Responsibility of Empathy

Hey kids! Tell 'em what you really think, think it over. This is your life, don't ignore it. This could be your only chance to repent, so get off your knees and adore it, the responsibility of empathy. - Quiet Company
These tornadoes last Sunday in Arkansas (as well as the tornadoes that hit Oklahoma, Missouri and Mississippi) have really had an impact on me. Some things you just feel personally involved in. I was fortunate enough to be 20 miles away from them and don't personally know anyone who was directly impacted by it (though I have many friends of friends who were injured, lost homes and lost loved ones). Some things just call you into action; these tornadoes are one of those things.

One obvious reason this particular disaster is so important to me is that it literally hits home; the communities destroyed by the storm are communities I grew up around, had friends in. They are right down the road. It could've been us. It was so close. We were in the storm too, we felt the rising panic, we had our closet ready to take shelter in.

But there's something else to it.

I've realized that for the last several - well, all actually - years of my life, I've been very selfish and lazy. I don't mean these things didn't impact me then. They always have, especially those that personally hit home. Some things affected me more than others. That is natural, and I don't blame myself for not springing into action after every evening news bulletin. The problem is - and my regret - is that my go-to 'action' tended to be prayer.

If I couldn't do anything - and often I felt I couldn't - I just prayed. Sometimes I prayed fervently, sometimes I just prayed flippantly (though I didn't mean to be flippant). I prayed for victims of Hurricane Katrina and tsunamis and Sandy Hook Elementary School. These tragedies happened so far away from me that it's true I couldn't really do anything to help. So I just prayed.

What I regret now is that praying is all I did. I didn't try to think any harder for ways to help.

We can argue all day long whether prayer really works (I'd argue it does not). That's not actually the point (though, it is intimately entangled with the point, nevertheless). The point is, I felt praying did something and therefore I had done something and thus I could go back to my regularly scheduled program. Praying took away the guilt and helplessness and let me get on with my life. As my conscience would prickle and remind me of those still suffering, I'd offer up another prayer, as if it did something. It allowed me to move on.

Prayer, as it turns out, is a supremely selfish and lazy 'action'. It makes the one praying feel better and that is it. It does nothing for no one. (I may end up having to argue against prayer if I keep going this route!) It is not an 'action' at all, no matter how much emotion you put into it.

I first discovered this only a few months ago. A high school friend's dad died unexpectedly. She came back into town for the funeral. I hadn't seen her in years, so I didn't really know what to say or do. I realized that my normal response would have been prayer, but by this time, I had already become atheist. I had no idea what to do. I didn't want to believe that atheists really did have no hope to offer (a belief I'd always held before), so what then could an atheist do without those magic words 'I am praying for you'?

They get creative.

They get real.

They take action.

Like I said, I hadn't seen her in years, aside from the quick one-off reunion get-togethers, so it wasn't appropriate to just 'be there' for her. She doesn't have kids that I could've offered to watch for her while she processed her shock and grief. She had lots of family around her to support her. I knew the only thing to do was to put myself in her shoes (as uncomfortable as that was, facing the idea of a parent's mortality) and think of what she might need from a random old friend.

I thought about the mundane things that need to be done, despite a tragedy. Housework, bills, groceries. I thought about how no one really feels like eating at meal times but get hungry sporadically through the day. No one feels like cooking, so someone makes a fast food run. Fast food just makes them feel worse though, which is not what they need right now.

I'm not rich, let me just state that. We don't have a lot of money to spare. But I could spare a small bag of groceries. I ended up picking up some bread, cheese, ham, lettuce, bananas, milk and a box of cookies. I swung by her mom's house to drop them off.

It was seriously awkward.

Her sister who didn't have a clue who I was answered the door. She said her sister wasn't home. I awkwardly, self-consciously handed her the bag of groceries and said something stupid like, 'Just in case you all get hungry.' Then we both stood there uncomfortably for a couple of seconds before I said, 'Bye...' and turned back to my car and drove off. I felt like an idiot.

Getting creative during a tragedy isn't easy. It requires you to imagine yourself in an uncomfortable situation to realize what someone else might need. Getting real requires not always knowing what to say or how to say it and feeling awkward and fidgety and stupid about it. Taking action means sacrificing a little of your own comfort (that little bag of groceries had to come out of my already tight grocery budget for our family, meaning I didn't have as much to spend later that week on us). It's not easy. It's not nearly as easy as praying.

I guess I feel that I have a lot of inaction to make up for. A lot of 'just praying' and doing nothing. We have a responsibility on this earth to express and demonstrate empathy for one another, not just in thought but in deed. I have been inactive long enough. I have been selfish long enough.

I still don't have lots of money to donate to the tornado relief. We still don't have many items around the house to donate, seeing as we moved here less than a year ago with nothing to our name but twelve suitcases, having sold/given away everything we owned in the UK. I have two small children at home, so I can't do much in the way of volunteering. I found out today I can't even give blood because of my years abroad. But this won't stop me anymore. I won't use inconvenience as a reason to do nothing. I won't just sit around, tossing up a quick prayer now and again to ease my guilt and helplessness. I just have to get creative. I'll donate what little household items I can. I'll cut a few things out of our budget (that beautiful necklace I wanted to buy for my friend's birthday will just have to wait). I'll encourage others to donate needed items and give blood in my place. I'll babysit my neighbor's kids to free her up to go volunteer. If I can find a babysitter myself, I'll give some of my time too.

