I AM EVERY ATHEIST

I am every atheist because I do not allow atheism alone to define me. I prioritize my own agenda. I control who I am and how people see me. I judge my own actions and accept their consequences. I do not allow blind faith to distract me from a logical conclusion. I do not accept 'Trust me' as a reason to believe in anyone or anything. I want humans to be responsible for the universe in which we live. The unknown excites me with the challenge to find the answer. I allow possibilities but focus on probabilities. I learn from the past, live in the present, and dream of a better future. I am every atheist.

I am every atheist. I've been an atheist since birth, so ive known no different than instinctual morals and ethics, i'm also a communist so the two are like hand and glove! So theres a little of my history, right why i think its time, to call time on religion, as a species we have a much larger intellect and understanding of whats around be it scientific, political,technology and artistic concepts than maybe 100 years ago, this higher intelligence fitted with logic, science, and communication networks is our tools we now have to at last attack this evil dogma of religion.
Man must stand face to face with world leaders/ popes/priests, etc. and say its all over, because religion is a totally narcissitic, selfish,institution which has dominated mankind for eons. This laughble scam as had its day, but with roots embedded so deep we must go straight for the heart. The masses must wake up to smell the coffee, not being involved with cults i really find humans who worship this obvious lie( crap 1 at that) brainwashed at least.. The biggest murderer of mankind since time, its enslaved, its lead with tyrannic power and decieved tortured more than half the world.
This is new centuary lets put this monster to sleep once and for all.I believe every atheist should walk up to every church in their neighbourhood and confront the pastor/vicar/who ever wears the dress.lol, and say we are taking you to court for fraud/genocide/infanticide/rape/torture/theft/mind control/inhumane acts against children/and for the regressive dogma you pass out as education, and intelligence. So i say all those against any form of religion( which in it self is a ego centristic pyramid of delusionary arse-wipes) go slap a court order on the door of the church leader...demanding the abolition of this establishment....THANK YOU PEACE &SOCIALISM.....and this is why I'm every atheist....

