Today I received a letter that revoked my membership from the church I’ve attended all my life.
Their reasons for this? Well, it comes down to three simple points (or at least how I perceive them) as expressed in the text:
1. Consistent attendance to church is demanded not only by God but apparently the deacons and pastors as well.
2. I have not paid my tithes.
3. I haven’t fulfilled my duty as a Christian by ministering within the church enough.
Before I continue this rant, please note that I am in no way, shape, or form condemning the beliefs of any persons included - although this is a rant, and coming from the accused it’s rather hard to be purely objective.
Okay - first things first. While I’m not disputing their claims as a whole (I can see some truth within them for the most part) I am arguing the fact that they, as the leaders of this congregation, have the responsibility of addressing these concerns with the said accused. Or they should, at least.
I’m not denying that my attendance record hasn’t been the cleanliest. On the contrary - I used to go to church every other week or so, but in recent months it’s dwindled even beneath that - probably around maybe twice a month or so I’ll have the will to get up and go. My reasons for this? I could make excuses and say that I have too many obligations, but the truth is that I don’t. My reason for the following is simple enough: I do not enjoy socializing and getting together with these types of people anymore. And by ‘these types of people’ I don’t mean Christians. I mean judge-mentalists - people so caught up in the Bible’s strict constructionism (as they’ve been taught all their life so technically they’re not purely at fault) that they don’t bother to try marrying logic with faith.
For example, as a child in this same church, I was taught not to associate with non-Christians. Fair enough or so it seems, right?
Wrong.
At the end of 6th grade I was pulled out of parochial school and transferred into my public middle school with the hopes that I would have more academic opportunities. I was excited - and scared to say the least, because up until that point I had never interacted with the ‘outside world’ that I was taught to be so wary against. But, a problem rose up. Public school was filled with non-believers. Later on I learned that I was the only Christian in my grade, but that’s besides the point. So, what was I supposed to do? How was I, this thirteen year old girl be expected to solve this? Was I supposed to keep to myself and maintain my distance from everyone else? Or was I allowed to try and make friends with the other kids now that I was no longer under the supervised and religious ‘protection’ of the school I had known all my life? And worse - what was I supposed to do in science class, when we were forced to learn about Darwin’s teachings about evolution? The horror.
Naturally I chose the the latter option - I absolutely socialized with as many kids as I could and actually winded up making very good friends that have stuck by my side to this day, despite my beliefs and religious obligations/restrictions. Those words go hand in hand don’t they? Anyway, I’ve digressed. As I continued my schooling away from the parochial environment, I began to notice a slight shift in things back at church on Sunday. I noticed that people were starting to ignore me - or at the very least, keep their distance from me. How could this be? These people had known me all my life - would they really start to change their opinions on me now - now that I had made new friends outside of the church?
Yes, they would.
The rest of this very long example is irrelevant - the conclusion of this tangent being that I might have damn well been ex-communicated at the age of 13. I wonder what took them so long - (was it the money spewing from my pockets)?
So, now we come to the subject of tithes. Speaking biblically, the Bible commands members of the church to offer 10% of their salary (from their job, I don’t pretend to know if this is weekly or monthly - perhaps even yearly I’m not sure) to the church so that it could fund things such as missionary trips and other religious activities. Alright - straight forward enough. The problem is that I’m a teenager. A lazy, seventeen year old teenager that barely puts in the minimal effort for school let alone extracurricular opportunities - not even things like maintaining a job will I commit to. So, how am I supposed to raise money for this expectation? I suppose I could fund raise - but somehow fundraising just so that I can pay my tithe seems a bit excessive. I could get my Mom to pay for me I suppose. I admit I’ve done this every since I was baptized as a member. She’s my mom, and a very sweet and generous woman. Baptized at the age I was was young enough - there was no possible way that I could have gotten a job at that point so I guess my mom felt obligated to pay for me. Regardless, I suppose I really don’t have a solid excuse for this accusation now that I’m far much older. I suppose that they are in the right on this one.
Finally, the letter expressed my lack of involvement within the church’s ministry. This could be interpreted a number of ways - ministry could mean anything from helping my aunt clean the church (which I do on a regular basis) to traveling to Africa on our annual mission’s trip. What really gets me about this accusation is this: I’m the president of the church’s youth group.
What?
Yep. I was voted the leader of TLC (Teens Living for Christ) under the supervision of one of its former pastors. I created and distributed posters to our local community center as well as organized a Christmas event where we put together care packages (with things in them like lotion, toothbrushes, toothpaste, shaving cream, cologne, etc.) to the war veteran retirement home in our town. Granted, I was out of town during the actual distribution of the packages, nevertheless, I will take responsibility for a large portion of the organization and creation of this event. And still somehow I don’t do enough work?