If you believe in prayer, go ahead and pray too. But please don't just leave it at that. We only have a few years on this earth to make a difference. Get off your knees and take on the responsibility of empathy. Adore it.

Don't Just Pray For Arkansas, ACT For Arkansas

Last night, a series of tornadoes passed through my state and devastated at least three cities. It was a terrifying night, watching massive black storm clouds blow over my house, seeing clouds swirling in what appeared to be the beginning of a tornado outside my back windows, and listening to the weather station directing people to take immediate cover. At this moment, there have been at least 16 fatalities, but this is not likely the final count. Emergency rescue teams worked through the night and are still working to recover families buried in the rubble.

This has really hit me hard. Being utterly helpless in a situation like this is difficult. Wanting to do something, wanting to make a difference to the survivors is (for many) a natural response, which is why I get why everyone on Facebook keeps posting this:


But it still upsets me. Yes, people want to feel like they are helping. Yes, there is little we civilians can actually do. Praying makes people feel like they are doing something.

But guess what. It's not.

Here's what we CAN do:

-Donate money (try here here or here)
-Donate supplies (bottled water, batteries, flashlights, first aid kits), food, clothing, baby necessities, blankets and shoes
-Volunteer to help WHEN volunteers get clearance to help, not before
-Set up drop off venues to collect donated items
-Open up your home to an acquaintance who has lost their own
-Spend time with survivors who have lost a loved one or babysit their kids while they process their shock

What we can do is little, but it's practical. Praying, well, if you believe in it, I guess it makes sense, but it's not the ONLY thing you can be doing. It's actually the lazy way out.

(I'll write more about that subject later.)

For now, I humbly ask, as someone who has very little herself and knows that it's not easy to donate the little you have, to DO SOMETHING instead of or alongside your prayers.

Conceal, Don't Feel

Like all things that get super popular super fast, the Disney movie Frozen has started to receive its inevitable backlash. People are finding all the plot holes, like the dodgy parenting and crazy acts of a crazy sister. And of course, people are sick of the songs, like "Let It Go" in particular.

But you know what? I loved the movie. And I love "Let It Go". And here's why.

First, let me state that I think it's just an adorable movie. It's entertaining, the characters are charming, Idina Menzel rocks my world and has done since playing Maureen in RENT. It's a kids' movie, so I don't worry much about why on earth a couple of parents would think it was wise to lock a kid up rather than teaching her how to control her powers. I love the message at the end that a) you don't need a man to save you and b) the act of true love that saved her was committed by her own love for her sister. Come on, it's a great message.

I just love it.

"Let It Go" is a great song. It's got all the Disney/Broadway key elements to it - passion, emotion, a a riveting crescendo, Idina Menzel. It's not about lesbianism (though even if it was, I'm cool with that) but about freeing oneself from the conformity forced upon them. In Elsa's case, it was the freedom to freeze a bunch of stuff without (she thinks) any retribution. And I suppose for a girl who realizes she's a lesbian, it's a song about the freedom to come out. (Though Elsa was not a lesbian. This just isn't in the movie. For me though, it's a song about letting go of religion.

I know I'm not alone in this. I know there are lots of other people who have been reduced to tears by the power of Elsa's words in this song in the context of "letting go" of the religious beliefs that they have been conforming to for years. I'm just going to go through this song, emboldening the lyrics that really touch me, and if necessary (though I'm sure you're smart enough to get the connections) adding some commentary on how it makes me feel in that context. Keeping in mind the song IS about freezing stuff, so you know, the "snow" would have to become metaphorical, which is actually still a pretty good metaphor for someone feeling stuck in a belief system and culture they can no longer accept for themselves. It's a pretty frozen place to be.

The snow glows white on the mountain tonight
Not a footprint to be seen.
A kingdom of isolation,
And it looks like I’m the queen.

The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside,
Couldn’t keep it in, heaven knows I tried

[Heaven KNOWS I tried. I tried for YEARS to contain the storm that was swirling inside me. Knowing I didn't really believe any of this anymore but refusing to accept it. I tried so hard, but eventually, I just couldn't bear the storm inside me any longer.]

Don’t let them in, don’t let them see,
Be the good girl you always have to be.
Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know,

[I wanted to be that good girl I'd always been - the girl who lead worship at church, who knew the Bible intimately, who spoke up at Bible studies and prayed out loud, who loved people and reached out to them. I didn't want anyone to know I wasn't that girl anymore.]

Well, now they know!

[Actually not too many know yet. Word is getting around though.]

Let it go, let it go
Can’t hold it back anymore,
Let it go, let it go
Turn away and slam the door!

I don’t care
What they’re going to say
Let the storm rage on,
The cold never bothered me anyway.

[I'd like it not to bother me, that is. It actually does.]

It’s funny how some distance
Makes everything seem small
And the fears that once controlled me
Can’t get to me at all.

[It's true. The further I get from it, the less I worry about it. The less I'm afraid of "hell", the less I'm worried about how people will treat me, the more I realize just how ludicrous Christianity, and all religion, is. Particularly poignant is how the "fears that once controlled me can't get to me at all" is - the threat of hell is horrifying and paralyzing, but the further away I get from it, the more I see it for what it is: manipulation.]

It’s time to see what I can do,
To test the limits and break through.
No right, no wrong, no rules for me,
I’m free!