I Am Every Atheist

I am every atheist, in so far as I do not believe in a God or Gods. I used to be religious when I was younger but then I saw the light. There are many experiences and thoughts which bought me to the conclusion that God does not exist and I’d like to share just a few of them with you now. I would also like to express how these beliefs affect me in my everyday life and in my work as a senior support worker in the mental health service.
When I was younger the idea of God really interested me. I enjoyed the thought that there was an objective right and wrong to guide our behaviour. At that age I was always looking for ideals to aspire to. I also very much liked hearing all of the popular parables accredited to Jesus. I enjoyed their use of metaphor in giving examples of positive ways in which me might behave and believed that I could learn something of value from them. In part I may have been correct.
As I grew a little older I began to wonder why prayer had no perceivable or rationally justified effect on how things turned out. Nothing happened that wouldn’t have happened anyway. Either God was ignoring me or there wasn’t anyone listening at all. It also occurred to me at this time that behaving in a positive and forgiving way to other human beings and treating every man (and woman) as an equal was probably one of the best ways that one might live their live. However, it was not necessary for any kind of Deity to exist for this to be so. The benefit of this kind of behaviour was the way that it positively contributed to the quality of ones life and others around them, not from the approval of some unseen, unknowable entity.
By the time I was in my mid-teens I had pretty much rejected the idea of God in the Judeo-Christian sense. However, several events occurred that cemented these beliefs and gave me what I consider to be personal experience of the fact that we do not have a soul, in the Christian sense, and thus that God cannot exist.
I was unfortunate enough, in my teenage years, to suffer from acne. It was bad enough that I eventually sought the help of my GP. He prescribed me various antibiotics but none of them seem to have a lasting effect. Eventually I was sent to the hospital where they were allowed to prescribe stronger drugs. After consulting with one of the dermatologists there I was put on a drug called Roacutain. This drug is banned in many parts of the world as one of it’s side effects is that it has the potential to cause ‘suicidal depression’. Apparently, according to some studies, this occurs in up to 1 in 3 people who take the drug. However, this is not the place in which to go into the ethical debate of whether people should be prescribed this drug. I was told that if I ever felt sad for no reason when I was taking this drug then I was to stop taking it immediately and return to the hospital.
The evening after I took my first tablet I learned that one of my close school friends had died suddenly of meningitis. This, for obvious reasons, greatly affected me and my thoughts on whether a truly benevolent God could ever exist and justify such an event. Never the less I continued to take the tablets with the confidence that I was completely justified in my extremely low mood because of the loss of my close friend. The combination of the medication and loss sent me spiralling into a profound depression at a very young age.
It was an extreme experience. I felt very ‘unreal’. It was a burden to exist. I woke every morning instantly pained by the fact that I had regained consciousness and not passed away in my sleep. It was the most intense feeling that I can possibly conceive of. If I had a soul then I was surely experiencing it in an extremely negative state. I once again sought help from my GP who prescribed me antidepressants. As the medication began to take effect I found my mood lifting. An oppressive weight was lifted from very being.
My point is this: The most profound emotional and personal experiences that an individual can have are based upon the levels of certain chemicals within the body. If the deepest depressions, felt to the core of ones being, can be lifted with the introduction of a chemical into the body, does this not suggest that anything felt in the ‘core of ones being’ is purely chemically based? Every passion felt, every longing, every sense of achievement all created by the juxtaposition of chemicals within oneself. Ones very consciousness a slave to these chemical fluctuations. If one can propel oneself the ecstasy by ingesting a pill or significantly shift ones conscious perceptions with LSD then doesn’t it become instantly apparent that our very being is completely biological and has no supernatural component? What will be left of me when this body dies and these chemical fluctuations cease? Unfortunately the answer can only be nothing. It would be very nice to have a soul and, I must say, I would greatly like one. Unfortunately, the most fervent wish will not obtain you one and never will.
Thankfully those dark days are a long time gone and my life is a very much better one. I still believe that the best way to treat everyone is fairly and as an equal. My job is an example of this. I work as a senior support worker in a large mental health hostel in Birmingham, England. We have 68 residents with various mental health problems, learning difficulties and drug issues. I treat each of them as an equal. Equal to each other and equal to me. I strive daily to make their world a better place. It is emotionally draining and underpaid work. But the most important thing to note is that I do not need a God to do it. If that is true of me then, as we are all equal human beings who laugh when we are happy and cry when we are sad, it must be true of everyone. To some having a belief in God may help them to be good people but it is certainly not a necessity.
It is hard for me, in the current climate of respecting ‘diversity’, to voice my atheism in this line of work. By saying that I do not believe that God exists I might be seen as belittling the culture or cultures of individuals that I support. It is interesting to note that the same judgement is not made of a Christian support worker expressing their religious beliefs to a Muslim resident. Even if I wasn’t attempting to make someone who believes consider that God doesn’t exist it is seen as shameful to even express ones own views. This is the kind of religious preferential treatment that the likes of Sam Harris and Richard Dawkins hope to see an end of. I would very much like to see an end to it to. I certainly don’t intend to go around destroying the belief systems of people who are mentally unwell. What would I be hoping to achieve with that? I would simply not like to feel that I have to constantly withhold my opinions in certain discussions to avoid being accused of discrimination.
As you can probably see by now, my atheist beliefs are not simply a product of not seeking the truth in religion. I have studied the majority of them and found that none of the explanations that they give match up with my experience of reality. I have thought through the possibilities, debated them with myself and others and come to the conclusion that God does not exist. I am every atheist.

I am every atheist. For many years and throughout my teens I prefered to call myself agnostic. Around age 20 I read Joseph Campbell for the first time, which led me to understand all forms of religion as mythology. Current religions are just mythologies of the present. So I dropped the "agnostic" and became a full blown atheist.

I became curious about what other atheists had written throughout history and began to voraciously collect and read all the atheist literature I could find, which was not and still is not very much.

This spate of reading led me to stupendous atheist revelation: other atheists were atheists for the same reasons I was an atheist. We all, in our independent and noncollaborative studies and cogitations, had arrived at the same conclusions about religion.