I try not to undermine the emotion and thought processes behind this executive decision, but it’s human nature to question what the hell they were thinking when they were writing this letter to me. Did it ever occur to them to approach me about their concerns before this decision was made? I wasn’t even notified in the least. To say that this is a huge insult not only to my emotional tie to the church but also my religious dedication is an understatement - if we’re going to get personal here I might as well respectively address the fact (yes, I said fact) that I am the only teenager within that range of people who actually attempts to share my testimony with the public (the public meaning everyday at school.) I don’t know or care to account for the others’ religious experiences outside of the Sundays that I see them, but I do know that compared to most, I am largely more dedicated to the concept of sharing my faith with whoever asks - I don’t push or force my beliefs onto anyone who’s opposed but rather waits until I am seriously asked before I start to rant about it (like I am doing now).
So yes, I do take a large amount of offense in response to this letter. Please, excuse me if I don’t wish to associate myself with these hypocritical and judgmental (not all of them in this church are like that please understand that I’m not trying to generalize this group of people - just its leaders) “Christians” anymore. Truth be told I did see it coming (remember that I’ve been spiritually alienated by its leaders and congregation ever since I left parochial school), but still, what a damn good way to get someone’s attention.
fanfiction
hey, i write some (y)
http://www.fanfiction.net/u/3133924/
Ayoo, I found a personal essay that I wrote for AP English 11 last year.
If anyone wants to read it, here you gooo.
The Ice Queen
The ice in her soul breathes fire within,
She stares into space as her heart breaks again,
She speaks with no words as her body goes cold,
Resilient and proud like a secret untold.
As light turns to dark, her nature reveals,
The soft, tender flesh of what she conceals,
The ice in her melts, retreating to night,
The stars in her eyes, reflecting twilight.
No longer bold, nor the ice-ridden queen,
The darker it gets, the more she’s serene,
Her thoughts resurrect, their shadowy forms,
Clashing with ease as they summon a storm,
Familiar and cruel, she knows this one well,
She’s ridden this storm from heaven to hell,
Always alive in the dark of her dreams,
The still of the night will muffle her screams.
Yet, when dark turns to dawn, the ice slithers back,
Recovering from night, she then puts on her act,
The ice-queen returns, resilient and bold,
Reflecting the still of her secret untold.
11-8-10
Welp, I just got home from seeing Kara Dioguardi in the Broadway production of Chicago.
Let me just start this off by saying that she is ten times more beautiful in person than she is in the media. She’s small and graceful and gorgeous and perfect. The entire thing was just so surreal. When she first flitted out on stage (yes, she actually flitted; she was sort of skipping) I just burst into tears. I’ve loved and idolized Kara for awhile now and to actually see her and be within a small distance from her just sent me over the edge and beyond. She simply radiated.
As for Amra, (the woman who plays Velma) she was just spectacular. She had so much charisma and prowess on stage that it was almost impossible for me to take my eyes off of her. Her voice - wow! She apparently has played Velma in “Chicago” all over the world, not just the United States, which is obviously impressive. I think she actually looked at me a few times, and I was beaming at her like an idiot because she was really so much fun to watch. She’s definitely a pro.
Now, I knew that Kara could sing, but I wasn’t prepared for how well she actually fit her character, Roxie. Roxie is kind of a spunky girl, and I think a harsh and powerful voice like Amra would have taken away from the mediation of the two. Amra and Kara’s voices matched so well though, and I got so many chills during their rendition of “My Own Best Friend” that it hurt my skin. Anways, I loved how hilarious Kara could portray Roxie in almost every scene. It was so consistent. Roxie had a fairly funny personality but I don’t think it would have been as prominent if the person acting as her couldn’t connect with her spirit like Kara did. Kara’s wicked animated in real life and she had me LOL’ing my heart out more than one time.
There was very limited background and costume changes, however. It was almost non-existent because the play in general took place in one setting and I think it was designed to blatantly focus on getting to know the characters and their respective backgrounds. I actually preferred this a lot more than I thought I would have because there was so much going on anyways that I didn’t want anything to distract me from what was already happening. If you plan on seeing it, trust me, you really won’t care about it. A LOT happens and you won’t even notice the absence of colorful stage and costume designs. I mean, the play is about murder. It’s not supposed to be flashy and shiny. Everyone is in black perhaps all of the play but it’s supposed to set the mood, not take away from it.
So basically, I can sum up the experience as phenomenal. It was everything I dreamed it would be and more. I never wanted it to end and when it finally did I spent a good half hour crying afterwards because I couldn’t get over that I had actually been in the same exact room as Kara freaking Dioguardi. She’s so amazing, and I can’t even stop saying that right now. Simply and powerfully amazing. If you actually go to see the show I can assure you she won’t disappoint. None of the actors will. Usually I can find criticisms in the smallest of things but I really don’t have any to share with all of you right now. Chicago basically has it all. It has the story line, the humor, the darkness, the passion and the of course, the talent. Ten out of ten.
An Angel
This guy who I’ve liked for awhile, well his grandmother just died last night.
Last night I was playing XBOX with the usual crew, when all of a sudden the friend notification on my profile had showed that he’d quit five minutes into the first round of Team Deathmatch. I got a text not a minute later saying, “Sorry.. I have to go. I think my grandmother is dying.”
I came into Spanish class today to see him half-awake, and pale as death as he was sitting in his seat. Immediately, I went over to him and crouched down so I could see him before I put my hands on his and asked him if he was okay. His eyes watered up but he nodded and so I started my classwork.