[Without religion telling me what's right and wrong, I can finally accept what my heart has been telling me for years about right and wrong. Technically, without religion there is no actual "right and wrong"; that doesn't mean however that non-religious people have no morals. We are just willing to use critical thinking and humanitarian principles to inform what is ethical and fair. Like letting gay people get married.]

Let it go, let it go,
I am one with the wind and sky

[Sounds silly, but now that I see myself as a evolutionary development, I do feel more connected to the earth. We sprang from the earth, and we will return to the earth. It's kind of an amazing thing.]

Let it go, let it go,
You’ll never see me cry.

[Not true. But wouldn't it be nice if it were?]

Here I stand
And here I'll stay.
Let the storm rage on...

My power flurries through the air into the ground,
My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around,
And one thought crystallizes like an icy blast
I’m never going back,
The past is in the past!

[Can I get a non-religious AMEN to that?! It's the most freeing thought that I'm NEVER going back - the past is in the past!! Here's hoping I have at least another thirty years on earth to make up for the thirty years I lived in ignorance!]

Let it go, let it go,
And I'll rise like the break of dawn.
Let it go, let it go,
That perfect girl is gone.


[I don't have to be perfect! I can make mistakes! I will do my best as always to keep being the best me I can be, but now, I don't have a cosmic finger wagging at me every time I screw up or a book of rules to point out how supposedly broken I am inside. That perfect girl is gone; she left nothing but normal old me behind. Yes!]

Here I stand
In the light of day.
Let the storm rage on!
The cold never bothered me anyway.

[One day, one day soon, I'll stand in the light of day as an agnostic atheist. I'm still working on finding that courage within me.]


For so many years, I had the same Elsian (new word?) philosophy: Conceal, Don't Feel. "Put on a show; make one wrong move and everyone will know."  I concealed, not so much to myself or even to "God", but to everyone else, my doubts. I refused to feel how my doubts made me feel. Any time I allowed my feelings to spill over, I was drowned in my own tears, and drained afterwards from the emotional and mental distress. Losing my faith was utterly the most painful experience of my life. Having to conceal it so no one would know was exhausting. Keeping it to myself, refusing to feel it, refusing to "let it go" was isolating, like being locked in a dungeon all alone. The fear of what would happen if I "let it go" (aka hell) was more than I could bear.

Like Elsa, once I let go, everything changed. Even though she went through a rocky period before knowing how to "let it go" under control, she experienced freedom for the first time when she just let all that power explode around her. I know how Elsa felt, letting the storm rage on. It felt glorious.

The Capital G

Another thing that's been annoying me... The letter G.

I've been coming up against this problem constantly in my book that I'm writing. You see, I'm a bit (a lot) of a grammar nerd. (Don't judge me now if you find a mistake or two - trust me, if I see a mistake, even if it's years old, I will EDIT that shit.) I appreciate the proper usage of grammar but can totally appreciate improper grammar if there is proper intent for the misuse.

So, God. Or god?

I have always referred to the Christian God in print and in thought with a capital G. It is not just correct usage to capitalize the first letter of a proper noun, it is also acceptable when emphasizing the singularity or ultimateness (totally not a word) of the noun in question. In the instance of the Biblical God, from a literary standpoint, the capitalization works both ways. The book maintains that this is not only his name, but that he is the ultimate, supreme "God".

Furthermore, the capital letter signifies reverence. Christians capitalize God to illustrate his Holiness and Sovereignty above all things.

It always annoyed me when people, believers or non-believers, referred to God as god, not just because it was irreverent but because it seemed grammatically incorrect. It was a proper name, and it reflected his One True Godness. Thus the capital letter. Like calling my mom Mom, my One True Mom. (Those were intentional sentence fragments, by the way. Fragments are unacceptable in formal writing but acceptable when intentionally spoken colloquially. I mention this, because the moment one claims to be a grammar nerd, all the other grammar nerds rush in to prove that they are nerdier. I am pointing out my intentional errors to justify them before the Holy Judgment Seat of Fellow Grammar Nerds. You must know the rule in order to break the rule is my favorite rule.) I also refer to Allah with a capital A and Zeus with a capital Z (to get back to the subject).

I no longer attribute ultimateness (there really should be an actual word for this) to the Christian God, so no longer do I feel the need to unnecessarily capitalize pronouns like "He" when referring to "Him", which was always pretty questionable from a grammatical standpoint anyway. But what about the name "God" itself? Should it still be capitalized?

I'm thinking of it like this:

1. It is extremely unlikely that there is actually any kind of "God" with a capital G - that is to say, an over-ruling singular God above gods, a one Power that oversees all power in the unknown expanses of this universe and all other universes and all other unknown others. So to attribute to the word "god" a capital letter is incorrect, because such a being doesn't exist. It is incorrect unless I'm referring specifically to the possibility of such a God existing, in which a capital letter might actually be literarily valid. It would be similar to my capitalizing Power in that first sentence; it would be an emphasis on its supremacy. Like absolute Truth or the concept of True Love or some other Dickinsonian capitalized attribute.

2. When referring to the Christian God, it is understood that the capital letter refers to God being God's name, "God" here being an actual being or literary character, like Zeus or Athena. It would be grammatically incorrect to write Zeus as "zeus" or to refer to me as "lori". Even my spell checker is giving me angry red squiggle lines for not capitalizing those two proper nouns. So in reference to this Biblical character, a capital G is legitimate.