Religions do not, not one of them, work this way. Apparently they begin as traditions, as habits of being and thinking, and later, by social consent, ossify into dogma or (more kindly) orthodoxy. But these orthodoxies only extend so far geographically from their origins. Beyond this, any given orthodoxy virtually vanishes to be replaced by another. If ths were not so of any paricular religion, one would expct there to be pockets of Christianity or Islam or Judaism or Buddhism appearing anywhere, without necessary connection to any other pocket. In other words, if any given religion were a natural conclusion, discernible by merely observing patterns in nature, its members would not need to get together and collude on orthodoxy. But this is not what we see with religion.

Yet this is precisely what we see with atheism. An ahteist can pop up anywhere. In a word, atheism is scientific. Atheism is evidence- and logic-based. Nothing more is necessary to reach the conclusions of atheism than an analysis of the facts at hand. And this is why atheists, who have never met, who have never discussed atheism with anyone else, who have never met any other atheists, can reach the same conclusions.

For me this is the very strongest confirmation of atheism in a world of theists of many stripes. This is why any atheist is all atheists. I am every atheist.

"You envy me. My freedom. My choice. It's a freedom you wish you had. It's a choice you wish you were free to make.

I have a little secret for you.

You are."

Very well said.

Well done, un0, and welcome.

Ninety percent of the world is asleep. The other ten percent, seemingly, are us Atheists.

Recently, the Ninety Percent were bemused by the antics of a so-called Hollywood Star. He is part of what the Ninety Percent perceives to be an evil cult, a religion based on a science-fiction novel that promises a happiness it can’t deliver at a price most people can’t afford to pay. Their version of God is an intergalactic warlord named Xenu who, many years ago, vacuumed up all the miserable creatures that inhabited the universe and threw them into volcanoes here on Earth. Unfortunately, some of the leftover crap landed on humans, and now that’s why you’re sad. Luckily, they can get rid of that for you (result: instant and everlasting happiness) for the bargain price of all your life savings plus whatever you can steal, borrow or obtain by fraudulent means from all your disapproving friends and family. There is – of course – no hard evidence that any of these intergalactic events occurred and in fact, when you get right down to it, every brick in the foundation of this belief system can be traced back to a mass market pulp fiction paperback; in other words, a book.

Or something like that. I was only half-listening.

The Ninety Percent were bemused at first and then dismayed. ‘How can such an obviously intelligent and successful man’, they pondered, ‘believe in such utter garbage?’

Irony is a beautiful thing. It’s almost as pretty as rational thought.

I am every atheist. I say this in the broader sense of having a communion unlike the diatribes of religious affiliations. For much of our lives (at least for the ex-theists), we woke up each day thinking the world worked a specific way which all scientific investigation was unable to penetrate. Our communion became one of critical thought the more we thought about our specific religious traditions. Perhaps invoking the quantum physics to this mix, we were connected in a great sense. Communion is a term I wish to take back from the religious harborers of a bloody mass. Communion is the simple act of fellowshipping on an intimate level, which all atheists can attribute to each other. We bear each other's burdens, knowing the failure of irrationality and knowing the hurt caused by those who proport it.

Realizing it is not "us versus them" mentality so much as it is uniting under a common bond and having a common goal. Ultimately, what is the best way to have happiness, while at the same time not needing delusions to achieve it? The answers are not so simple, given that much of the world, in spite of advances in understanding the natural world and cosmos, still embraces superstitious myths as literal truth. Is there even a way to cause a religious zealot happiness while stripping them of religious ideology?

I think it is possible, but unlocking a universal "code" to do it might take a while. While it might not be understood by the theist, as an atheist, I am still the same person I was. I still love the same, cry the same, have the same eccentric behavior. I simply learned to separate me from my faith. When one is able to achieve this task, then they realize they can be good without a god.

In closing this short, poinant note, I must admit I can think of ways I can do better to do my own part in this world. Small or large, we can do a beneficial action. Similar to natural selection, even if we only contribute a little "added information" to the genome of humanity, it will impact it in a greater way as time progresses. If all I can be remembered for is a simple quote, which is a jolly mindjob, I would be extremely accomplished. Knowing that many people die and nobody remembers them as individuals, but rather statistics, numbers, nations, it can seem depressing to think I will take that so often travelled road. But, any part I can play for the betterment of my fellow homo sapiens is enough for me. I can live for today and leave a small fingerprint of my life here for the future. My hope is that each atheist can have that type of attitude, because we only have one shot at this thing we call life.

