There is a wasp trapped between the screen and the closed glass window in my kitchen. He's been there for two days now and each morning when I see him, this feeling of grief comes welling up from inside me. "I'm so sorry for your fate," I tell him. This morning he was all closed in tight against the cold. He seems to be taking a long time to die.
It'd be one thing if I could kill him quickly, with wasp spray, but the slow death, trapped away from life just feels so sad to me. If I open the window, it just releases him into my house, where he'll die anyway. And he won't even feel the fresh air.
I've also been realizing how I've kept myself trapped. I have a part of myself that held on tightly to the religion of my childhood. I couldn't let go of it. So instead, I developed this deep schism between the part of myself holding on to those old beliefs and the part of me that went ahead and started living real life, willy nilly.
Only this year have I begun to address this schism and it's painful work. A few days ago I had a piece of the puzzle fall into place. I always assumed that the part of me that held to the old religion was doing so freely. But what I realized was that I was forcing that part of me to hold on to the religion just in case. In other words, I have been sacrificing parts of myself on the alter to the old religion, and they, the fervent martyrs, have kept on keeping on.
The things I thought about was, what if it is true? What if everything the church said or believed is true? Would it matter that just a part of me was holding to the faith? Would it matter to that god if one inner part of me clung to old traditions and standards while I went out and was sinful and ruined?
No, not one whit. So it's all for nothing anyway. If that god is a true god, then I've failed completely. I failed a long time ago and can look forward to greater punishment than other, mere sinners, because to whom much is given, much will be required. And I was given much and then completely ruined everything; I turned rotten and unusable before I even properly matured, occurring to that god.
If I had a choice now, would I choose to put myself under the dominion of that old god? Of course not.
What it comes down to is, I have to risk completely, in order to have complete freedom and that feels terrifying to me. I must give that part of me freedom to choose, freedom to ask questions and look around at the real world. I must risk that if the old god is real and I choose freedom, there will be nothing more holding me to him; I will be completely lost to him.
You may well wonder what all the intensity is about if you haven't experienced something similar in your own childhoods. But I am talking about a church that my father's father was born into, that my mother's parents were born into. It wasn't just a church, it was it's own worldview. A worldview that held terrors at every side and the only salvation lay right along it's own teachings, everything else was less-than or down right deception.
And I was a very good little girl, let me tell you. I was obedient, receptive, eager, naive, innocent, ardent. I wanted to hold to the highest of the high standards of behavior. I wanted to be one of the forty four thousand very special people.
When I first left the church, I literally did not know how to think for myself. I did not know how to make decisions, to weigh the options. Thinking for myself was dangerous, I had no authority, I had no wisdom, how could I know what to do?
I'm still angry at God for this. Not just for my upbringing, but for failing to protect me once I left the church. I'm a big girl now, I'm all bruised up and weathered and I have my eyes open. But then. You'd think if He was merciful, He'd have kept me safe from people like my first husband until I could get my feet under me, at the very least. It must be that His mercy means something else, must have a far different meaning than the human one we would like to attach to it.
Anyway, after years of stuffing this under the rug, as it were, again and again and again, I can't keep it closed in anymore. It is frightening to be angry at God, but at least it's living, instead of constant, fearful denial of there being any problem.
There is a problem. I have a problem with God. I have a bone to pick with Him, so to speak. I think that this is really very good in the long run. I'm acknowledging His ability to meet with and answer my anger. In fact, I am trusting Him more deeply with my anger than I ever did with my love or adoration.
