What the Hell, Wendy!

You always said we could tell each other anything. Then, when I do tell you how I feel, you stop talking to me. Well, I’ve barely scratched the surface of what I wanted to say to you.

First, being involved in all this drama makes me sick. Our husbands are brothers, connected by blood. Just like their mother, and their sisters, and everyone else in the family that you two never talk to anymore.

Am I just another one of them, another person in the family you don’t want to deal with?

I don’t want to care, but I find myself not being able to avoid caring. You have always prided yourself on being an honest person who in return can hear honesty from her friends. What happened to that person? Would you rather I lied to you?

Well, honey, from a distance, it appears you are the one tearing everyone apart. Jack never ignored his mother before you. He never acted like his brother wasn’t also his friend, and he never disappointed his family and friends like he has since he’s been with you.

Don’t get me wrong. Everyone understands you all are a family now. We know how much he loves you. It is completely obvious how much he loves all the kids. No one who really cares about him could deny him that.

What I don’t understand is why he doesn’t stand up and tell everyone how he feels. If he is really the one who doesn’t want anything to do with the family, then you need to tell him that he should be the one to stand up and say something. Don’t you think that would be better? People wouldn’t blame you then.

If you ask me, Jack needs to grow some balls and stand up for what he believes in, and spare you the pain and suffering, if that truly is the case.

But, you see, nobody believes it is Jack making the decisions because no one ever gets to talk to him. When they do get to talk to him, you speak for him and over him. Think of how you would feel if you asked me to go bowling but my husband spoke before I could and said, “She doesn’t like bowling.”

Do you see what I mean? It would “appear” he is the one making the decisions for me.

The second thing I want to tell you is that nobody likes people who lie. Just don’t do it; it makes people not trust you. I know you lied when Jack’s sister invited you over. You said Jack didn’t want to go, and then you conveniently had company that night, and to top it off, someone actually heard you say you did not want to go.

You know what? Suck it up!

Having family is a part of life. Both his family and yours are tied into our lives. No, it won’t always be a wonderful experience, but when someone dies, you’ll be spared the guilt of being the one who blamed for the distance. He says that would not happen, but you should know better.

People tell me what you two do is none of my business. Well, it is my business, because when you tell your lies, or even just ignore others, I am the one who has to make excuses for you. My husband and I are dragged into the middle of this because you and Jack won’t talk to anyone.

Is it that freaking hard to pick up the phone?

Well, I guess we don’t have to worry about that now since you aren’t talking to me either.

Another thing I have to tell you is that I am not stupid. I know that you don’t like my husband. You have lied to me for a long time and said you loved him like a brother and all that junk. Well, I hear and I see things. The point being, I don’t really care if you like my husband.

That never prevented me from being your friend.

I think you are being very childish. Sending expensive electronics to school with children to return them to me, instead of getting off your high horse and calling me or bringing it to a responsible adult, is childish. I don’t blame my husband one bit for calling you guys and saying he didn’t appreciate it. It could have been stolen or damaged.

I have an email even, so if you didn’t want to talk to me you could have given me a heads up and just sent a message.

Well, I really have a million more things to say. However, my main point has been addressed.

In closing, I would like to say that I love you. You are my sister and for you to ever think that just because I told you something true that I wouldn’t want to be your friend is just stupid. Yeah, you’re stupid for being able to dish it out, but not being able to take it.

Furthermore, it breaks my heart someone I considered a mature, loving, caring, supportive best friend could act so immaturely.

Sometimes you have to tell your friends the truth, even if they don’t want to hear it. That is what real friends do. You should realize if someone cares enough to tell you when you are wrong, they probably really are your friend. People who don’t care don’t care enough to say anything.

