I've talked before about leaving my religion. I usually place the moment of the break at realizing that my nephew was going to be gay when he grew up. That at four you could already tell. He was just stereotypically gay. And then having a lot of conversations with friends who were gay and realizing that they just were what they were, there hadn't been a choice made. Which is what my church was teaching. That is was a choice.
But that break probably wouldn't have happened if there hadn't already been some pretty solid foundational cracks.
I've talked before about having questions that nobody could answer for me. Like what happens to people who don't ever hear about Jesus? Are they all condemned to hell? That didn't seem fair to me at all. I mean we knew there were people living in the Amazon forest and on remote islands that missionaries hadn't gotten to so were they are doomed? And why would an omnipotent god rely on such a slow messenger service anyway? Like why wouldn't he just appear to them?
I was always told to have faith. And that that was the reason why we needed to support our missionaries so they could reach more people. And not to question things so much. There was always a plan.
When I was 12 I went through one of those phases that almost all religious kids go through. The rededication phase. Where you think to yourself that you aren't being good enough so you need to get back to god and refocus. You stop listening to secular music, you clear your book choices, you modest up your dress, you distance yourself from any friends who aren't devout. That sort of thing.
They tended to happen when you would get too close to actually losing your faith completely. And losing your faith is a terrifying thing when it's been drummed into you since birth. So you would fall back on what you had been taught to do when your faith was seeming to fade. Redouble your efforts to center god in your life.
So there had been a boy. He lived in the same apartment complex that my best friend lived in. We had kissed a few times. Oooh! Scandal! But honestly it was important. My first time really kissing someone. I had never french kissed a boy before him. I had "gone around" with a few boys by that time but I went to a private Baptist school and "going around" with someone was basically just a public declaration that you were boyfriend/girlfriend and maybe a little surreptitious hand holding. Very innocent.
So when I decided I was getting a little too secular for my own good he was one of the things that had to go. And I was honest with him about why. I was focusing on god and that meant no room for boys. Bummer for him but no big deal.
Except he did not deal with rejection well. Being a gentleman he didn't hit me. He called a friend of his to do it.
Yep, he set me up to get jumped by a girl friend of his who was a few years older than I was and mad at me for whatever reason he told her to be. I didn't know her. I didn't have any reason to think she was going to hurt me. I met her the same day she beat the living shit out of me.
And she did. Beat the living shit out of me. It was like a fight between a 15 year old fighter and a 12 year who wouldn't hit back. Exactly like that.
See, I was nonviolent right then because Jesus said to turn the other cheek. So I wouldn't hit her. I prayed to be rescued. I told her that I wasn't hitting her because Jesus said I shouldn't. She said she'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, which I said, Oh I know that song, and she hit me again for not thinking it was her line originally.
It was ugly. I have scars on my face to this day from that beating. It could have been worse. Getting undressed after the fight, which ended because the owner of the little store we were headed to heard the commotion and came out to see what was going on and yelled. She ran. Then the people I was supposed to be with showed up again...anyway. Getting undressed I saw the cut in the shirt I was wearing and the line on my ribs from where the knife had just grazed me after cutting the shirt, and the girl that was, again, my best friend at the time, said, "Oh you ruined my shirt" because it was her shirt. And me getting knifed ruined it.
My best friend at the time.
ANYway...
The fall out from that...
When my mother saw my face she said it was good my sister was away at college or she would be hunting the entire South Valley for the girl that jumped me. I said, well I didn't fight back on purpose because Jesus...my mom told me that she expected me to never start a fight but if someone else started one I was to finish it. So nonviolence was only so far. Got it. Seemed like maybe that's not right, but...it stuck, I guarantee nonviolence was not an option I turned to ever again.
And then at school, again, private Baptist school, talking with a couple of the teachers about what happened. Again, I got the shit beat out of me. I was bruised and swollen and split open so it wasn't like I was able to hide it. I had people guessing I had been in a car accident. ANYway... I asked them why they thought god didn't answer my prayer. I mean, I had gone into the situation with faith. Knew he would protect me because I was doing the right thing. And they didn't have an answer for me. Then one said, "Wait, did you tell her why you weren't fighting?" I said, "Yeah." and she lit up.
"That's it! That's god's plan! You will be part of her conversion story."
Oh, gotcha. I'm a tool god is using to convert her. And being familiar with the conversion story genre and a writer myself I imagined it. I could see her years later giving her testimony. Talking about how god spoke to her that day. Planted the seed. How while she was trying to make sure I was ugly (which I'm sure was what the knife would have been used for, to cut up my face, thank you Mr. Shopkeeper) she realized that the beauty of god was shining through me and she was the one that was ugly. And it changed her. Someone had the faith to stand there and take a beating like that because their love for god was so strong.
Great testimony.
Except umm...why would god need a 12 year to get the shit kicked out of them for that? Wouldn't it have been a great story if say the glory of god came down a protected me like Daniel in the Lion's Den? I mean, that's a great story. And everyone around would still be talking about that. Talk about bearing witness.
Yeah, no, we don't know why god does things the way he does them, but for sure I was part of a bigger plan that day.
The other teacher (who was a family friend as well) waited until the first one walked away then asked me if I knew how to find the girl that had done that to me. That if I wanted she'd give me a ride to go find her. God's plans or no she had my back. Again, another vote against nonviolence.
I never could understand why god hadn't protected me that day. Why even though I had gone into the situation with strong faith and with prayer I got the shit kicked out of me. I mean, sure it could have been worse, if that shopkeeper hadn't broken it up that knife would have done more damage than just grazing my ribs, but is that really an answered prayer? That god just let her beat the shit out of me, hit me so hard the side of my face split from the swelling instead of letting her carve me up like a jack-o-lantern? That it was probably all just so some point in time later in her life she'd have an enlightenment moment and come to Jesus?
I was a kid. Following the faith I had been taught. And I was supposed to accept that this was all part of some plan. While people who supposedly believed in the same things I was being taught were telling me to never stand by and let that happen again. That I needed to protect myself.
Nobody was coming to stop it.
No matter how hard I prayed.
Cracks in the foundation.
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