3. Yet the very act of a writer taking a common noun like "god" and attributing to it a capital letter implies that the writer gives credence to that noun's supremacy, that this particular god deserves the name God, as if one church deserved to be recognized as the Church or one broccoli on my plate deserved to reign as the one supreme Broccoli. It seems to accept that belief that one specific god deserves the title God. That annoys me.

4. But to refer to the Christian God with a lowercase g annoys me in a grammatical and literary sense. Using Allah as an example, "Allah" simply means "God" in Arabic, but to call him allah seems to be the same as saying zeus or lori. It's still a name, even if it's a presumptuous one. Therefore when referring to the Muslim Allah as with the Christian God, surely the correct rule would be to use a capital letter. It goes back to being a proper noun, even if it is usurping a common noun in doing so. Yes, it's annoying that it allows the connotations of Holiness and Sovereignty to creep into the meaning, but the alternative would be fairly inaccurate grammatically. GAH!!!

If you've borne with me thus far, you'll (maybe) understand my (completely unimportant) conundrum. To capitalize or not? I think in practicality it turns out looking something like this:

The god of the Bible liked to destroy stuff.

Then God said, "Let there be light", which is how we got light.

I used to be mad at God when I thought he had abandoned me, but then I realized there was never any god in the first place. God never abandoned me, because that god never existed.

Totally cleared up now, yeah...?

Morally Opposed, Legislatively In Favor?

I have to say, I'm really appreciating this new blog I've started. I've been writing on my personal blog for over ten years now, but somehow, the things I have to say these days are easier to say in a separate place, away from the "me" people have come to know. Scott thinks I should just amalgamate the two and say what I want to say all in one place. But there's freedom here, and a little anonymity, and if it takes stepping out in tiny baby steps like this before I can really be open about my feelings and thoughts, then it's what I have to do.

I have always steered clear from political issues on my personal blog. Partly because up until lately, I've never cared too much about politics and wasn't very informed on issues. Since moving back to the US, both me and my husband have taken a renewed interest in politics. A lot of it has to do with the novelty of it; the United Kingdom has an interesting political system with multiple parties, but in Scotland, politics were boring to discuss - everyone votes Labour. Well, until a few years ago, when the Lib Dems took a lot of Scottish votes away from Labour. And things are cooking up in Scotland right now anyway with the referendum for independence coming up this fall. Politics were just starting to get interesting when we moved back to the US.

My entire family is Republican. While I can't identify completely with the Democrats, I can identify with them a whole lot more than the Republicans. Democrats are centrists, even slightly right leaning, in UK terms. Republicans are next door neighbors to the far right fringe end of the Conservatives and the Tea Party? BFFs with the fascist BNPs.

All that to say, for a British citizen (Scott) and a former British resident (me), being Democrat is pretty rational.

(Yes, there are other independent parties in the US. Unfortunately, the US two party system barely allows for these independent parties to get any recognition. And unfortunately, most of these independent parties are utter loonies anyway. I do hope for a day when the two-party system can open up like the British system to allow seats in Congress and even perhaps the Presidency to be held by a number of non-Republican, non-Democratic, new party leaders.)

(Even if that means a looney gets a seat.)

Anyway, I had a point when I started writing here, which I have veered a nice little ways away from it. I came here talk about same-sex marriage.

So, I've never had a major problem with gay people or gay marriage. All the years I was a Christian, I believed the homosexual lifestyle was wrong, but if someone wanted to live it, it didn't affect me at all. It wasn't my problem or my concern. I believed people were born with a "tendency" towards being gay, but that God could "deliver" them out of it, much like people born with tendencies toward alcoholism or violence could be delivered. When asked about it, I was truthful that I believed it was a sin, but that was between them and God, and really had very little to do with me, unless you personally wanted my prayer. Furthermore, I never went so far to say that gay people were going to hell, just that their actions displeased God. But we all displease God with our actions, we are all sinners, and I didn't see the sin of homosexuality to be any different than my own sins of gossip, occasionally drinking too much, and pride. A gay person could be a Christian, albeit a deceived one, but still eligible for salvation, as far as I could tell.

So even in my evangelical days, if someone asked what I thought about same-sex marriage, my answer was always, "I don't." Just let them get married. What's the big deal? It doesn't affect me.

This stance began to change though. Over the years, as the subject gained greater media and societal attention, I observed the pain that the debate, and the issue of homosexuality itself, was causing my gay friends. I had friends who had to choose between their careers in the military or happiness with the love of their lives. I saw friends cut off from their families and/or communities. People I knew, friends, even extended family members were being heralded as immoral, licentious, shameless degenerates on the sole grounds of who they loved. While from a Biblical standpoint, I still couldn't say it wasn't sinful, I was very certain they were entitled to the same rights as anyone else, and absolutely did not deserve to be hated, attacked, treated as lepers or burned at the stake like the Salem witches (who also didn't deserve such a fate). I heard careless, flippant comments by straight people complaining that they didn't get any special rights or attention for being straight, that they didn't feel the need to declare to the world their sexual orientation, so why did "those people" feel the need to?

Because you don't have to declare anything. You can hold hands with your husband and your two-point-five biological children in public and not receive a second glance. You have the luxury of silently declaring your sexual orientation every day in everything you do with zero retribution. You don't need special rights or attention, because you already have them.