I am every atheist.

I am every atheist.

And I am just like you.

I was born red-faced from screaming, blue-lipped before my first breath. Just like you.

I took a first step and stumbled, but I got back up again. I spoke my first word, and never stopped communicating since. I went to my first day of school, and I still learn something every day. I had a first kiss, a first date, a first love. Just like you.

I have things I like and dislike. I have a favorite color. I know people I can't stand. I have a favorite food. I think some ideas are stupid. I have enemies and I have friends. Just like you.

I get up every day and worry about the mundanities of life. I brush my teeth, take a shower, comb my hair. I pick up groceries and pay my bills. I worry about whether my health will remain good or my car will keep running. I worry about my family: the health of my aging relatives, the ups and downs of their lives. I worry about whether my pets are happy. Just like you.

I have good days and bad days. On good days, I accomplish a lot of things. I remember who I am and what I'd like to do on this planet while I'm here. I enjoy my family and friends and I play with my pets. I look at the wide, blue sky and wonder why it's the color that it is. I see shapes in the clouds and feel the wind on my face. I eat good food and drink good drink and I like myself and my life, on good days. Just like you.

On bad days, I don't get much done. I'm emotional and anxious and I worry a lot. Or maybe I'm sick, with a fever that makes me hear voices and leaves my hands feeling inflated and weightless. I forget who I am and I wonder why I'm here, and the answers are hollow. Maybe I don't eat well. Maybe I cry, or I'm upset, or I yell and argue with people I care about. I don't like myself and I don't like my life, on bad days. Just like you.

I think. I feel. I ask. I wonder. Just like you.

If I do not eat, I will starve to death. If I do not have clean water, I will die of thirst. If I am deprived of air, I will suffocate. Just like you.

If you cut me, I will bleed. If you hit me, I will hurt. If you burn me, I will scar. If you abuse me, my spirit will wither. Just like you.

When my life is over, I will die. Just like you.

I am every atheist.

More than that, I am every human being. Just like you.

(c) 2007 M. Dew 

I am Every Atheist

 I do not believe in any form of superior supernatural being. I do not believe in irrational supersititions written in a book thousands of years ago. And i certtainly don't believe that a book written in the Bronze Age and which advocates stoning people to death for picking up sticks on a certain day of hte week should be a guide to anybody's morality.

 I am Rational, I do not believe in blind adherence to what anybody says, I believe in making descsions based on evidence and reason. I believe that the scientific method is the best way we have to learn about how things work.

 I do not believe that there is any exsistence after death. I do not believe anybody else will save our skins if we screw up and damange this world beyond repair. I believe we have one chance to get things right and we as a society had better stop thinking about "salvation" and start thinking about ways to solve the world's problems.

 I believe, contrary to the religious viewpoint that humanity needs "help" to be moral, that people can be moral on their own. My morality comes from reason and common sense. I believe in minimizing suffering and in the free distribution of knowledge and learning.

I am every Atheist. 

This comment has been moved here.

Please folks, make submissions for the essay drive.  PLEASE.  Your always asking how you can help... PARTICIPATE.

I am every atheist, every theist, every deist, every thinking being walking the earth. Caught between, what came before me and wondering when my trip ends, living a five sense life. I look for love and friends, ejoying every moment the sun touches my skin or the smell of the rain before the storm. I'm always alone no matter how large the crowd, I get louder looking for a glance, some sense that you noticed I'm here too and that I matter. I'll keep trying to find my way of fitting in, I am your brother and your sister, father and mother, friend and foe, the stranger with the grin you just passed on the street, an average example of the ordinary human animal. I'm every thought I've had, every stone you've thrown my way and I wouldn't trade the only chance I'll ever have at happiness, for gold, or gods, or promises, not for anything at all. 