Love J.

~~~~

Jennifer Wright is a mother of four, military wife, and aspiring writer. She is currently attending North Idaho College and pursuing her degree in English. Jennifer has several articles published on the internet, but hopes to pursue her dream of fiction writing.

Tags: family, family arguments, family disagreements, family problems, friend

Brian,

When you left, I wanted to be angry. I couldn’t find it in me, but I wanted to be angry. Sometimes, in anger, you find strength and I desperately needed strength. But I couldn’t get angry. The only thing I felt was sadness. Overwhelming sadness.

You left me for someone else. You lied about it, but I knew the truth. I had always known the truth, all along, but knowing and wanting to see or act on the truth are different things. I was miserable, but somehow, I was comfortable in my misery. It was familiar. It was… safe?

As I knew would happen, you left… and that’s when I wanted to be angry. Eventually, a few months later, the anger did hit me, and the more I became angry, the more I learned about the truth of your deception… oh, how many months I played a fool.

What fueled my anger? I was angry that you thought I was stupid enough that I didn’t know.

I knew. I knew all along. I was imply too tired, too miserable and too sick to do anything about it.

So you did what I couldn’t bring myself to do and you left. You left me for her. I will never forget the day when I discovered the whole, unadulterated truth of adultery… your adultery, infidelity. You broke my trust, but that wasn’t really even the worst of it. You kept me hanging on by a thin thread, ‘just in case’ things didn’t work out between you and the whore who you let seduce you.

Typically I wouldn’t call the other woman a whore, because I’d figure she was simply lied to by you as much as I was, but in this case, it was very clear she knew exactly what the score was when she posted blog posts laughing about how stupid I was for not knowing how long this had all been going on. She laughed, reveled in it.

You used me, and yet, I truly put as much fault and blame on her as I do on you. You see, you used me, but that’s just who you are. She knew better and chose to act the way she did. I don’t think you can help it. It’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth.

So when you came to me and I finally confronted you, I told you then, “She’s going to cheat on you, do to you what you just did to me, and she’s going to break your heart and trust. I hope I’m there to see it when it happens.”

Guess what? I was there. It happened, and I was there.

And I learned something. It’s true that what goes around comes around. It’s true that we get back what we put out into the world. It’s also true that living well truly IS the best revenge.

When you asked me if I was happy, and I said I was, I could clearly hear the sadness in your voice. You had hope… hope, such a volatile little word. I had hope once. I had hope for a family and a friend and a lover who I could trust, who would treat me right, never hurt me, never break my trust. You promised those things to me, and you failed.

Now it’s you who comes back to me and has hope. You want me back. You regret so much. You miss me and wish you had never made the mistakes you have made. You still love me.

But I don’t love you anymore.

Do you know how powerful it is to be able to say that and truly mean it?

See, I don’t wish you ill will. I don’t want you to hurt. I’ve moved past you and on with me life. There was a time I sought revenge and wished you ill, but I don’t anymore. Now, I just want you out of my life. I don’t hurt for you anymore. I’m not angry anymore. I’m not sad, not upset, not worried, not bothered… I simply… don’t… care.

Retribution.

Universal justice.

And I didn’t have to do a thing to make that happen.

I’m not happy you’re hurting, but I don’t hurt for you. I’m not taking pleasure in your pain, but I’m not feeling pain for or with you. I’m not excited that my prophecy came true.

But I am satisfied.

So did I write this letter to gloat, brag about how good my life is?

No.

I wrote this letter because I want to thank you. I want to thank you for treating me so horribly that I could recognize, truly treasure, when someone came along who treats me good. I want to thank you for leaving, so that I was free to choose to love when he did come along. I want to thank you for being strong enough or stupid enough to walk away when I was not strong enough to do so for myself.

I also want to thank you for giving me back my faith in the universe, perhaps even my faith in God. I’ve always been told that you reap what you sow, that what goes around comes around, that what you put out there comes back to you multiplied.

Guess what? You proved that. Thank you for proving that to me. That you for affirming my faith in universally dealt justice. Because, you see, if it’s true that you reap what you sow, I’ve planted a nice harvest in my world, my life, my heart. I know now that it will all come back around for me.

In fact, it’s already started…. It started when he said, “I do, with all my heart, I do…” and it continued when you said your life had come full circle.

Now I move forward firm in the knowledge that I will get my due, reaping a harvest of love, faith, generosity and gratitude.

For the first time since you left, I can honestly say, “I wish you well…”

No longer yours,
Karla

Tags: breaking up, Cheating, infidelity, retribution, whore

Dear Aimless Drifter,

You presented a solid image to the world of a hardworking man trying to do right by his children and help others in need. Having an ex-husband who did not care for our children, it was nice to see a father trying to connect with his.

We found common ground in our love of writing and of past relationships. We had a nice friendship. When you were down and out, I offered you a hand up, because I thought you were worthy of such help. I invited you into my home as a roommate. For the first few days, things were wonderful.

On your fourth night, you entered my bedroom without knocking, woke me and asked to cuddle, knowing I was in a long-term relationship. I had made that clear when we first began talking. Your hugs, though never returned, were plentiful, even after I told you I did not like them. You even told me you loved me in front of my boyfriend to get a reaction.

You grabbed my ass in the local store where my boyfriend works, as well as the grocery store, and you did not care who saw. I quit going any place with you after the third night in public you grabbed my ass.

My sister came to visit one day and you hit on her so much she did not return while you lived in my house. Neither did my best friend you also treated like that. In fact, you hit on every woman you saw in my hometown between the ages of sixteen and fifty and called it, “Turning on the southern charm. You even had the audacity to come on to my daughter, knowing she was engaged to be married.

