Bread Roll of Doom
Gideon was a very fearful man. His people were under great persecution. They had been forced out of their land, and their resources were taken from them.
Gideon would stand up for his people. He had a hard time believing that he was capable of this. How did God remedy this? Through a shared dream, about The Bread Roll of Doom against their aggressors. LOL!
Gideon arrived just as a man was telling a friend his dream. “I had a dream,” he was saying. “A round loaf of barley bread came tumbling into the Midianite camp. It struck the tent with such force that the tent overturned and collapsed.”
Stop the Music
Throughout my life, I have had a hard time fitting in, especially in the church. I sometimes wonder how many other people out there have the same social graces or lack thereof.
When I was younger, I was dropped off at our youth group building. I walked into worship service late. Those were the days of patchouli baths and Marlboro reds.
There was a girl leading worship that was my age. She stopped singing and said over the microphone, “Pew, what is that smell?” She asked others if they smelled it. She said it was like weird herb cigarettes. I was seriously embarrassed. It did not instantaneously break my bodies craving for nicotine, and all the other chemicals in cigarettes. It did not turn my lungs bubblegum pink. It did not inspire me to work harder at my addiction, for her well being.
My ears were on fire. I yelled out, that it was probably the essential oils that I used, or the cigarette that I had smoked. I ran out to the parking lot and found our car, so that I could disappear and cry. Eventually the whole youth group, including the leader, came outside and apologized to me. They asked me to return, but I was too embarrassed. I already knew that I wasn’t good enough for any of those perfect kids. I should have just shrugged it off. They are just as human as I am. I do have to wonder, how many other “smelly” people go to the church, and then get told about it.
This was a pretty small youth group. This is just one experience. This is just my side of the story.
Since then, there have been more fun experiences than I can count on both of my hands. This is from Christians, from different denominations and churches. I cannot say that I have travelled the world and tried every church available.
Sometimes, an issue would be something as minute as my perception of a scripture. There were times, when this was summed up to the influence of evil spirits or the devil himself. This is highly annoying. Usually this wasn’t from leadership, but from congregation members in different settings. I still haven’t figured out how, getting accused of being devilish is supposed to help someone.
I tried to go back to church sporadically, after I had matured a little. When I had moved far away from home. I respected the leaders. I did not interrupt services. I gave. Sometimes I tried to sit by people, and was told an empty seat was taken. I tried to be nice to others. I tried to smile a lot, because I knew that Christians were always supposed to be happy. I still didn’t feel a great connection in the church. I was very lonely. I tried to get involved, but still felt like I was riding solo most of the time. I wondered what the point was, if I was just going to be rejected anyway.
This makes me wonder what people like me are supposed to do. I’ve yet to find the magic wand that makes everything instantaneously perfect.
I know that if I have a recurring problem, I cannot always point the finger. I might need to take a deeper look inside. In the process of growing though, is there anywhere that I would be welcome? I wonder if there are others like me that don’t feel welcome in the church. Maybe we smell bad. Maybe our faces are demonic or something. Maybe our clothes aren’t 21st century, American-Christian enough. Not sure. I wonder where we demon people are supposed to go.
I also wonder what exactly it is that deems us worthy of a public outing. Especially by the members that wouldn’t otherwise have much to do with us. Maybe we haven’t attained the level as perfection that they have yet, on our life’s journey. Maybe they are lucky that they have not had to walk in our shoes.
The treatment is humiliating. It doesn’t solve problems. It also makes me think that going to a church, or at least some of the social circles, is not the way to go if I want to be encouraged. There are some churches that I feel safe watching from home, every once in a while.
I am at a point, where my hands are in the air. If I wanted to be part of an elite group, I would go join a prestigious country club. I probably wouldn’t even fit in there. I just keep striving for a better life. I don’t hate or try to hurt other Christians. They have just as much right to life as I do. Sometimes I am embarrassed of the word. Most of them don’t even want to be around me for too long anyway. The few beautiful ones that I have met, have been in and out of my life like a shooting star. In my case, that has been most of my relationships though.
If I say I am a Christian, or that I believe in a God to non-Christians; I usually get dirty looks. OR, they do the same finger pointing as the other side. I feel like I am looking down the barrel of a gun from both angles. Uncle I say! Uncle!
Thank God for the few kindred weirdos that I have in my life.
A Little History
So I have a confession. I am a PK. Pastor’s kid. That doesn’t mean that I have ever fit in very well with religious circles. I think my name means “awkward one” in Romulan.
Oh, you are a pk, so you …
How very original. I love you…
I think we are given a bad rap, for wanting to search and learn and possibly even think for ourselves. To find our own way. Our own path. We have to, as we live with ourselves.
In my case, some of the stereotypes could be based off of fact. Just me, anyways. I cannot speak for everyone. I am definitely guilty of doing things that would make my parents blush.
I was a black sheep from the start. Way before all of the ornery, that I had lurking up my sleeves. I had problem written all over my face. First off, If I wasn’t a baddy; I wouldn’t have been born with an issue. One that made me different than most people I met. One that required money and medical attention.
When I was growing up, we moved A LOT. I won’t say how many times. I went to three different high schools if that gives you an idea. I had trouble fitting in. Whenever I thought I was setting a foundation and making new friends, we up and moved again. I had to start over. What may have been socially acceptable in one school on the east coast, wasn’t in another school elsewhere. This may have helped me to make an art form out of being awkward. I also learned there is great diversity in the United States. Now, I wouldn’t trade that for anything.
I definitely acted out. Sometimes I did, because I felt backed into a wall. I had a problem practicing couth. In one small school we moved to, it earned me a ticket in front of the school board and out the front door permanently.
I almost got the same one way ticket at the next school district. I was greeted by the principal, and asked if I was a part of the circus. My hair and attire might have been a little unique to say the least. When I felt put on the spot like this; I felt that it was my duty to speak loudly and clearly, while listing off every curse word that I thought described him properly.
I felt like they were in the wrong, and I was dropping the hammer of justice on them.
After a heavy apology from my parents, I was given the opportunity to eat crow to the principal in order to go back to school. The strange thing about the apology was that my ears folded back, just like a cat when I was talking. I must have had the most lemon puckered face the principal had ever seen. I am almost positive that I tried to shoot death lasers at him from my eyes.