This is How Far I've Fallen

When I was little and in love with Jesus my life was very different. I was "the informant" on the playground who boldly told all unsaved children that they were, in fact, going to Hell with Satan if they did not ask Jesus into their hearts. I bet their poor agnostic mothers were fielding questions for weeks. I also believed in The Power Of Prayer. I would shut my eyes and plead with God to make me Barbie-sized so I could wear all her clothes. I would cling to my favorite art supplies as I fell asleep just in case the rapture happened; I believed that only what one was holding would go to heaven with them and I had no faith in there being Rainbow Bright marking pens at Jesus' house in the sky. But, like all God-fearing folks, I doubted sometimes too. I would tell God that I would only believe in him if he would grant me big breasts when I grew up. Now you can all understand my disbelief.

I wish my little 15-year run-in with religion was this simple and therefore easy to brush off. When people I know give me that little "Religion was a great part of my childhood, why can't you get over it" crap, I hold my tongue. But, inside I'm thinking--Wait, some of us carry guilt and betrayal and abuse that cannot be extricated from the religious-ness of our early lives. It wasn't all Barbie clothes and freckle-faced kids doing exorcisms underneath the monkey bars. Some of it was horrible. So, excuse me while I pout about it and I might forgive you for your assumption that Jesus rocked everyone's world.