer for many years before that.”

“Oh,” he stammered.  “Do you mind my asking what happened?”
“Sure,” I smiled, as friendly as I could be.  “I studied my way out of the Bible.  I was really steeped in it, but I studied and found out the god of the Bible was not real.”
“But he is real.  This stuff you guys are doing here, it can all be disproven, but God can’t.”  He almost found his feet there for a moment.
“Sir, I make no pretenses about what we do here, this is entirely and admittedly fiction.  As it turns out, so is God.”
He had nothing else for me.  He began to back toward the hall he’d entered by.  I had one more comment for him.
“But this group is open to everyone, believers or not.”  I didn’t want to misrepresent the group, make it seem like an atheist gathering.  I’m not sure he heard me as he turned and shuffled toward the door.

He retreated.  He actually turned and retreated at my words.  I have mixed feelings about that.  Part of me feels good for standing up and making it known that his church propaganda was not entirely welcome, that there are people who aren’t interested, people who know better.  Obviously to him we don’t “know better,” but I want people in my town to know that there are unbelievers here, that they are not the only ones around, and that if they are going to go into random places, uninvited, and share their “good news” then at least this one unbeliever is going to stand up and be noticed.  Yeah, I’m the kid that pointed out that the Emperor was bare-ass naked.  My only hope and purpose is to give others the courage to think about what it is they believe, or don’t.

A greater part of me wishes I’d handled it entirely differently.  I wish I’d thought more quickly when he asked if he could make an announcement.  I didn’t necessarily want to make a scene.  I wish that, knowing what he wanted to announce, I had asked, confirmed it.  Then I could have told him that although everyone is welcome in our group, religion isn’t, unless it’s acknowledged as the science fiction or fantasy it is.  Then, had he asked, we could have talked about my unbelief.  I feel this would have been a far nobler approach. 

Sigh.  I’m learning.

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. 

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.

Morality (an excerpt)

from October 2012 

I have been trying to figure out just what it is that bothers Christians about the idea that there may be no God telling us exactly what is good and evil. This seems to be a big deal! I have friends in a panic over the mere suggestion. There may be some side issues, but it appears to boil down to a Christian's desire for accountability; not even so much for themselves as for everyone else. Christianity teaches there are eternal consequences: rewards for those who do good, punishment for those who do not. I know that on the surface they believe this just because the Bible teaches it, so to them my reasoning doesn't matter, but the people I talk to are genuinely concerned about a world without guidelines. From what I can tell, they need a Big Daddy in the sky to turn to for justice because, frankly, they are immature. They are like a little child on a playground getting bullied, demanding the intervention of the teacher, demanding that the teacher make the bully play by the rules or suffer the consequences. A mature person does not need this intervention. A mature person does not need a set of moral rules. A mature person does not need to see someone else punished and does not seek reward. A mature person makes their way through life by reasoning. Christianity keeps people dependent like a child. Deism is for grown-ups.

Exploring Deism (an excerpt)

December 5, 2012

I think Deism is the natural first response of someone who has reasoned that the Bible is not the revelation of God.  It’s incredibly freeing, not having to muck about Bible verses trying to make sense of it all.  Deists reason that there is a God, a first cause, some intelligence behind life in the universe–because there is life.  Because it is, there must be something that caused it to be.  So simple, so easy.

My reason is at it again. It’s easy to say that, "everything exists so there must be a creator," but there are plenty of people saying otherwise.  My reason demands explanations, scientific evidence for creation and purpose. To believe without evidence is faith, something I apparently am not comfortable with. I may as well have kept my religion. Back up what you believe with reason or don’t bother.

So, now I’m swimming in the extremely vast quantity of scientific facts regarding life, the universe and everything, involving enough branches of science to keep me busy for twenty-eight and a half lifetimes. And I thought religion was complex!

What I’m trying to convince my overwhelmed brain is that it’s okay to not have all the answers today.  Or in this lifetime.  What is important is to live the fullest life I’m able, for the betterment of myself and for those around me.  I know I absolutely cannot do that if I am stressed about answers.  Can I strike the balance of living and searching for meaning and truth without becoming stressed?

A month ago I would have said I would never become an atheist or even an agnostic.  My view of God had changed from God as a personal, involved father figure to an impersonal, uninvolved but benevolent creator.  I was assured by someone close to me (with beliefs similar to mine) not to fear, that my relationship with God was unchanged, or maybe changed for the better, that I could still pray, still speak to God.  I did for awhile, but I soon found myself disinclined to do so.  I was as likely to speak my meditative thoughts to my favorite stars, the trees, my dog, my dead grandfather (never expecting responses, of course).  My gratitude toward my creator hadn’t changed when I laid the Bible aside, but in the last few weeks I’ve found it becoming a general thankfulness, not directed anywhere, just a state of being.