Attack of the Theist

I think differently.

I have different opinions.

I don't agree with some people.

Am I allowed to talk about it? Share it? Be passionate about it? Why not?

Ever notice how theists have a strange double standard about sharing beliefs and what is sacred? They become to angry and defensive when anyone says anything that might contradict, mock, or challenge their faith. And yet, demand ultimate and complete respect for what they say about non believers (sinners). I just don't get it.

Do I consider myself an atheist? No. Because I still hope for a deity and a life after death. So I guess I'm more of an agnostic. Kind of on the fence. Because I like things about religion, and I there are some things I don't like. I believe in being kind and charitable to everyone, for allowing everyone to share what they believe and live the way that makes them happy. But to do so without fear and without judgement.

Coming from a very religious background and family, it is very difficult to openly share what I believe without making them uncomfortable or upset. They resort to attacking my character, saying that I am openly mocking their faith by sharing what I think. They delight in misinterpretation, or misconstruing what I mean. How dare I say something that would belittle their sacred religion? It becomes very hard to be honest about what I think because I'm always so scared of offending them, and opening up a theological airstrike all over my Facebook page. I can't say anything that I feel or believe, even as civilly as I do, without them coming after me. And yes, I admit, I do become equally nasty when someone attacks me as a person. Attack my ideas fine, but don't attack me.

So tell me, is this what religion teaches? To publicly scorn people who think differently? To bring people down by attacking who they are as a person instead of their ideas? If it is okay for someone to "Defend" their beliefs, why am I not allowed to do the same thing?

I have never, not once gone onto one of my religious siblings walls and attacked their beliefs as they have so publicly done about mine. I have posted a total of two things to share my opinion. One of them I removed because of how ugly it got, and how embarrassed I was that my friends would see my family treat me the way that they did. The second one, I merely said I thought a bolder move by the church would have been to not excommunicate a member for "apostasy", but again, people got defensive, twisted what I meant, and attacked my character. Is this truly what religion teaches you to do?

And then I realized, yes it is. Part of religion is about shaming a person into repentance. You are a sinner, imperfect before God. You must repent of your wrong doings and come unto God. You must defend your beliefs, even if it means hurting those closest to you. Because in the end, if you lose your family, it doesn't matter. All will be made well in the eternities, and God will reward you for hurting someone you should have loved, because it was in his name, and lets face it, for their own good.

Do you see how religion can be a very ugly thing?

I am very passionate about what I believe, and I am going to keep sharing it. Because I hope, just as any theist hopes, that what I share will have an impact for the better. If I were sharing negative things about Warren Jeffs, of course people would agree with me. But his followers would be mortally offended, and they would say to me, you cannot shake our faith, because we know he is a prophet. The problem is, every religion feels that exact same passion. And what they don't realize, is those of us who don't believe, or don't believe fully, are just as passionate.

I believe the unfair treatment of women in theology is wrong. I believe the unfair treatment of homosexuals, and in the past, different races, is wrong. I believe that excommunicating a man for his beliefs, while totally up to the organization, is counter productive. And I am going to share it. I don't understand how me sharing what I believe is any different than religious people sharing what they believe. There is just such an arrogant attitude of "we are right, you are wrong, you offend God" among theists, that they will use empty rhetoric to tear you down for sharing your belief because it contradicts their own. They will attack opposition to their faith wherever they can, even if it means harming someone they should love.

I am embarrassed about my family's (certain members, not all) conduct. And I am saddened by the nasty, snarky, arrogant personal messages attacking me as a person, and saying that I am the one in the wrong for sharing what I believe. I am saddened by the untruths and lump statements used to misinterpret what I am saying, or to accuse me of something I haven't said at all. They keep tacking on, but it's up to you, you can believe what ever you want. Except, I can't share it, because if I do, I know the reaction I will get. I have to be secretive about what I feel. I can't be open about it. I can't discuss it. I can't be honest and seek support. Because then I might offend someone. Do you have any idea how lonely that feels? To feel completely ostracized from your own family because you don't think the same way they do?