I am every atheist, I am blue collar, I am a father, I am a husband, and I am a human. Being human for me means I have more responsibility than our genes suggest; responsibility to make an impact, to try and shape the future for the young, to educate the ignorant. This is where it all begins.

Morality, conscience, ethics, and knowledge of what short time we have on a long and frightening road.

At any point of the day, we are faced with decisions regarding what we are willing to speak out about, and when we are willing to remain silent. Every corner is a tiny moment of truth.* Surrounded by prejudice, intolerance, outright racism, and a seemingly endless stream of ignorance, when is the right time/place to make our stand? How should I react when faced with such outright hostility towards my fellow man, whether they are of different color, different religion, different nationality, sexual identity, or whatever the difference may be? This is not easy to answer. Perhaps the correct answer for me is not the same for every other atheist. Perhaps there is no right answer that fits for every situation. I am unsure. A gut check is usually in order, and our guts seldom lie.

At times, I am struck in such a powerful way by someones inability or unwillingness to feel empathy for the suffering of others, I find myself losing control, and it feels good. I rampage, blurting out a veritable sermon. Unable or unwilling to stop myself, I climb up on my soapbox, attacking with curses, insults and slander, rambling, I usually only succeed in alienating people I must deal with every single hour of every single day. I have allowed myself to be reduced to shouting matches. Stumbling at the proverbial finish line. I have later been ashamed, compelled to apologize, not for my convictions, (never) but for my own prejudices and lack of control. Passion is at an all time high.

However, There have been moments of sheer epiphany, where “all the planets seem to align” and I find myself inspired; answers, questions, challenges to the status quo, seem to flow from me like I have been possessed of a poet! I am as eloquent as Keats, witty as Twain, sharp as Hitchens! Its these times that inspire me, that "lift the spirit." I am able to hold my head a little higher, hoping perhaps, just perhaps I had planted a seed of doubt or hope, whichever the case may be. Once or twice, I believe I have actually been able to win someone over to the side of humanism. These moments have been sadly rare but they are that much sweeter for being so. I soldier on. I realize that it is these very oppurtunities that compel me to educate myself. Like a theist who goes to church to put on their “spiritual armor,” I read, study, meditate, and reach out to like minded people, so that I may be a light of reason in the darkness that is ignorance and intolerance.

I know that my children’s future in no small way depends upon me, depends upon you, depends upon us! As someone of greater intelligence than I put forward, we are only immortal through our children.

At every moment, in every instance, for as long as I draw breath, I am responsible, I am proud, and indeed, I am every atheist.

 edited to correct ignorant sentence structure.

Brayton.l Nov. 15th 2007

*Rush/Roll the Bones

I am every Atheist.

I am every atheist because I see a better future for humanity without ancient superstiton. I am every atheist because I see the potiential for humanity to find advancement in improving the human condition. 

I am every atheist because I know that I am only one of many as an individual with  only one core cominality "lack of belief in the super natural". 

I draw from a history of skepticism from diverse people Socrates, Plato, Ingersoll, Jefferson, George Smith, Harris, Hitchens and Dawkins.

I reflect the diversity amoungst the atheist label. I am a Redskin fan who also loves Jazz music and Metallica. I am a economic and free speech Libertarian who accepts that other atheists dont agree with me on all issues all the time. I am every atheist because I am an individual.

I am an atheist who knows that to do good doesnt come from trying to win points from daddy, but to do good with no expectation of reward or threat of punishment. We know that we dont spread cooites are disire to become Hitler. I am every atheist because I can, just like a theist, donate to the Red Cross, or Meals on Wheels, without atributing the good to a magical puppiteer in the sky.

We can overcome claims of disimbodied beings and hocus pocus and replace it with critical thought and rational study. I am every atheist because I know this is the only life I get and no afterlife exists as a cookie bribe someone to be good.

I am every atheist, your son, your brother, your neithbor, your friend and co-worker. I am a human who merely doesnt buy claims of magical parents in the sky. 

I am every atheist knowing that I can and do love theists as my family, friends and co-workers even with the dissagreement on deities.

Atheists know the only differance between atheists and theists is that one issue of the existance of deities. We know we run the gamit of economic class and political opinion and are capable of distiguishing the view of a person as a seperate issue than what the person actually claims.

