By freeatlast ~ A t the family reunion, we sit in the meeting room at the Comfort Inn in a small Arkansas town, about twenty-five of us in a circle. Encouraging everyone to share a scripture, prayer, or song as the spirit leads, an earnest brother adds that our family worship will culminate with the Lord’s Supper, which sits on a table in the middle of the circle, cups of grape juice carefully poured into Dixie cups and two paper plates of homemade communion bread, unleavened of course. He adds that in order for everyone to be heard, he has turned up the thermostat in the room, so the air conditioner noise won’t interfere, a terrible idea I think because the air in this room is thick and warm, and we haven’t even started. Of course the whole idea of family church was a terrible one to me, though, one I knew would be the “highlight” of our time together as it is a tradition of my husband’s very Southern, very religious extended family. Living 800 miles away, my husband and I hav...

By freeatlast ~ T he giraffes look happy enough As the pair of them, actually repeating pairs of them Look down at my baby in the glow of the Bible nightlight The repeating elephants too, out for a cruise on the arks that float on the border up by the ceiling Noah presides, lots of Noahs, grinning captains: Those 40 days and nights went fast! Now we are just taking in the sights, Though it’s all water at this point, at least the sun is out. Of course it is, up there anyway. How carefully I stood on the stepladder, working my way around the room and smoothing out the bubbles, making sure everything stuck Perfection was all I wanted For my baby to feel safe in her room, To be safe as the arks filled with chuckling zebras, lions, and cheetahs sailed around her in the sapphire blue water, But here in the night the water darkens Churning, heaving And I wonder about the babies Only 8, remember? Only 8 allowed. What about the babies? The others? What abou...

By freeatlast ~ A t the grocery store in the canned goods aisle, I hear a young voice, “Deedus duvs me, dis I no!” and then I see her as her mother rolls the grocery cart around the corner. A little girl with pigtails and conviction, she glares at me with blue eyes, as if daring me to disagree with her. “Des, Deedus duvs me! Da bibul dels me so!” And so Christianity spawns another evangelist, this one with lace socks and pink sandals. Not even three years old, she can recite the party line that already lines the grooves of her cerebrum: Some important guy named Jesus, who is strong, loves her, even though she is weak, and she knows this because an important book called the bible tells her so. Unless some event in her life causes her to question otherwise, she will likely believe this fiction the rest of her life. Watching her and her mother with equal parts interest and sadness, I see myself 25 years ago: a slender, earnest young mother, clad in Levis and a white shirt, ...

By freeatlast ~ D ear Arnold, Although we never met, when I was a girl in the 70’s, I despised you with righteous indignation and consigned you to hell in my mind. To be fair, since only those people who attended my little red brick church in my Virginia town were going to heaven, I damned plenty of others as well. The Catholics worshiped the Pope, AKA, the anti-Christ; the Jews had murdered Jesus; the Methodists were lukewarm and God would surely spew them from his mouth; the Baptists were close, but since they did not baptize for “the remission of sins,” they were lost too; the Pentecostals failed to worship “decently and in order” with all that tongue-speaking and flailing around; the JW’s and Mormons were so far gone, they were beneath pondering. But you, Arnold, you were the worst of all. You were an atheist, and a grouchy one at that. Knowing you only from your letters to the editor in the local newspaper, I read your complaints with disdain, complaints that were reg...

By freeatlast ~ A s a child, I heard so many sermons, sang so many hymns about heaven, and although I would have never admitted it out loud, secretly I found the thought of streets of gold and endless praises to God dull, so I jazzed up heaven in my mind. I conjured place of endless chocolate ice cream; an amusement park with roller coasters and no lines; a place where I could ride my bike-- complete with banana seat and sissy bar --forever downhill. Despite the boring aspects, though, the idea of living forever without sickness or sadness was quite appealing, and as I became a devoutly Christian adult, trying to convince myself that singing endless praises to God would be AWESOME, the deep appeal of heaven still lay in the promise of happy immortality. This denial of death is the root of most religions. As the only animals aware of our mortality , religion is the preferred coping mechanism for most of us, the way we deal (or fail to deal) with the fundamental tragedy of exis...

By Freeatlast ~ H ey flannel board Jesus I loved you once so debonair in your pastel hues I snuck into the Sunday school room To see you To move you on the board myself I liked the ascension the best So suave as you drifted up the flannel board, up into heaven beyond the edge Cool move flannel board Jesus! Your flannel board followers watched you go, as amazed as I Out the basement window, the sky was blue Blue as the flannel board the teacher used to line the grooves of little brains sitting still to get the juice and cookies Our redeemer, our savior Was coming back for us I watched the basement window Perhaps today! I couldn’t wait to see you flannel board Jesus Floating down as you had floated up To take me to heaven too I should have left you on that board In that moldy room It was easier that way Bloodless But I let you come off and go with me Bone and muscle, macho Jesus I believed! And...