When I was a wee turd growing up in Waldron, IN (population 269, including the town cat), my parental units frequently trotted me to church. I have to scratch my silver pate, and wonder why? Dad wasn’t particularly religious, and certain aspects of Christianity chapped his ass mightily (i.e. homosexuality is a sin, for one.) Mumsy’s parents never took her to church, but for some reason, we attended. And for an even stranger reason, as a 4 or 5 year old child, I felt like I belonged in that sanctuary. I actually wanted to be there!
Fast forward to high school. Mumsy hauled my carcass out of bed every Sunday, and I used church mostly as a social hour–pass notes to the other girls in the back pew, watch to see if anyone was digging for gold (picking the nose), and head back to the nursery to play with the toddlers when the sermon commenced. I had been a highly gung ho Christian as a kid, but was less so as a teen. Why? Well, I was a teen–enough said there, right? Mostly, however, I had begun to question certain tents of my faith. Like, no one can go to heaven if they don’t accept Jesus as their savior. Now in order to do that, one has to have the cognition to grasp the whole concept of Jesus, something a cognitively disabled person would be sadly unable to do. So all cognitively disabled folks who couldn’t understand the concept of Jesus were doomed? What? I don’t recall any caveats to that idea-ya either did or didn’t accept Jesus. Ya either went to heaven or to hell. How could that scheme be cooked up by a loving God? And on and on, until I just couldn’t buy any of it anymore at all. So I waved goodbye to Christianity. Continue reading “Why Choose a Spiritual Path?”