I am a human and so too the theist with flaws and atributes outside theistic claims. I am an atheist who knows that 6 billion people will not be clones of each other.

I am every atheist.

When Sunday morning arrives I know a break from my mothering duties is imminent. However, as I watch my two sons climb into the car and head for church, feelings of resentment (even hostility) emerge.

Since the time my oldest son was twelve months old my sister-in-law has politely yet persistently asked if she and her husband could take him to church on Sunday. She had long since given up on me as a potential Christian convert and now she was focusing her attention on my offspring. I remember the evening the inquisition began. During one of our regular family get-togethers my sister-in-law and I were standing on opposite ends of the counter while twin bowls of artichoke dip steamed between us. I was not expecting the subject to come up. I was wrong. She tilted her chin sharply to the side like an owl. Her bright hair was a tuft of red and yellow feathers that circled her thin face.

“It would be so wonderful if your boys could come with us to church!”
Her hazel eyes tattooed in blue eyeliner shimmered at me like two pieces of crushed glass. “We can pick them up! It will give you a chance for a break and I just know the boys will love it!”

“Um. I have to wash their hair tomorrow,” I said, my voice sounding like the last wave of a distant echo. She gazed at me with her usual espresso induced enthusiasm. I looked at her hot pink lips and wished I had chosen to wear make-up that evening--a little war paint, something to give me courage.

One week later, after an unusually long bedtime ceremony that included a sock puppet parade, a freeze frame dance party, and no less than four helicopter rides to the moon, I made my way into the bathroom. While staring at the blood blue crescents that formed under my eyes and my oily shoestring hair, it became very apparent to me how tired I was. I’m certain that my fatigue was in direct correlation with my youngest son’s increasing mobility. With an eighteen month old and a three year old now at home, everything seemed to be getting faster and faster. The thought of acquiring a few extra hours of leisure time on a Sunday became a blessing I could no longer forgo. While lying in my bed that night I relished the thought of reading in peace, bathing in peace, or even peeing in peace without the sound of little hands banging on the bathroom door.
Before I knew it another week had gone by. It was Saturday evening again. When I failed to check my caller I.D. before answering, my sister-in-law was able to make her usual inquiry.

“Can the kids attend church with us tomorrow?” There was silence. I was tired. I needed a break. Besides, what kind of mother denies her children the innocent fun of Sunday school?


With hesitation and frustration welling in my throat, I gave in to the temptation of Christ.

“Okay, what time will you be by?” My voice was soft and short. She must have sensed that this was hard for me.

Marrying into a very religious family has provided challenges for me. Being an atheist has only magnified those challenges. I knew I was going to be outnumbered the day I said, “I do.” Atheists are in the minority as it is. According to a 2004 American National Election Study, 77% of Americans still consider religion to be an important part of their lives, while 48% of the population (according to a 2004 General Social Survey) still considers Christianity “truly” American.

Of course, my in-laws mean well. They are nice and responsible people. I deeply care for them and remain hopeful that at some point we will be able to put our philosophical differences aside and look beyond the sharp contrast of their religious conservatism and my more, ahem (not amen), “liberal perspective.”

Once I hung up the phone with my sister-in-law I began to feel the sheer force of implied heritage sweeping my children away. After all, my children are their family too, and not merely by marriage but through a far more unifying arrangement, genetics. I began to feel like my own faith (or lack there of) was never going to stand a chance against the constant indoctrination my children would inevitably be subjected. They were going to grow up surrounded by religious fundamentalism and I was terrified. Immediately after I agreed to the Sunday excursion my fears grew. How could I compete with fun loving bible stories, cupcakes, and happy songs about Jesus? My children were going to like church and there was nothing I could do about it.

When I was a child my father told me to “seek the truth and run from anyone who has found it.” I was raised without religion. Our weekends in California, especially Sundays, were spent outside hiking through the Santa Monica Mountains. As we strolled along, collecting unusual rocks, spotting different kinds of birds, and commenting on the robust hillsides my father constantly reminded us that nature is responsible for everything. Despite his vast interests and prolific approach to research, he was the first to admit when he didn’t know the answer to something. He would shrug his shoulders and grin.