Why do homosexuals feel the need to "declare" their sexual orientation? Could it be because they have spent years, if not decades, pretending to be something they are not, being bullied by the peers and castigated (quite possibly physically) by their parents and other adults, and just want to finally break free from all that bondage? Or perhaps, maybe some of them are actually "declaring" nothing. Maybe they are just walking hand and hand like you are, but you see that as flaunting something, declaring their sexual orientation, when really, they are just quietly living their everyday lives.

Either way, I realized my "live and let live" stance wasn't going to cut it. No one's was. If I wanted to see equal rights for all law-abiding people, it was going to take an actual stance. A pro-same-sex marriage stance.

This, of course, conflicted with my religious beliefs to an extent. I started defining my position as "morally opposed but legislatively in favor". As my faith slowly disintegrated, this stance disintegrated with it, into simply "in favor", for the supposed immorality of it had been tightly intertwined with religion and nothing else. However, the "morally opposed but legislatively in favor" is the position I wish more evangelicals took.

It's impossible - actually, no it's not impossible, it's just difficult - for an Evangelical Christian, or a member of any religion that objects to homosexuality to look at it from a strictly human rights perspective. It's difficult, because Christians (in particular) believe they own the rights to marriage, or at least their religion does. They believe that God created marriage, and therefore God has the sole say on how it is administered.

(If this was true, why are Christians allowing members of other religions to marry each other? And why are they allowing divorce?)

God created marriage between a man and a woman, they maintain. Therefore marriage between a man and a man or a woman and a woman is against God's law.

Okay, fine, we'll grant you that belief. We'll even grant you the belief that homosexuals going against this plan are going to hell. You are welcome to believe that. "It's a free country", Americans love to say.

And that's the point.

It's a free country for you to think gays are going to hell. And it's a free country for gays to be gay. And therefore, it should be a free country for gays to get married.

Our country is not, despite what is touted through the right-wing media, a "Christian country". It was founded on freedom of religion, the freedom to believe or not believe whatever one wants. Our forefathers may have been primarily made up of deists and various brands of Christian, from Anglican to Unitarian, (though not all, Jefferson, for instance, had decidedly very un-Christian beliefs), but they were clear that this is NOT a "Christian" nation. America is not a theocracy. The Christian definition of marriage should not be the only definition in a country where freedom from such restraints used to be our crowning glory.

Christians and other religious people, or people simply anti-gay (I am purposely steering clear of the word "homophobic" because while it is a correct description for many anti-gay people, it isn't quite fair on all of them), have further reasons they use against same-sex marriage. They believe that it is detrimental to society and detrimental to children. I can only assume, since this was never a position I totally understood, that that is position comes from the stereotypical concept that kids need both a motherly mother and a fatherly father to get the balance right. While I rarely see that stereotype play out perfectly in even heterosexual marriages, I assume the assumption is that in same-sex marriages, kids miss out on one or the other.

The profound misconception here is that women always act like "women" and men always act like "men". Therefore, in a heterosexual couple, there are equal and opposite traits that culminate in a completely wholesome companionship.

This speaks to absolutely nothing of the truth or reality.

In heterosexual couples, you have women who can be described as having one or many of these stereotypically male traits: domineering, authoritarian, outspoken, unemotional, tough, competitive, sexually aggressive. Men can be described in stereotypically feminine ways: nurturing, gentle, soft-spoken, irrational, emotional, submissive, accepting. Some couples are so similar that there is hardly any opposing characteristics; both man and wife can be calm, gentle, soft-spoken, passive and nurturing with no authoritarianism, outspokenness, aggressiveness, or, say, confidence. Conversely, some couples are both domineering, assertive, loud, imposing, authoritarian, strict and judgmental, with no signs of gentleness, irrationality, softness or perhaps compassion. All of these are, of course, generalizations, but they hopefully get the point across.

Again, I'm speculating, but I assume the Father-Mother scenario assumes a give-and-take of masculine and feminine traits that round out a family. This is simply not the case in many, if not most, relationships.

And in homosexual couples, the scale isn't tipped the other way. Two women do not equal two emotional roller-coasters and door mats. Two men do not equal two dictators and workhorses. Same sex or different sex - at the end of the day, it's just two individuals coming together to form a partnership. Some are great matches, some are bad ones.

There is also that study that was in the media a while back, claiming that children with homosexual parents fared worse than children with heterosexual relationships. This would be compelling indeed, if the study had been a good one. As it turns out, it was a terrible study that pretty much just showed what we already knew - children from broken families fared worse than children with families intact. Turns out, it had pretty much nothing to do with whether the parents were gay or not, but still together or not.

So, in a few short words, yes, it's complicated. Sort of. It's extremely difficult to untangle oneself from the net of cognitive dissonance. It's easier to hold to the black and white than to sift through the many shades of grey (no reference to that awful book intended). But really, it's not a complicated matter. People should have the right to marry who they love, as long as both parties involved are consenting adults. It only gets complicated when people make it that way, trying to create slippery slopes and outlandish resulting outflows. (That's not to say deciphering all the possible outcomes is wrong. Legislation definitely needs to be written in such a way that it does not inadvertently allow for things that would be problematic.)