One family member even went so far as to say I continually post anti religious things on my FB wall (pretty sure she meant my husband, but is so indoctrinated into the church's teachings, she assumes I do his bidding??). I do not. If you need proof, scroll through my profile, you will find one, about John Delin. And it was not rude at all, it was  very neutral!!! The only controversial things I post are about vaccinations! VACCINATIONS! Because I think kids should be vaccinated. Good Lord people, actually read what I'm posting before you accuse me! I commented on two friends posts that were gay bashing. TO DEFEND GAYS! How is that wrong?? Holy crap, am I just blind and stupid, or is it actually wrong to discriminate?? (In the name of religion yes, which is why doctrine of the church used to state "The Negro may make it to the Celestial Kingdom, but as a ministering angel in an eternal servitude to his God". Messed up, right?? )

And guess what? Theists offend me! And the only time I have spoken up is when something was particularly harmful, like telling gays they can't live in certain homes or purchase from certain businesses. That is wrong, and I'm going to say it. And I know some people aren't going to like it. But I am trying to change that, I am trying to fight for the rights of all people to live happily and not be afraid to be who they are of share how they feel. Religion doesn't allow that. It doesn't allow you to think for yourself. You have to believe what the leaders say, you cannot question. And if you do, you will be publicly humiliated, shamed, and eventually expelled if you do not shut up. But it will all be turned right back on you, telling you are in the wrong, you are the bigot, you are the one humiliating people, you are the one causing harm. It's funny, because you are also the one that was attacked.

I'm not going to shut up. In the words of Tracy Edna Turnblad: Things need to change. And I won't stop trying to change them.

Chapter 2 & 3

Chapter 2

            “Are you insane? There is no way on earth he is keeping that thing!”

            “Lydia, please calm down.”

            “We have no idea where it came from, who it belongs to, and why it was in your brother’s ashes!”

            I sat in the back seat, fiddling with my newest possession, while my parents argued about how ethical it was for me to keep it.

            “Maybe it was my dad’s and he was trying to keep it safe,” my dad suggested.

            “Or it belonged to that person in the burning apartment, and—“

            “And the coroner just happened to scoop it up with Paris’s remains? You don’t think they would have noticed?” my dad scoffed.

            “And you think your dad would have kept such a valuable item a secret from his family for all these years?” my mom asked.

            “A man is entitled to his privacy, Lydi,” he shrugged.

            “Well, I still think it’s weird, and I’m not comfortable with it,” mom grumbled, slumping into her seat. My dad made a left turn onto main street, we were heading to the county building for grandpa’s will reading. I did not want to see Beth again.

            “If it will make you feel better, we can ask if there has been any missing reports for a bird pendant,” my dad suggested.

            “Fine,” mom agreed.

            “Isn’t anyone going to ask me what I think?” I spoke up.

            “You’re 17, you don’t get to think,” mom said.

            “Gee,” I muttered. I held the pendant in my hands, twisting it, turning it over, catching the light from the window on the stone. It was very primitive looking in its craftsmanship, but very beautiful in its design. I wondered how grandpa Joe had acquired it, or if it really was some sort of mistake by the coroner. Though that did seem very unlikely. 

            “If no one has filed a claim, I will personally take you to get it appraised,” my mom added, probably feeling guilty for snapping at me.

            “That’s fair, I guess,” I responded. So we drove, and I ran the chain through my fingers over and over, contemplating just how much it was worth, and how quickly I could spend it. As I was thinking, I ran my thumb over the stone, and for a moment, I could have sworn it felt hot.

            “Look out!” my mom screamed. I barely had time to react when my dad threw the wheel to the left and, me, not buckled, was thrown into the door.

            “Paris!” my mom yelled.

            “What’s going on?” I shouted, feeling the car begin to spin. The image out the window became a colored blur of buildings, cars, and people, all watching as we spun helplessly out of the road and up onto the sidewalk. The adrenaline coursed through my veins, shooting my heart rate into overdrive and bringing my senses to maximum. Everything appeared to slowdown, as I gripped the door in an attempt to remain upright.

            It must have only been a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity, before we smashed into a light pole. With a loud crash, it snapped from it’s base and toppled to the pavement beside us. I was shaking. There was smoke.

            “Paris, son, can you hear me?” it was my dad. He was leaning over his seat to look at me. I realized I hadn’t let go of the door handle, and my hands were turning white from the grip. I let go, which sent pain shooting from my shoulder into my hand, and I realized the door and I must have collided.

            “What happened?” I asked, unsteadily, shifting around in my seat. My mom was feeling her face, staring at dad. I looked to the other side of the backseat, and my heart thumped aggressively when I saw the whole door had been completely crushed inward to the middle of the car. The base of the light pole was sticking out of the pavement beside me.

            “There was a man, he just jumped out in front of me, I-I didn’t mean, I didn’t want to hit—“

            “It’s ok,” my mom said, her voice betraying her calm gesture, as she reached for my dad’s arm. I could see a little blood dripping from her chin.

            “Mom,” I let out. “Mom, you’re bleeding.” She touched her cheek, and then looked down at her hand. My dad turned her face towards him to examine what had happened.

            “Just a little scratch, probably from the window glass,” he said. Suddenly, mom threw herself onto him, sobbing uncontrollably. I myself was beginning to feel a little overwhelmed as the adrenaline stopped.