“I don’t know, baby girl. I don’t know what that is, but I’m sure there is a book about it.”

He was right. There was always a book about it. We had fun looking up insects, birds, and plants in our encyclopedia's at home.

In my youth I was encouraged to attend many different churches. My father wanted me to experience and hear it all. Growing up in Southern California afforded me the opportunity to do just that. I had a Mormon boyfriend, a Catholic best friend, and a Jewish boss. Each one of them was kind enough to let me visit their religious services at one time or another. I remember my father eagerly waiting to hear about my observations. We would sit outside throwing the ball for our dog Rufus and talk about the different ways in which people worshipped the same God. What remained a mystery to us was how each religion was supremely convinced that they were absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, correct.

I know how persuasive the varied consolations that religion has to offer can be, especially against some of life’s harshest truths. The sense of community is an attractive feature as well and I understand why people chose to take refuge in all of that. These have always been powerfully persuasive tools for those with whom religion appeals. For me, it does not, nor has it ever, felt right.

I now know why some people feel they should never discuss religion or politics with loved ones. To think that everyone shares the same convictions is an arrogant assumption to make. I've learned that talking with family about personal and/or political beliefs can be a highly divisive tactic. Recently, during one of our family get-togethers we were asked to bow our heads and give thanks to, among other things, George Bush. Apparently, the Lord has blessed us with his divine leadership.

For the past five year’s I have patiently remained quiet while listening to points of view that sometimes were offensive to me. After years of playing possum on some of the most sensitive of issues I realized I had become the kind of person I never wanted to be, a sell-out. Where was my philosophical backbone? It seems that somewhere during my matrimonial merger I had lost it. Perhaps this was the result of some sort of anti-Darwinian, reverse evolutionary tactic, (uh-oh did I say evolution)? I had reverted into the kind of spineless amoeba from whence we came some four billion years ago.

It would have been easier had we chosen to live in a metropolis where cultural and philosophical diversity is the norm. However, living in a smaller town, with a church on every corner, has given me the sense of religious inundation. I constantly feel like a square peg trying to fit inside a cross-shaped hole.

After the first Sunday of attending church my oldest son came home with a gold glittered cross in one hand and a half eaten cookie in the other. He was ecstatic.

“Did you have fun at church today?” His enthusiasm was contagious.

“It was great!” He pushed the other half of the cookie into his mouth.

“What did you learn?” Eager to hear his answer I pulled up a chair and sat down beside him.

“God made the earth.” He said this while he handed me his sticky craft. His little starfish shaped hand was now waving in front of me. This was his way of telling me he needed a towel.

“That’s a nice story.” I said as I wiped his hands clean.

The following Saturday after a week of weighing the pros and cons of our current situation I voiced my fears to my husband. After patiently listening to my concerns he assured me that just because a kid goes to church is not necessarily going to make them hate gays, ignore science, deny reason, and develop an attitude of moral superiority. His calm rationale was effective. I was lulled to sleep just imagining all the delicious leisurely possibilities the next day had to offer.

Later that Sunday afternoon my son brought home another craft, this time a construction paper crown like the one Jesus wore. He also told me with chocolate cookie enthusiasm that,

“Jesus died on the cross! And he had nails in his hands!”

My natural reaction was to explain everything in that moment to him about my personal beliefs on the matter. But I withheld. Instead I handed him a sippy cup filled with milk.

“The stories you hear at church are just stories. And everyone has different stories.”
My tailbone stiffened. I was skeptical as to why anyone would want to share this bit of morbid information with a three year old?

The next Sunday came around quickly and by now the routine had been established. My sister-in-law picked both my boys up at the house around eight am. Car seats were exchanged and the symbolic event of handing over the diaper bag. The control had shifted. Some one else was going to be in charge of my babies for the next several hours. I hugged everyone goodbye and once again they were off to learn about the Lord.

When my children came home they were energetic as usual. Both eager for their lunch. My three year old carried yet another sticky craft into our kitchen. This time an Easter egg with a cross drawn on the middle.

