Thursday, July 23, 2009 by angel.

Once upon a time, I taught preschool at a Baptist church.

Preferring to retain my creative liberty in washing their little brains squeaky clean, I generally ignored the assigned curriculum totally… however, there came a day when I was strapped for time and pulled out the fateful pre-packaged visuals in a mad dash for the classroom. So armed, I began giving the kids their lesson.

We were learning the story of Noah’s ark. The 18×24 cards depicted the biblical characters after the flood, skipping happily off of the ark whilst joyous animals frolicked all around them.

As I told the story, I would hold up the appropriate card for the innocent eyes to behold, taking a quick glance for my own reference. It happened, however, that what I perceived in one particular glance registered in my brain at the selfsame moment as the collective gasp of terror from the children.

Following the fanciful frolicking, was an illustration of Noah thanking G-d for safe passage through the flood. Front and center stood an enormous rock alter on which lay a child-sized lamb, with its throat slit open, tongue hanging out, and blood streaming down in velvety serpentine threads. Noah stood behind, arms outstretched toward heaven in joy.

This may have been my first step toward vegetarianism.

Most of the children eventually went to rehab for various drug and self mutilation addictions by the 1st grade. I hear that some of them are doing fine now.

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Thursday, July 23, 2009 by angel.

It was the summer before I went into the 3rd grade, and my friend whose name I can’t recall was at my house. We were covertly jumping on the bed and talking about school. While we were excited about being in the same class for once (at the time the 3rd and 4th grades were combined because our Christian school was so small), we were also very nervous to be under the tutelage of Mrs. Heckle. She had a reputation, and not a good one by our standards. I was more anxious than my friend, who rolled her eyes at my quivering lower lip and told me, in all the wisdom that her extra year of life afforded her, not to be silly. Still quietly jumping on the bed as she spoke, she explained that “at church they said Jesus was coming back soon, and we won’t even have to go to Mrs. Heckle’s class anyway!”

We both stopped for just a moment and pondered the possibilities of the second coming of Christ. We’d never have to go to school again! After giggling hysterically at the prospect, we jumped on the bed with sweet wild abandon, knowing that even if we did get in trouble, it wouldn’t be for long… Jesus was going to be here ANY SECOND.

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Monday, July 13, 2009 by admin.

I knew at three weeks. I was pregnant. How. Why. We had taken precautions. This shouldn’t have happened. But it had. And it was right there in front of me. A pink plus sign leering from the white plastic handle. Just as certainly as I knew I was pregnant, I knew I wouldn’t keep my child.

A few years earlier, while picketing outside a women’s health clinic with my youth group, I noticed a girl walking inside. The shouts of the protesters became a low murmur behind me as our eyes met. She couldn’t have been too much older than I was. Short brown hair. The Smiths t-shirt. Vans. She looked at me. My braided hair falling well below my waist. WWJD shirt. Simple flats. We stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. I nodded. “You’re going to be fine,” I found myself saying. “I know,” her lips formed the reply. She walked inside then. I lowered my sign and walked away to wait on the bus for the others. I understood something that day.

She was me.

As I walked into the clinic years later, my friend squeezed my hand. “You’re going to be fine,” she said. “I know,” I told her. And I was.

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Tuesday, July 7, 2009 by B.AllanDempsey.

I’ve suffered a recent heart injury, metaphorically speaking. I met someone and, like always, fell too hard too fast, and, like always, those feelings weren’t reciprocated. So, I’m crushed. And as I cycle through the stages of grief (I have six, by the way: the denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance stages, and the endlessly-tormenting-myself-with-unanswerable-questions-and-what-if-scenarios-until-I-drive-myself-mad-and-get-two-hours-of-sleep-if-I’m-lucky stage), I realize something. This is the first real heartache I’ve had without God.

I’ve always been the type to dig in, face my emotional problems head-on, and struggle to pull myself out of them. Sounds really tough and self-reliant, but I had a secret weapon. God was there to help me. He’d wrap His big, fatherly arms around me and comfort me. I could tell Him my troubles, and I knew there was a grand design that I was playing out with my pain.

But now that I’ve lost my faith, I have one more hurdle to jump when dealing with grief. I am alone. Truly alone. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I have friends and family I can lean on, and I thank God (I know, I know) for them. Inside, however, I’m alone now. I have nothing but myself to use when I need to steel myself up and rebuild my heart.

So, along with re-defining my values, beliefs, and notions about the fabric of reality, I now have to re-learn how to feel. One of my basic coping mechanisms has been removed, making something as normal and human as sadness even more crippling and insurmountable.

I sure wish I still believed. I could use a god about now.

P.S. What the hell does “we’re too similar to be more-than-friends” mean? What, we have too much in common? We get along too well? Even God was never able to help me with logic like that.

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