It may clash with your religious beliefs. You have the right to dislike it. But two total strangers getting married only affects you insomuch that you may possibly one day have to explain why Jonny has two mommies to your child. It does not creep into your marriage and defile it. It really has very little, if anything, to do with you at all.

But it means everything to the people who want to marry and can't, who want to express their undying love for each other by committing to a lifelong union, for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. Who want to know their best friend and soul mate will be cared for financially when they die through life insurance plans and inheritance. Who want to be parents, who want to be parents that raise their kids in a secure home, with family health care policies and legal custody for both parents, and no discrimination.

For you, it's about a religious principle and someone else's possible afterlife. For them, it's about basic human rights and their own quite literal, very tangible day-to-day experiences.

If affects you little. It affects them in every way. Isn't there a way to be morally opposed, but legislatively in favor?

To Church Or Not To Church? That Is the Easter Question.

Easter Sunday morning.  I'd wake up to a bright sun shining through my lacy white curtains and Keith Green's "He Has Risen" turning on the record player.  Mom would be making pancakes, or cinnamon rolls - something special on this special morning.  I'd put on my brand new springy dress, one of the only times a year I wanted to wear a dress, and if it was still a little chilly outside (a March Easter, perhaps), a pair of soft white pantyhose.  I'd run down the hall to find my pink plastic basket in between my brothers' blue and green ones, all filled with green plastic grass and multiple multicolored plastic eggs, full of chocolate and jelly beans and Sweet Tarts.  After gorging on special breakfast and however many eggs my parents would let me open, the five of us would pack into the minivan and drive to church.  The church would be full of beautifully dressed little girls, some of us with white straw hats, and combed little boys in shirts too starched to be comfortable.  We'd sing joyful, boasting songs like "Up From the Grave He Arose" and listen to the glorious story of the man whom death could not defeat.  After church, we'd drive to my grandmother or my aunt's house for a huge family feast - all the cousins, uncles, aunts and grandparents would be there - and we'd hunt for even more Easter eggs, some plastic, some boiled and dyed (always a disappointment to find) in the large country yard before stuffing ourselves for the second time that day, only now with ham and deviled eggs.

If you grew up in America, and particularly if you grew up a Christian in America, this is a familiar scene from start to finish. While Easter was never as big to as Christmas, or even Thanksgiving, it was in the Top Three for exciting annual holidays.  Even as a child, getting the whole family together for a huge feast was the top reason I loved these holidays so much.  (Well, maybe it was in the Top Three reasons I loved them. Presents and chocolate were major factors too.)

As I got older, and the church calendar began to take on greater meaning for me, I started practicing Lent every year before Easter.  Lent was a deeply personal experience for me. I never attended a church that observed Lent, so I was pretty much on my own for figuring out what it was all about.  For many years I practiced it on my own, giving up a wide range of indulgences or vices, from chocolate or alcohol or meat to anger or shouting at my kids. Some years I even fasted on Good Friday.  Lent was a time of recognizing my shortcomings as a human, acknowledging my sinful nature, and finally rejoicing on Easter Sunday in my salvation from my broken and helpless state.

When my kids came along, we started up the secular traditions of Easter too - rolling eggs down a hill, egg hunts, Easter baskets and the confused Easter Bunny who for some reason lays eggs instead of giving birth to live young like all other honest, hardworking mammals. I continued my personal favourite Eastertime tradition of getting a new dress, for myself and for my two darling, sugary sweet daughters. And of course, we always went to church and sang "Up From the Grave He Arose", and when I remembered, I played Keith Green, no longer on vinyl but compact disc.

This is my first fully secular Easter.  Last Easter was complicated, as I was deep in the throes of confusion and doubt over my faith, but desperately holding onto belief in Christ and his resurrection with everything I could muster. I struggled through Lent last year, each day a reminder that I didn't fully believe anymore, as if I needed any more reminders tacked to my weary, conflicted heart. We rolled eggs down a hill on Easter morning, but the church service, as beautiful as it was, left me empty.  A year later, I'm now facing my very first Christian holiday as a confirmed agnostic, and I have no idea how to confront it.

Actually, that's sort of untrue.  Almost forty days ago, I faced Ash Wednesday and the start of Lent with a sad tug at my heart.  Observing Lent now meant nothing to me, but I missed it.  After wrestling with the concept for weeks beforehand, I decided I could practice Lent for personal reasons without including the spiritual aspects of it, but I couldn't stick it out.  Without the religious ties, Lent had no strength or power over my cravings, and I gave in after the first week.

I asked my husband what we would do for Easter.  He shrugged.  Having been raised in the United Kingdom in a church that didn't formally celebrate holidays, Easter involved some egg rolling and a slightly more built up Sunday dinner.  If he was lucky, someone would call out "Up From the Grave He Arose" for the congregation to sing, but it wasn't a given.

I told him I thought maybe we should just go to church.  It's Easter after all, what else does one do on Easter?  He didn't see the point.  I didn't either, but really, how else would Easter be Easter?  And getting down to brass tacks, if we didn't go to church, there would be no justification for a new dress!

Yes, if we're all honest about it, despite what we say is the "true meaning of Easter", consumerism, like pretty much all religious and non-religious holidays, is always going to be at the forefront.

Scott told me just to go buy new dresses if we wanted them.  And we'd do an Easter egg hunt and make baskets and such.

Without church, though, it seems, well, sort of a let down.  Rather anti-climactic.