            Just then, someone banged on the window beside me.

            “Hey! Hey, you okay in there?” I turned to see a man, maybe mid 30’s, wearing a blue jacket and giant brown boots. His eyes were wide as he stared at me. I quickly shoved the door open and stumbled out, the man catching me before I could fall over.

            “Easy there, son,” he said to me. My dad was out a moment later, helping my mom through his door because hers was dented in as well.

            “I called the police for ya,” the man said to my dad. “Saw the whole thing! Holy cow, crazy how well you recovered!”

            “Thanks,” my dad breathed, leaning on the side of our mangled car for support. I pushed myself away from the man’s grip, rubbing my arm where a large, purple bruise was forming from slamming into the car door.

            “You are very lucky,” the man said to me sympathetically, but he was smiling.

            “Sure, yeah,” I let out, not really caring what he thought. The man was still smiling, but he turned his attention to the ground next to me, and immediately went ashen. I looked down to see my pendant laying in the gutter.

            “Grace,” the man whispered. Yeah, I guess I’d be praying if I saw something like that too.

            “Oh, that’s mine,” I said quickly, reaching down to pick it up. I wiped the grime off with my shirtsleeve before placing it safely in my pocket. The man continued to stare, and I was beginning to get uncomfortable. “My grandfather left it to me,” I felt the need to clarify. “He passed away a few days ago.”

            “Oh, my condolences,” the man said.  “I lost my granddad a few years back as well.”

            “Sorry to hear that,” my dad piped up, wiping his brow. My mom was leaning her head on his shoulder.

            “He was ill, it was time,” the man shrugged. “I sure didn’t get anything from him though! My stepmom got the whole estate. I’ll just go ahead and wait around with you, if that’s okay, the police will want a witness’s testimony as well.”

            “Thank you so much,” my mom responded breathlessly. The man walked over to my parents, extending his hand out to them.

            “My name is Troy,” he said. My dad shook his hand.

            “Pleasure, Troy,” he said. “Did you see what happened to the man in the street?” Troy shrugged his shoulders, looking behind him.

            “Saw him take off in that direction, he looked pretty shook up. Not sure what he was doing in the road,” Troy answered. I looked off in the direction he had indicated, seeing down a long alley between two buildings. One was a questionable looking pawnshop with black bars in every window, the other was a woman’s shoe and purse boutique. Interesting paring, I thought.  A small crowd had formed along the sidewalk in front of the shop, with gawkers and onlookers watching us carefully. One older woman in particular in a pink and orange floral muumuu, clutched her purse to her chest, and gaped as us with crooked dentures.

            About a minute later, we heard sirens. That close to downtown, we were also very close to the police dispatch, so it didn’t take them long to arrive. But I wasn’t much use to anyone; no one cares what a teenager has to say. I ended up slumped over on the curb, scratching my arm where the giant bruise had taken up residence. As I sat there, staring over at the people in front of the pawnshop, I got kind of a mischievous idea. Sneak away and see if I could get a decent offer. Mom and dad were fervently talking to the officer, an older man with a thick grey mustache and trousers that looked a little too tight. He was scribbling away on a note pad while mom made large gestures with her hands, tears going down her face, and intermittently complaining about the will reading she was missing. I realized they were a little preoccupied and probably wouldn’t notice me gone for a few minutes.

            I rubbed my left shoulder with my hand, almost able to feel the deep bruise actually forming, and peeked across the street at the pawnshop. I knew my mom would hate me if I sold it, but I think she would also be happy not to have the responsibility anymore. It was worth a try, because I didn’t think any reputable jewelry shop would take it. I supposed I could take it to auction, but shook my head, realizing how complicated this was getting.

            Making sure my parents had their backs to me, I gave Troy a quick nod and darted across the street. The majority of onlookers had already gone on their way, leaving the door to the pawnshop exposed. There were two small windows on either side of a rusted looking door, both ornamented with black bars and what looked like chicken wire. I read the name painted in bright gold lettering “Slick Neck Pawn”.

            “Huh,” I shrugged at the bizarre name and slowly pushed the door open. A little bell over me jingled as I stepped in, alerting all three patrons and one very large cashier to my presence.

            “Hey, hon, what can I do you for?” the cashier said to me across the room. I have to admit, as I made my way towards her, it was very strange to me to see a woman pawnbroker. The shop wasn’t very big, more like a long corridor lined with glass cases and one big counter down the middle. Assorted this and that was haphazardly placed without rhyme or reason in every case, from cameras to necklaces to antique looking guns. Some things had visible prices, others didn’t, and it occurred to me I might not get a very good offer here.

            “Hey, I wanted to get a quote,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. The pawnbroker beckoned me to the counter with a wave of her hand, so I stepped quickly towards her.      