When we got back from lunch I touched his cheek as I passed by his desk and he quickly grabbed my hand for a moment, holding it before letting it go, which was really unusual because normally he’s too shy to let me do something like that in front of his friends.
Later on, by the end of the class, he started to tell me about how it happened. He said that he had been the one to get the phone call. Apparently he lost it, balling in the middle of the living room, considering she had been sick with pancreatic cancer for awhile now and knew that it wouldn’t be long before she finally did fail. He was up until the morning hours watching his five year old sister while his parents were taking care of some business, and was only running on maybe an hour of sleep. Then, he proceeded to tell me that he only came into school so he could see me. He was trying so hard not to cry, but he couldn’t help it and the whole time his voice was just breaking, and he got embarrassed so he stopped talking for a moment. I had never seen him so broken and vulnerable as I did then. I almost started with him.
I don’t know why I’m writing this, but I just really wish I could be with him right now, because I know how it feels like to have a grandmother just recently pass away.
The Zevran fanfiction I promised.
Veronica/Zevran
“Enough!”
A slim, willowy elf dove to the ground, forcing her body away from her enemy’s sword, which missed her pale and fragile skin by mere inches. Parrying his counterattack with her own, she slashed at his chest, sweat and blood dripping from her face in small torrents that only angered her further. The elven woman twirled in precise spirals, slashing from every direction in hopes of compelling her foe into a mistake.The adversary was strong, however, and knocked her backwards with a kick that sent her reeling.
“You know what would be nice right now?”
She called out to the open air, her breath coming out in ragged gasps as her lungs cried out for mercy. The darkspawn hurlock sneered at her, his face twisting into a horrifying grimace as he stalked towards her and hacked at her frame. His blade met her own, filling the forest clearing with an ugly and ear-splitting noise. She darted away from his next stab, earning a few seconds of rest before he could reach her again.
“Some assistance! That would be really, really appreciated right now!”
The hurlock took no notice to her words. She grunted with effort as their blades met once more, meeting and parting in a cycle that seemed endless.
Sensing an opening in her opponent’s guard, she withdrew her blades from their deadly embrace and side-stepped away from the darkspawn, leaving him open and vulnerable.
“Now!”
At once, the air by her face shimmered with heat, and she momentarily saw the perfect flight of an arrow before it sank itself into the belly of the darkspawn, sending him stumbling backwards. A soul-piercing scream emanated from his throat, but the elven woman took advantage of the moment and closed the distance between them in three quick strides, finally thrusting her blades into his chest. His screams of pain died off, leaving nothing but a soft, gurgling sound before he sank to the ground, lifeless, a pool of blood leaking from his wounds.
Wordlessly, she steadied herself on his body and grabbed hold of her daggers, yanking them out of his body in a single effort.
“Nice timing.” The woman bent over, grabbing ahold of her knees and drew in deep, rattling breaths that shook her body. Her delicate limbs were covered in gore, most of it belonging to her enemies, though some of it was her own. “Thank the Creator that I’m not dead.. yet,” she mumbled to herself.
Several moments passed with nothing but the sound of her gasping, and when she was done, she brought the jagged blades to her face, narrowing her eyes at the sight of them.
“These better not stain.”
The elven woman stood admist a darkened forest clearing; her presence a testament of beauty among the harsh and gnarled agriculture. Her long, crimson hair framed the petite, sharp structure of her pale face, but her wide eyes were tilted down, examining the bloodstained daggers she wielded in each hand.
Carefully, she took the length of each dagger between her fore-finger and thumb, gently wiping away the darkspawn blood using the leather gauntlets that cloaked her hands. Her brow furrowed in concentration, but her eyes remained calm, resonating an aura of maturity that far surpassed her years.
Her voice rang out clear and hard, carrying with it the weight of what sounded like a prestigious authority figure. “Zevran, do you hear anymore coming?”
She spoke to another elf, this one lithe and statuesque. He was quiet, leaning several meters away from her against an elder tree, his exotic and foreign face reflecting the prime example of complacency. At her words he folded his arms, taking in a deep and measured breath before turning his face to hers. “Not at the moment, but surely there is more to come. Those,” he gestured to the pile of slain, bloodied darkspawn by their feet, “were merely scouts; due to report back to their superiors about quite some time ago. It won’t be long now before another group arrives.”
The elf called Zevran leaned away from the tree, exhaling silently before finally running a hand through his pale, silver-toned hair. He playfully tilted his head to the side, a small smile dancing on the edges of his lips as he observed and watched his captain obsess over her weapons like a mother would her injured child.
The woman lifted her head, her bright, emerald eyes meeting the dark, steady gaze of his. A single eyebrow formed a lazy arc upon her forehead, and she sheathed one of her daggers, which now gleamed, spotless. “Can I help you?”
Zevran shook his head, his eyes not daring to falter from hers. They were interesting, he thought to himself. They were so bright - yet cold at the same time, like she’s known pain and hardship all her life, just as he had. But, even cold, they were somehow warm as well. How could that possibly be? He was absolutely fascinated by them.