We helped you find a job; actually, you had two for the month you lived here: One at a fast food place where you were let go on the second day because you told the manger he was doing his job wrong and were overheard telling ‘adult jokes’ to the teenage boys who worked there. This was the ‘on the books job’ to pay your child support, and you tossed it away.

The second job was a taxi driver, and you got this job because of my good word. I vouched for you because you needed a job. You made it for two weeks at this job.

You went to a local nursing home for a job in dietary with my daughter, and the boss threatened you with a sexual harassment lawsuit if you ever returned to her office. Apparently, you think flirting with the women is how you secure jobs.

You went into the local burger joint in the midst of breakfast rush and requested a hamburger on your croissant rather than sausage because the sign outside said, “Have it Your Way!” A quick call to the 800 number and you said you felt vindicated.

You called the fast sandwich place after getting home with the sandwiches you had purchased and told the manager to complain about the girl at the window who did not put your drink top on correctly and it spilled all over the seat. After spending five minutes on the phone telling that manger how to do his job, you unwrapped your sandwich, which at that point had gone cold. Again, you called the manger to complain about your cold sandwich. He told you to bring it in to exchange it for a fresh one. When you return to my house, you are laughing because the girl at the window walked off her job because you went to talk to the manager.

A quick trip into the local convenience store ended with you asking all three females for their phone number. You complained to the manger that your sandwich was not prepared properly. In fact, you continued to bring it up on other visits until you were barred from the local convenience store. Then you wrote an open commentary on the internet describing your treatment at the convenience store and told the owner in an open letter to the world how bad his stores were.

See here in Small Town America conmen like you cannot hide. Word spreads quickly. You could not even walk into any place in town to get something to eat. Your welcome with everyone quickly wore out. I know just about every thing you did here and I am so embarrassed to have even befriended you.

I do not know where the wind has blown you, but I am so glad you are gone. Perhaps one day you will look in the mirror and realize you are nothing more than an aimless drifter.

Sincerely,
Not your friend, thank the Good Lord

Tags: aimless drifter, bad friend, broken friendship, ex friend, friendship

Dear Landlord:

We have had such a good relationship during the six years we’ve rented from you that it came as a big shock how bad things have been since I told you we were ending our lease early. As I explained at the time, the decision had nothing to do with you or the house. We were offered a great opportunity elsewhere. We also knew it was a great opportunity for you. There were major repairs you had been wanting to make on the house, repairs that were necessary enough you were going to put us up in a hotel for three days so you could repair the kitchen ceiling that was falling down.

You asked me to let you know when we were no longer cooking or sleeping there so you could begin repairs and I happily agreed. Then, somehow, the good relationship seemed to fall apart, and I have had nothing but misery for the last two weeks. I told you we would probably be done with the upstairs by Sunday and that we weren’t living there anymore, so you told the handyman to go ahead with the ceiling.

I suppose it’s not your fault the handyman didn’t call you when he noticed my dishes and appliances were still in the kitchen. It seems like common sense, especially since you are the one who told me what a mess ceiling repairs make, that he would have done something with my things. Covering my glassware with a paper towel to “protect it” from the falling debris doesn’t really count. Nothing was broken, but given the age of that ceiling, I did have to scour everything before I could use it. Things that could not be subjected to scalding hot water, like my bamboo steamer and my toaster, I had to throw away.

Then, the handyman went beyond the repairs I knew you had planned. He ripped out the bathroom sink and carpet. His construction in there made it so that while cleaning and removing things in the basement, I didn’t have access to a bathroom. As I was packing, I had to stop and drive to the local Burger King to use the restroom. He took down all the blinds and curtains while I still had items of value, things that were infinitely easy to pawn, in the house. I know you are aware of the rash of burglaries in the neighborhood recently, yet you offered only a vague apology when I pointed out how clearly his actions made my things a target of theft.

A week after we announced we were moving out, while we still had already paid you for two months and three weeks of rent, you made accessing the house to get the remainder of my things out difficult. You chastised me about letting a friend take my key to the house to remove items from it when your employee endangered my belongings. That doesn’t even begin to mention how impossible it would have been for me to clean to get back my security deposit.

To be honest, I haven’t yet researched the legal implications of your completing the work while I am still technically renting the house, but I think the moral implication is clear. You are benefitting from the fact that I am not living there. You have made it impossible for me to clean and comply with the terms of the lease regarding the return of my security deposit. In fact, you’ve made it downright unpleasant for me to attempt to get the last of my things out of the house. I’m not sure what happened to change our relationship so suddenly, especially since you have said for the last five years that the lease was just a formality and we could break it as necessary if we found employment elsewhere.

For the first days after we left, my entire family was homesick, we loved the house that much. After we began to encounter the problems with the handyman, we lost that loving feeling really quick. In fact, we now wonder why we bragged about what a wonderful landlord you were. Last year after a crack in the masonry allowed several feet of water to flood the basement, you offered no compensation for our losses. This year, the deteriorating ceramic tile sewer between the house and the city sewer line became clogged and sewage flooded the basement. The Christmas ornaments my grandmother made me were destroyed and you were angry that I had called a plumber. When the ceiling tiles bulged and fell on your head as you tried to repair them, we offered to accommodate your repair schedule in any way we could.

After all these years, I am sorry to see our relationship end on such a sour note.

I wish I felt like you were too.

Sincerely,
Cindy