            “Whatcha got?” she drawled, clicking a toothpick against her teeth with her tongue. I fought the urge to make a disgusted face, smiling as widely as I could. She just stared.

            “I’ve got a pendant, gold, and then some sort of stone,” I said, reaching into my pocket to pull out the pendant.

            ‘That much, eh?” she said.

            “Oh, no it’s just this one thing,” I clarified, laying my hand down and allowing the gold chain to tinkle on the counter. Immediately, her eye grew wide with amazement as she stared down at my open palm. I started to feel even more uncomfortable, thinking she might snatch it up before I had a chance to run.

            “Now isn’t that something?” she cooed, mesmerized.

            “Yeah,” I agreed impatiently. “Can you give me a quote?”

            “For pawn or sale?” she asked, reaching her finger out to touch it. I quickly pulled away, holding the pendant close to my check defensively.

            “Sale,” I said.

            Maybe it was because I was already on edge, but the minute that little doorbell tingled, I about jumped through the roof. A moment later, I heard the soft clicking of a woman’s heels, and as I turned around, I saw possibly the loveliest creature I had ever set eyes on.

            She was tall and slender, dressed in a loose fitting black pant and a deep burgundy shirt. The tight sleeves came down to her wrists and the collar cascaded around her chest. Her hair, a very rich auburn color, flowed over her shoulders in long, delicate curls offsetting stunningly bright green eyes.

            “You better close your mouth or you’ll be eating flies,” the broker said behind me. I snapped my mouth shut, feeling like complete moron. “Hi there, Miss Avery.”

            “Hi, Lori,” the girl, Avery replied.

            “I’ll be with you in a second, darlin,” Lori said, turning her attention back to me. “So, sale? You’re going to have to let me take a look at it.”

            “Oh, oh right,” I stammered, keeping Avery in the corner of my eye as she aimlessly wondered, looking into different displays. I reached over the counter and handed the pendant to Lori, my heart racing at the thought of letting it go. Lori, taking it carefully, held it up closely to her eye, inspecting it through a jewelry glass.

            “Well, it’s definitely gold,” Lori said, putting her glass down. “I’m not too sure of the stone, to be honest. It looks like a ruby, but might be too pale. So a diamond is also a possibility. Though I’m only going to offer you for the price of a ruby.”

            “Okay,” I said, leaning on the counter. “So what are you thinking?” Before she could open her mouth, the door bell jingled, and I hear an all too familiar shriek.

            “Paris!” my mother gasped at me. Turning around sheepishly, I saw both my parents standing in the doorway, glaring. They looked super mad.

            “So, you still want that quote?” Lori asked uncomfortably. I shook my head, taking the pendant back. Then I dragged my feet all the way to my parents, passing a perplexed looking Avery.

            “You may want to hold onto something like that,” Avery said melodiously as I passed her. I didn’t stop, but gave her a quick look, unsure of why she was talking to me and suddenly defensive over my pendant. She kept watching me as I walked the rest of the way to my parents, who swooped over me and hurried me out the door.

CHAPTER 3

Mum remarried when I was very young. My dad was a merchant, and bandits attacked his caravan on his way east. I never knew him. But the man she remarried, was as near to a father as I ever experienced.

            When I was 12 years old, plague struck our village, my stepfather was the first one to die. It tore my mum apart inside. I remember sitting in our small hovel beside the hearth, warming a little broth for him, when mum came in and told me he was gone. By the next morning, the fever had taken her.

            “Avery,” she said, holding my hand. “I must go out, please stay in the house, do not follow me.” I was afraid. I could see the terror of death in her hollow eyes, but she was insistent. Leaving me, she crawled out the door, dragging her feeble, sickly body behind her.

            I waited. For hours I waited for her to return. My footsteps traced worried circles in the dust of our dirt floor as I paced back and forth. My fingers became numb for ringing them together over and over.

            Just when I was about to go out after her, she pushed the door open and collapsed before me.

            “Mum!” I cried, running to her. She was breathing hard, her face ashen and her eyes weeping.

            “Avery, my love,” she struggled to say. “I love you my girl, and I never want you to experience the grief of death as I. I have made a deal, a deal that will keep you beautiful and happy.” I was confused, shaking my head at her words while holding her head in my lap.

            “I don’t understand,” I pleaded. She reached into her rag of a dress and pulled out a pendant attached to a gold chain. I recognized it. It was the pendant my father had brought for her from his last return to the Orient.

            “Take it, girl,” she said holding it out to me. “Wear it and live.” I took the pendant in my hand, the beautiful gold and diamond bird of fire, and placed it around my neck. When I looked down at mum, she was gone. And I was alone.