None of this changes how I feel about church, however. The whole Jesus story is just a fairy tale now, like something I read in a children's book full of pink fluffy cloud illustrations and angels in white gowns with wings speaking with exclamation marks in word bubbles.  In fact, the church side of Easter, aside from the actual ritual of attending, irks me.  I realized just how much it irks me this morning when the young two kids and I went to the community library for Story Time, like we do most Thursdays.  The books were about Easter.  The first was a story about a little chick doing something inane and cutesy, and the second was about a little girl who lost her special Easter egg.  So far, so good.  Until halfway through book number two, when the little eggless girl explains what Easter is. "A man called Jesus came to earth to save all of us from our sins. But the people didn't like what he was saying and they killed him and put him on a cross.  However, three days later, the rock that was in front of his tomb had been rolled away and Jesus came back from the dead!"  She tells us that on Easter we go to church to learn about this man Jesus.

I didn't want to be that stereotypical anti-religious person who kicks up a fuss about religion being expressed to my children in the form of truth, so with great difficulty, I kept my mouth shut and my face smiling.  I did not manage to suppress a couple of deep sighs, though.  Luckily, a mother with a toddler and a five year old is allowed to sigh for any reason under the sun, so it wasn't noticed.  I looked around the room.  The likelihood is, most, if not all, these mothers, would be in total agreement with the story - in fact, grateful that the "true meaning" was being expressed.  I chalked it all up to part of living in a religious society, and at least it was Lolly who was hearing the story and not the Fifi.  Lolly has always been our resident atheist child, the one who told us when she was barely old enough to speak that Jesus was pretend, who has always refused to pray before meals or join the chorus of "amen"s after, and who recently told me with the decisiveness of a forty year old that "I am not a Christian" despite my never saying similar things to her. And Jaguar, well, he's not even two.  He just wanted to pull the books off the shelf.

It all comes down to this: I don't know what we'll do this Easter.  I have plastic eggs ready to fill and three baskets with plastic green grass.  I have new springy outfits for all of us, and will be bringing deviled eggs to the big family Easter lunch. We may go to church out for cultural reasons, or we might stay home and roll eggs down a hill (stone rolling away from the tomb associations aside).  I'm covering new ground here. Maybe in a few years we'll make our own traditions as we meet others like us.

No matter what we end up doing, however, I will never buy, nor can I understand why anyone, especially Christians, would ever buy, one of these.

Surely this is, like, six kinds of wrong?

You Can't Handle the Truth!

Being anything other than Christian in the Bible Belt is a little like trying to walk a tight rope suspended above an enclosure of tigers. Admittedly it depends on where in the Bible Belt you are - some cities are more tolerant than others - but where we are, it's pretty 'ropey' to be non-religious, and even worse if you are a confirmed agnostic or atheist. Though it's never happened to anyone I personally know, I've heard horror stories of people losing their jobs over their (lack of) faith and being ostracized by their community. Keeping our opinions to ourselves, in not only religion but also politics, has become our modus operandi. My husband doesn't talk about religion or politics at work, and I don't talk about them with other mothers at soccer practice or play groups. It's a little isolating, but it's what we do to survive. I imagine the small population of people with religious beliefs aside from Christianity or political affiliations aside from Republican feel the same way. (I remember me and my entire class shunning a girl on the playground in elementary school because her family was voting for Michael Dukakis instead of George Bush back in the 1988 presidential election.)

It's not that I'm ashamed of my new-found unbelief. It's more that to be an unbeliever is akin to being unvaccinated. It's as if people have this fear that if they come in close contact with an unbeliever, some of their unbelievingness might infect them, or at least infect the more vulnerable members of society. If an unbelieving child plays with their believing children, they might pass on some kind of doubt-bacteria which could start an epidemic. Christianity has practically eradicated atheism and agnosticism in the South; no one wants those few unenlightened families to interfere with the herd. Generally speaking, folks tend to have two reactions to someone who doesn't agree with their religious beliefs - proselytize or ostracize. (There are of course those wonderful people who choose to live and let live, for whom I am incredibly grateful.)

I'm not a rock, I'm not an island, so I do worry about being alienated. I grew up in this town, even though I lived elsewhere for fourteen years. I returned to this area a very different person than the young girl who left it. When I run into people who knew that girl, it's uncomfortable to reveal the woman I have become. So, it's not surprising what I said a few days ago to the dentist.

In all my thirty-plus years, I've never had a cavity. Until this year. So last week I went to my dentist's office for my first filling ever. I've known my dentists for most of my life. They are father and brother to the kid who was my best friend for many years. When we returned to the area, we chose their practice, because they are fantastic at what they do, and I know and trust them. While I reclined in the chair, waiting for the anesthetic to kick in, the senior dentist, my friend's father, came in to say hello, catch up a little on the fourteen years we've been away.

He asked about my parents, asked about my brothers.  I asked about his wife, his son. I asked if he was still at our old church.  He asked me where we are going to church.

I guess I sort of asked for that.

And at the moment of truth, I wimped out.  "We're going to the Lutheran church," I answered.

I was surprised by my response. It wasn't a complete fabrication; it is the church we were visiting as a last ditch effort to recover some sort of mustard seed of faith before realizing we just flat out did not buy into it anymore.  But it's not the church we attend. We don't attend anywhere.

