faith

The water is wide and I can’t cross over, Neither have I wings that I could fly. Build me a boat that can carry two, and both shall row my love and I.

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Now I lay me down to sleep.
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake.
I pray the lord my soul to take.

This poem scared the fuck out of me as a child. Seriously.

I was convinced that the poem was for kids. And as a result, kids only died while they were asleep. I was sure that one night I was going to go to sleep and never wake up.

In fact, in 5th grade, I tried to measure my breathing to the point that I couldn’t catch my breath. I was hyperventilating and finally left my bed to tell my parents that I couldn’t breathe. My mom immediately called our doctor. I don’t know what they said to each other, but she told me to go back to bed. I did and fell asleep a little while later.

I’m less afraid of dying in 2026, than I was in 1975. I’m supposing that getting old does that to a person. The closer I get to that day, the less afraid I am. It’s a fact of life. Something that all of us have to go through. Whether we like it or not.

It doesn’t scare me either to think that I don’t believe in god. I’m not sure what happens after we die, but I’m convinced there aren’t angels on high singing, while I sit on a puffy white cloud.

Years ago, I came up with the idea that life as we know it is but a dream. A very vivid, realistic dream. And when we die, we awake in another reality. One were life is different yet the same.

I don’t know if I believe this now, but it’s easy to hold on to. I think now, we just pass into another plain. Wrapping my head around how complicated this existence is, makes it even harder to wrap my head around the next.

And I can’t believe in god. Not the almighty god that was preached to me in my youth and during my formative years. There is no way, an all caring loving god would let the shit that happens in our world happen. And I have no interest in a cruel god that created the trauma in the first place.

So, I live in my bubble. Try to do the right things. Try to love with all my heart. And hope for the best.

Meanwhile, if you are a parent, read your kids a story and for the love of all things do NOT teach them this prayer. It’s scary. And it’s not nice.

Amen.

Oh, Holy Night.

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!

Christmas.

Tis the season.

I’m a non-believer.

But I subscribe to all things Christmas.

I love the weather. The gift giving. The cheer. The scary ghost stories.

Especially, the music.

Although Hard Candy Christmas is NOT a Christmas song. Neither is Halleluiah.

I even love the origin story. The belief in a world that can be better than the one we live in.

That if we put our faith in something bigger than ourselves, we can make a difference.

Long after I stopped believing in the end result, when I was in Kentucky, I’d go to Christmas Eve church services. It was the church my mom and her sisters had gone to on Russell Cave Road just outside Lexington. It was a small church that was quaint and beautiful.

It was called Old Union Christian Church and I don’t know much about its history, other the fact that they celebrated their 200th anniversary in 2023, and they’ll celebrater the 100th anniversary of being in their current building in 2027.

I also don’t know much about their beliefs. For example, if they hate gays or not. I only went for the Christmas Eve event.

It was very sweet. The service was at midnight. And the church was lit only by candle light. It was breathtaking to step in from the frigid December air into the warmth of a room only lit by flame. It was quiet. It was serene. And it invited the participants to get lost in the beauty of the night.

At midnight, on the nose, the young minister, would step out of the back and begin the service. He told the story of Christ’s birth, with the congregation supplying the narrative through song to expand on the story. Hark the Herald Angels Sing. Away in a Manager. Silent Night. By 12:45 we had welcomed the birth of the baby Jesus and we were on our way.

I attended this service many times until I stopped coming home for Christmas.

It was beautiful, every time.

The last time I went was the most memorable.

I was sitting in the back, minding my own business and the service started. Behind me were several teenagers who were obviously there at their parent’s instance. They wouldn’t stop talking. Finally, I turned around and said, “I didn’t come here to listen to you all bitch about being here.”

They immediately stopped talking. I went back to the service.

After it was over, I quickly headed toward my car.

A man rushed toward me, as I was opening my rental car door. I was taken aback not knowing what to expect. He asked me if I was the person who yelled at his kids during church.

I wasn’t backing down and said yes.

He stuck out his hand and said, “I want to apologize. My kids know better and they’ll get a talking to at home. We are all here for the same reason, and I’m sorry they interrupted you.”

I thanked him for saying so. I assured him it was okay, and to remember it was Christmas and not to be too upset at his kids.

I got in my car and drove home.

I just looked at Old Union’s Facebook page and it doesn’t appear that they still do the midnight service. But I can assure you, that if they do, and I find myself at home in Kentucky on Christmas Eve again, Adam and I will be going.

Sleep in heavenly peace.