~~~~
Cindy Gunnin is a freelance writer and mini-storage manager in Carterville, Illinois. When she is not writing, she can be found in the office making collection calls or planning advertising campaigns. She is a staff writer for Heartland Women, a bi-weekly newspaper focused on issues about women for women and written by women. She is a member of the Southern Illinois Writers Guild and happily counts herself as one of the “founding members” of the Accentuate Writers Forum. She intends to get around to making her author’s website eventually and in the meantime, more of her work can be found here.

Tags: construction, landlord, moving

Dear Sean,

Tags: death, loss, Love Letter, relationship

Jesus,

I was forced to believe in you at an early age.  Relatives made me attend church at an early age, prodding me to open up books full of songs that praised you.  I never understood who you were, but I sang and praised you to make my relatives happy.  They even dumped water on my head, telling me this would cleanse me of the Devil.

When I entered high school, my friends told me I had it all wrong.  They said I was in the wrong denomination, a denomination that promoted evil and worshiping false idols.  I didn’t understand them.  They told me in deep earnest that I needed to stay away from this church, that I needed to allow myself to experience the power of your love by joining their congregation.  I never quite understood why this was different, but they said it was, and I believed them.  My church would bring me into a fiery pit after death, where your love would not be experienced.  Scared and confused, I joined their congregation hoping to make everyone happy.

