Following My Own Path Through My Teen Years

During my teen years, I began thinking more critically about the truths passed down to me in the name of religion.  It didn’t take me long to figure out that contrary to what I had originally thought, almost no one had actually bothered to pick up the Bible and read every word of it.   I wondered if they even knew about the two vastly different stories of Creation or the two different versions of Noah’s ark or the many subtle differences in Jesus’s baby story.   Which of those stories were true, how did we know they were true, and most importantly why were different versions of the same story kept in the same book?  If I didn’t believe in God, I at least believed he was in serious need of a better editor.

There were several incidences that pushed me farther from The Flock, as Christians like to say.  First, I really did give believing a legitimate try.  I knew that was considered sane and normal in my small town and throughout the country.   It was just hard to give myself up to the idea of an omnipotent, omnipresent, loving Father when I had read through the Old Testament and knew all the bloodshed, all the deaths of babies and innocents.  How could that be omnipotent, I would wonder.  It sounds more like tribal warfare set into an action adventure novel.   One day after Church, I carried my Bible to the preacher.  I had both creation stories bookmarked.  I first showed him Genesis chapter one verses 26 through 31.  “Then God said, “Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground.”  So God created mankind in his own image,  in the image of God he created them;  male and female he created them.  God blessed them and said to them, “Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky and over every living creature that moves on the ground.”  Then God said, “I give you every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it. They will be yours for food. 30 And to all the beasts of the earth and all the birds in the sky and all the creatures that move along the ground—everything that has the breath of life in it—I give every green plant for food.” And it was so.  God saw all that he had made, and it was very good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the sixth day.”  Then came the clincher, why, I wondered, do you only teach about Adam and Eve’s creation story?   He couldn’t find an answer and instead was suddenly called away, looking visibly relieved.  Why are we taught the Adam and Eve story?  If you think about it, the main difference between the two stories besides the number of people created is that in the first story both men and women are created in God’s image whereas in the Adam and Eve story, Eve doesn’t come from God, she comes from Adam’s rib making her, at best, a stepchild to God.   (I wonder if she had red-hair….)

Another incident that shook any foundation of belief I had built up was the day I was sitting in church with my family, idly listening to a story.  The preacher got to the punchline of the story, something about some man sat on God’s donkey—and God killed him!  Hardy har har hilarious!  I was stunned.  I had been listening and as far as I could tell the man who died was on the “good side”.   For him to die just from sitting on the wrong donkey seemed extreme, childish, and downright evil.   I know donkeys were important in Bibical times, being hard-working, patient, plentiful animals, but to actually kill someone?  Couldn’t God have just knocked him to the ground?   I’m not a fan of bullies, human or immortal, so stories like that make me less likely to want to believe in a loving God.

Then there was the time I was in Sunday School.   I was thirteen and one of the oldest kids in my class.  I stuck around because I liked the story time and also for the free candy.  I was taking my first year of French at my middle school.  One of the words I had learned was “Dieu” which is the French word for God.   “Mon Dieu!” is “My God!” in French.   One of the two Sunday school teachers mentioned that unless you call God “God”, you don’t really believe in God.  It made sense so I nodded and added, “The French word for God is Dieu.”   I was not prepared for their response.  “Then they do not believe in God!”  My mouth hung open for a moment, “Yes they do.   Dieu is just their word for God, same as chien is their word for dog. They have dogs in France, but they call them chien.  They have God in France, but they call him Dieu.  It’s a different language.”  I said the last part barely believing I’d ever have to explain to anyone that French is a different language than English.   We never resolved our argument.  That was my last day of Sunday school. In fact, I never spoke to my teachers again after that.  I was realizing more and more that I just didn't fit in with the typical Church crowd.

Around this same time all the years of being told I was being watched constantly, by both God and Santa Claus (even though I already knew the latter was my parents, I had left over worries from when I was a small child) had taken their toll on my impressionable mind.  I was convinced I was being watched and recorded every where I went.  I got to the point where I couldn't stand eyes in a room.  Mom had a bathroom shower rug with a picture on it.  I don't remember the picture, just that it had eyes.  I kept it flipped upside down.  Mom thought it was funny.  I pretended it was a joke.  For years I felt cornered and examined.  I was never alone because my anxiety was always with me to steal any peace. Finally, when I was nineteen and away at college something happened that woke me up to the fact that my horrified fear of being watched, as logical as it was considering we really are taught that God stares at us constantly, needed to end.  My boyfriend at the time was visting during a particularly nervous time for me.   Whether or not I cared if I was being watched flucuated depending on my mood.  Sometimes I had nothing to hide.  Other times I was withdrawn and fearful.  This was one of those fearful times.  I needed to take a shower, but couldn't because I was convinced someone was hiding in the large vent above the shower head.  My boyfriend tried to reason with me that there was no way anyone could be in there.  I was resolute that I would not step in the shower until he checked the vent.  I never told him why I was so worried but fortunately he either wanted to humor me or hurry and go to dinner because he reached up to the vent, opened it, and looked inside.  It was dark and empty and I was satisfied enough to take a shower.  The logical part of my brain knew how crazy I had sounded, insisting that someone was hiding in a small cramped vent waiting for me or my roommate to take a shower.   I knew I had to pull myself together before I started losing my mind.  It was then that I started looking into other ideas, like reincarnation, lycanthropy, and atheism.  

Light and Love,
Reneé