The answer satisfied him, and we moved on.  But I kept thinking about what I'd said, about  how hard it is to admit being non-religious.  I could imagine the look on his face if I'd told the truth.  Which would it be, a millisecond of sadness, disappointment or disapproval before reverting to medical professionalism? Would the conversation have become stilted, uncomfortable?

Maybe, just maybe, it would have been fine, but I know this place and its people, and I can say pretty confidently that there would have been at least a little sadness in his eyes. It's hard for a Christian to see one of its sheep wandering, ignoring the shepherd's voice, leaving the flock.  It's not only hard because they worry about that sheep's eternal soul, but it conflicts with their understanding of the shepherd.  Why wouldn't the shepherd leave the flock in search of the lost sheep?  It must be a problem with the sheep, not the shepherd.  It's never a problem with the shepherd.

At the end of the day, my response was probably the most prudent one I could have given.  I hate being dishonest with others, untrue to myself, but I'll put both my hands up in the air and admit that on most days it's better than being pitied or rejected.

So Long, Larry: The Tipping Scales of Veggie Tales

My 22 month old son pulled down the case of DVDs this afternoon and started flipping through them. He turned the page over and started giggling hysterically. He pointed to the disc causing him such pleasure and looked up at me to put in on for him. He had picked out Veggie Tales.

We've always loved Veggie Tales in this house. Wholesome, silly, a little bit clever, and always a hit with the kids. Silly Songs With Larry are some of the best children's songs around. I could sing Barbara Manatee all day long. It's a cute, harmless little children's program. Never have I thought of it as overly Christian or overly moralistic. That is, until I left Christianity.

Over the past six months, our family has been transitioning from a sincere, Bible-believing Christian family to a secular one. The process of facing our doubts about God and working through the deterioration of faith has been long and painful, and the decisions we've made along the way have not been made lightly. The decision to formally stop attending church, for example, was huge, stirring up issues with our extended families and putting us and our kids in an awkward place culturally. And there are still a lot of small decisions we are making on a daily basis. Small, seemingly innocuous decisions that create a lot of inner conflict for me, bringing up questions I've not yet realized I could ask.  

As I sat back in my over-sized arm chair watching Veggie Tales over the screen of my laptop, and more importantly, watching my three children watching Veggie Tales, I felt one of those little inner conflicts prodding me to attention.

The episode in particular was An Easter Carol, appropriate for this time of year. The story loosely resembles Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol and is about an Easter egg factory mogul who wants to demolish a local church and build a theme park 'Easterland' in its place. Or something like that. I never really paid too much attention. At the end of the day - apologies for spoilers - they help Ebenezer Nezzer to understand that the true meaning of Easter isn't eggs but the resurrection of Jesus.

Obviously, I knew this would be the story. It's a Christian Easter story. Of course the film would bring it all back around to the resurrection of Christ. But I'd never noticed before how in depth the story went. The 'ghost' of sorts, Hope, takes Mr Nezzer into the church that is to be demolished, and shows him the stained glass windows that depict the story of Jesus' death on the cross. She gives a long talk about how we are all sinners but Jesus took our sins upon him and was crucified on the cross. The scene is very emotional and dark, and Mr Nezzer doesn't see how this is a happy story at all. Then Hope explains that three days later, Jesus rose from the dead, and this is the hope that represents Easter.

My two older children watched fixedly. Even one of the neighborhood boys playing at our house was watching reverently. (My toddler son watched too, but I'm thinking he was more interested in the pretty colors.) I felt rather uncomfortable with the scenario.  This is one of those things I am still learning to wade through. Am I making too big a deal out of this?  I tried to think of the situation just like a Christmas movie depicting Santa as real. That analogy didn't help, though, seeing as I don't tell the children Santa is real either. Here my kids were being told by a lovable tomato and cucumber that all of this is very true. We don't believe it is true. Harmless? I just don't know.

We feel we have a lot of undoing to do, especially with our oldest child, who is seven. She has been raised in church and told by the church - and us, her parents - that Jesus died on the cross for her, that we are sinners and that belief in him will grant us eternal life in heaven, not hell. Slowly, we've been trying to shift this paradigm we've instilled in our kids. We want them to think for themselves, so we've never come right out and said, 'None of this is true.' Instead, we've asked them what they think, and we've accepted their answers, even when they have differed with our own.

Still, it's our responsibility to monitor what they are told and by whom, to the best of our ability. We don't take them to church anymore, because we don't want them being taught that the Bible is true by (well-meaning) Sunday School teachers. Veggie Tales has always been welcome in our home, and those cute little vegetables are pretty trustworthy, which makes me wonder if it's any less indoctrinating to have them teaching our kids about Jesus than a Sunday School teacher. For a seven year old and a five year old, and even, I guess, an almost two year old, distinguishing between truth and fiction is hard enough, and when it's being explained to you by a character you trust, even if it's only a cartoon, it's even harder to decipher.

We know Veggie Tales aren't going to bring our kids violence or smuttiness or bad language through our TV screens. But I'm wondering now if the show is as harmless as I always believed it to be, now that its message is one we know to be false?

Could it be time to say goodbye to our colorful cornucopia of garden produce who can hold objects with no arms, who make witty and adorable jokes, sing silly songs and dance with stuffed manatees, but also preach an ancient myth as absolute truth? Is it time to say So Long, Larry? TTFN, Tom?

Or am I making a big deal out of nothing?

The small, seemingly innocuous decisions.