Why God Hates Me

October 14, 2010 at 8:45 pm (Uncategorized)

I’ve been told straight to my face that my child would be doomed to hell because he was conceived and born out of wedlock.  I’ve been told that my daughter’s Cystic Fibrosis was a punishment from God because of living a sinful life.  I’ve been told that a man who turned out to be a convicted child molester was safe and good because he was an active deacon in the church.  I’ve been told that by defiling my body with tattoos, I have offended the temple God gave me. 

So does God really hate me?

If you ask people about their god, whatever they may call him or her, they will always portray a superior entity of light and goodness and love. But many will then go on to explain away that idealistic view by telling you how only those who believe what they believe, who act as they act, who live the way they believe life should be lived, only those will be rewarded.

Radical Islamic followers commit unthinkable acts.  Extremist Christians condemn those who love in a way they deem sinful or attack those who choose to seek an abortion.  Terrorism, whether on a grand scale or individualized (bullying just isn’t a strong enough word to convey the damage it does), is just the more active form of judgment.  Silence in the face of even the smallest act of hatred is the same as if you actually agreed with it.

These are not the views of many, maybe even most, believers but unfortunately they often are the most vocal, the most active and the most extreme members of whatever their belief system may be.  And all that hate we condemn coming from people who feel differently than we do is met with more hate – the righteous hate of people who are convinced their views are the only ones that matter.

Many of those who really don’t agree with the extremist views may be afraid to speak out because they are afraid of the responding hatred.  But can you blame them for being angry?  When all you hear is that collective voice over and over: being told that you are wrong, bad, even evil, on a consistant basis, you might become a bit defensive, too.  Yes, the anger sometimes comes out just as judgmental and hateful as the act they are condemning.  Yes, they should be more understanding that YOU aren’t the source of that anger.  Yes, it would be nice if everyone would just accept one another, calmly discuss their differences and be shining examples of the love they say they are beacons of.

But this is the real world.


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October 13, 2010 at 8:41 pm (Uncategorized)

Writing is a compulsion for me.  I used to write before I even knew how to write actual words; I’d just scribble lines across the page in what I thought was cursive handwriting.  Filled tons of pages with whatever story was in my head at the time and even though no one but me could ever know what it said, I loved every minute of it. 

I wrote obsessively in school – a 1 page essay would inevitably turn into 10 or 12 pages.  In third grade I came in 2nd place in our classroom storytelling contest, not too bad considering how terminally shy I was at the time.  In high school, a writing exercise designed to develop our “voice” was submitted by everyone without names (only id numbers) on the subject, “The thing that most scares me is…”  I wrote 20 pages from the point of view of a man stalking a teenage girl.  The judge who read it was so concerned about this obviously obsessed boy, that he wanted to get help for the writer.  Luckily, my teacher recognized my handwriting and reassured him that I was not some crazy boy, not a stalker at all but simply a very “creative” writer… they were right about the obsession, though.  I never got past that obsessive writing. 

Writing became my vocation and my avocation.  In every job I’ve ever held, whether it was a writing job or something completely outside that field, I have added some sort of writing component to it – writing articles for professional journals, writing ad copy, writing lesson plans, even writing procedural manuals.  I’ve volunteered writing time to dozens of organizations and events.  I’ve even written things for people who didn’t even ask for my help (picture me frantically pushing written pages on unsuspecting people).

I can’t help myself.  It’s an addiction.  I feed that addiction in a multitude of ways: notes to friends, work emails, facebook posts.  But like any addiction, the glow has faded over time and for some time now, writing is simply the obsession of trying to feed that need and hoping to recapture the high.  I’m trying to find that joy again, the high of expressing myself in a way that makes my heart soar with excitement when I sit down at the keyboard, the creative rush that makes time disappear and the disconnect between my heart and mind dissolve.

And thus, this blog.  It is to be my free-writing place.  A place to empty my brain of whatever is clogging it, in hopes that I will then be able to write more freely and joyously in all aspects of my writing life.  I have no idea whether anyone will be interested in following this writing quest to recapture my joie de l’écriture but you are all welcome…

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