“Mommy, Jesus died on the cross and then he flew way up into the sky and he was okay.”

“Well. What do you think about that?” My concern was bordering on defensive.

“It was sad. Jesus had nails in his hands from the soldiers.” My skin grew hot.

“Listen, those are just stories.”

Later that night I had learned that one of our neighbor’s daughters was going to have her tonsils removed due to recurrent strep throat. I decided to make organic chicken soup for the family. I know it can be hard on the parents when a child is sick. My oldest son and I drove to our neighbor’s home and were greeted by a happy group of children. The youngest of the group squeaked out,

“I’m havin’ an operation on my talker tomorrow!” Her voice was raspy yet sweet.

While her parents carried the soup into the kitchen, I kneeled down to give her a big hug and told her how brave she was. I noticed large crosses hanging on the walls of their hallway. The mother thanked me repeatedly for the soup and my “prayers.” She invited me to her women’s bible study on Wednesday night. As usual, I declined.

Despite my numerous reservations about monotheistic endeavors I had to face the fact that my children may eventually chose to be Christian. We were simply out numbered by Christian folk. The thought saddened me because I had always hoped my children would become, well, more like me. I had hoped that my hard earned philosophical standpoint would find away into their hearts and their own proclamations. Now I was faced with the possibility that they too would view me as the “lost soul” of the herd, the one in need of “saving.” My dreams of raising my kids in a home where freethinking, reason, humanism, and skepticism are the norm seemed more unlikely than ever before.

Often when I close my mind on an issue, the answer comes. Some call it a sign from God, or the Holy Spirit. I prefer to call it the mind, or intellect, which I believe is solely responsible for vast complexities of human problem solving.

A few more Sundays came to pass. Several other construction paper crosses made their way into the recycling bin. Then one Saturday my oldest son and I were sunbathing in the backyard. I had finally taken the time to commit to memory the names of the various desert plants that surrounded our property. Succulents never appealed to me. Compared to the lush and colorful landscape I had grown accustom to in my childhood, cacti looked so unapproachable and insipid. But, I decided to put aside my constant critic and instead learn about this bizarre and foreign flora. As we rested on the lounge chairs I began to teach my son the tree names.

“What do you call that one way over there on the hill?” I looked at him through dark sunglasses.

“You mean the one that looks like a fork?” His nose squished up like a miniature accordion.
“Ahhh, that’s a Sawarrow!”

We were silent again. I looked up into the cloudless sky and closed my eyes. He cuddled up next to me in the chair. Soon after the silence, he began to tap me on my shoulder.
“Mom!” He crowed. “Mom wwwook at dhis!”

I lifted my head to see his latest fascination. A row of black ants had begun their journey in one long and thin conforming line to and from our swimming pool.

“I see baby. Those are ants.” I put my head back down.

“Mom!” He was tapping me again. “Why do they all go together like that?”

I thought of my father. I thought of the way he used the things in nature as a metaphor for life. Now I was aware that during all those walks together he was teaching me not only about nature but about human nature as well.

“I don’t know why honey. I don’t know why they all walk together like that. But, I’m sure there’s a book about it!” I promised him we’d find some pictures of ants when we went back inside.

Later that afternoon my neighbor had come by with a thank you card for the soup. She invited me again to her bible study. This time however I decided to be forthright. I told her that I was a non-believer, that organized religion does not appeal to me. She said she understood. She said it sounded like I was struggling to find my path back to Jesus. She said she would pray for me, she would pray that I would come to know his divine love and eventually follow him home. I pictured the ants.

I realized that my sons were growing up to be like me. Maybe they would spend time in church, but ultimately they will know my beliefs too. They will grow up in a home where they are expected to question everything. I could see my son, already growing comfortable with uncertainty. The notion of having to earn an answer was beginning to resonate in his mind. As we slowly printed out five pages of information from the Internet about ants, his patience was tested. But in the end he was proud of his findings.

We colored the black and white photos of the ants and pinned them around his room. We never did find an answer as to why they insist on following one another in a straight line. If I had to guess, I would bet it has something to do with security, community, and hard-wired biological imperatives. In any event, my son found it peculiar enough to research and so did I.