Several months later I paid a small fee to attend a Christian convention in Minneapolis, and several church leaders invited us down to accept Christ into our life.  I was unsure of their intent, but I decided it would make everyone happy if I listened to them.  I sat on the ground, clasped my hands, and repeated their words:

“I accept you, savior and protector, into my life.  I ask you to forgive my sins and take them as your own, forever and ever.  Amen.”

I felt something overcome me at that point which I cannot explain.  It was a calmness in my heart, a serenity flowing throughout my body.  I was hugging strangers as I walked back to my friends, unsure of how I felt or what had just happened.  They cried with me.  I thought I had finally made them─and─you happy.  I was doing the right thing.  I was a good Christian.

Several weeks later we gathered in the church for a weekly bible lesson.  The youth leader began discussing homosexuality and the sins of sex before marriage, and to my astonishment, he explained in great detail why homosexuals were sinners that would never be forgiven by Jesus.

I was bisexual.

All this work to make everyone happy and now this?  Jesus wouldn’t love me because I was bisexual?  I felt immediately ashamed, horrified, and disgusted with myself.  Why now?  I had messed up all along, it seemed.  I wasn’t good enough to be loved by Jesus.  I was a terrible, awful, homosexual-sinning Christian.  And everyone agreed.  I watched everyone agree that homosexuality was the biggest sin of all─a sin not forgiven by Jesus, and a sin that would banish me to the lower levels of Hell.  I stood silently as the bible lesson was finished up, everyone uttering their own contempts for those who slept with those of the same sex.

I never returned.  Calls poured in as people noticed my absence from church, but each time I had a more elaborate excuse.  I’m sick, I have cramps.  Big headache, too much for me to leave the house.  Oh, I’ve got too much homework right now.  Can’t right now.  Just can’t.  I eventually lost the friends who were so interested in me years before, and I slowly became a hermit.  My devotion to Christianity dwindled slowly but deliberately, as I thought I wasn’t deserving enough to practice Christianity.  After all, I was a sinner.  Sinners are the ones who fail.  Sinners are the ones Jesus does not love.

After I graduated high school I lost all contact with my friends.  It was at that point I left for Korea to visit my relatives and travel the country.  It was a welcomed diversion from life in rural America.  During the end of our trip we visited a mountain retreat near the North Korean border, where I saw one of the most amazing statues I had ever seen in my 18 years of life.  It was a gold statue, rising above the mountains, picturing the image of Buddha, a revered figure in Korea.  Again came the calmness I felt when I first bowed my head to accept Jesus into my life.  The image was transfixed into my mind as I left Korea and stayed there for several months.  Only in December did I gather the courage to learn more about Buddha, picking up religious texts at the local library.  I read each book throughly with an eager curiosity.  By the Spring I was a Buddhist, practicing Buddha’s ideals and setting aside time every day to meditate.  The calmness never did disappear, nor did any practicing Buddhists criticize me.  I felt happy.  I was accepted.

You would think I would hate you now, but I really don’t.  Buddhism taught me two things: happiness is acceptance and hate will bring no justice.  Buddhism allowed me to open up and to see Christianity for what it is─a loving, accepting religion marred by a few naysayers who would rather focus on sinning instead of improving the lives of others.  Isn’t that what Christianity is about?  About loving, accepting, and appreciating people?  About loving your enemies even if they have faults?  Christianity, as I’ve learned today, isn’t being taught in Church.  You were never in church, Jesus.  Instead, you were in an invisible church only attained with understanding, generosity, and a desire to bring happiness to others.  Submitting to everything is not the goal of Christianity.  Showing the support and love Jesus showed in the Bible is.  There is no Christianity without Christ.  And although I will stay Buddhist for a very, very long time, I have finally realized your message.  I no longer worry about making others happy─I now worry about my own happiness.

That is the goal of every religion.  I understand you now, Jesus.  Thank you.

