Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Third Degree of Contrast.
Grrrr. I’m still highly offended.
Out of deference to my children—and the several times this has happened—I’ll keep it vague, but I am righteously pissed off. Not that you read my journal. That would require you to actually explore my beliefs rather than violating your own holy book by judging me outright. And where’s the fun in that?
You might discover that I was a Christian for 35 years, Southern Baptist, dedicated to God before I was born…and how I follow through on that is between me and Him, not you. Or that I can quote the Bible better than you can, as if that matters. Or teach you something about Biblical history. Or play the pipe organ in your church with a hand on each keyboard and both feet on the scale on the floor pedals, with a 16-foot bourdon and a 2.5-foot flute playing on one manual an octave higher than written and full open diapasons at 32, 16, 8, 4, and 2 feet, whether it be prelude, offertory, or benediction, praise be and hallelujah! You might find that I really do believe in Jesus and angels and prayer and miracles, too, and that the same God I worshipped as a Christian is the same one I worship now, just with a little different name and a lot better understanding. But that would require you to actually seek the truth rather than spout platitudes about seeking the truth.
(By the way, God said to tell you that if He’s okay with me calling myself Wiccan, then why is it a problem to you? And then He said something about a beam in your eye? I dunno. He said you’d know what He was talking about and I shouldn’t worry about it, so let’s consider that message delivered and move on.)
But back to you….
Apparently it’s okay to push your religion on my children when I’ve never discussed mine with yours. In fact, I believe I’ve said half a dozen words to your kids and most of those were either “Hi,” “Hello,” or “Hey.” I don’t recall anything about “Hail, Child of Satan” while I was reminding your kid not to put dirty feet on the furniture, though I might have been sorely tempted.
It’s also okay, apparently, for you to be a bad influence on my children. Even by Christian standards. Personally, I don’t want them anywhere near you, but I’m broadminded enough to let them explore the world they live in and make their own decisions.
Yet, here I sit…not out there drinking it up or drugging it up or smoking it up or sexing it up…and yet I’m the one who’s evil, who’s deemed a bad influence on you and yours.
I am sick and tired of people observing my morals and my actions and then telling me what a “good Christian woman” I am, only to discover that I believe in God in a little different way than they do. And then I’m evil. A bad influence. A danger to a family that’s already brimming with a whole laundry list of sins that I’m not having the fun of participating in, darn you. Pass some of those sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll this-a-way, will ya?
But go ahead, pass your judgment, traipse back to the Baptist Church, and be all sanctimonious. Stay far, far away from my “evil” family. Please. No, really. No kidding. Please stay far away. Because I really do not want your way of living influencing my children.
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