Understandably yours,

An Enlightened Buddhist

~~~
A.E. Olson is a freelance writer and blogger currently living in Minneapolis, Minnesota with her husband, a persistent cat named Sephiroth, and several hundred books.  When she is not meditating, she can be seen on Associated Content, where she is a category editor, or on her new restaurant and food blog. Read her writing here:

Associated Content: http://www.associatedcontent.com/user/116441/ann_olson.html
Restaurant and Food Blog: http://koreangirleatsout.com/

Tags: Religion

Dear Catholic Church,

As a Catholic who left the church many years ago, I’m sure you think this letter will be full of repercussions. After all, I am an ex Catholic…well, sort of.

I left the church because I divorced my husband. Yes, I had very good reason to leave him and was told that I could apply for an annulment, but he would have to agree. He didn’t agree. For my own safety, I did not want him to know where I lived and so I let the opportunity of annulment go. That was years ago.

I went on a journey of discovery after that; a journey that lasted more than twenty years. I became very metaphysical then, spiritual instead of religious. I was very enlightened. I read everything I could read and attended classes and meetings with others of like mind. You see, from the time I was a very young child, I had experienced very strange things–things that couldn’t be explained. I decided that religion was for the comfort of man and not for the comfort of God.

God was no longer God; He was known as the “universal truth”, the “source” and just plain “light”. Jesus was floating around there somewhere with angels, but most metaphysical people don’t mention Jesus. He might be considered the “source” or not.

Those strange things I had experienced my whole life weren’t miracles; they were signs and gifts. Did you know that if you stared at a leaf long enough, you can see the individual cells of the leaf and its aura too?

There was no such thing as Satan and nobody was evil. Someone may act evil, but in essence they only act that way because of their own life experience. If someone is raped or murdered in this life, its because they themselves had been a rapist or murderer in a past life. But to move on in their spiritual growth, they had to experience what they had previously inflicted on someone in a past life.

I loved the readings too. All of these metaphysical people were so wise, so connected to the universe and beyond! They told me I had been hurt badly, that a friend had betrayed me and that my path had been rocky in life. They really knew me. I was often very frustrated because they seemed to be so much more spiritual than I was, on a much higher plane of consciousness.

And then one day all of that changed. It was the day all of my very strong beliefs were not only questioned, but they just flipped over. Like magic. No, more like a Miracle. It was 9-11.

On that day, I knew Satan existed. On that day, I knew there truly were evil people in the world. Not the poor, abused people who had reason to strike out against the rich uncle. No, these were well-educated and rich men. Crazed and possessed men. They were evil. I knew it; I knew it in my heart. As we watched beheadings in horror, I began to pray to God again. I made the Sign of the Cross and prayed. And I got goosebumps.

Now goosebumps are a big thing in the metaphysical/spiritual realm. Goosebumps tell you that what you are thinking is on the right track. Goosebumps “verify” that what you think is true. So goosebumps when I prayed for the first time in years was a very good thing. To my still metaphysical mind, it meant that I was supposed to pray.

Surprisingly, one of the first things I prayed was the Apostles Creed. As you know, it sums up what Catholics believe in. Now the metaphysical person in me thought there must be a reason I picked that one off the top of my head. To me, it was a “sign” that I needed to get back to my roots, back to being a Catholic, even if it was only in the comfort of my home.

As I studied my old religion, imagine my surprise to see just how closely the “spiritualism” I had been practicing had religious roots. But those roots were greatly discouraged during meetings or events. No religion. One religion. The Universal Truth. The Source. The Light.

I opened my eyes to the truth of it all. I have to say that I feel very qualified writing about this, because I’ve been on both sides. When “the Secret” came out, I was amazed. Amazed that it took the world by storm, thanks to Oprah. But the Secret wasn’t a secret at all. It was a compilation of every book I had ever read and written in such a way that the reader thinks the writer must be very wise. The writer takes snippets from books that were written a hundred years ago and books written twenty years ago. It’s just another scam by people looking to make money, in my humble opinion. It’s a condensed version of every book I’ve ever read regarding spirituality and metaphysicians.

I began to see that I have always known the “truth” about myself, it’s a gift God gave to me when I was born. You see, my parents weren’t Catholic. Dad was Greek Orthodox and Mom was a Lutheran. Neither one were churchgoers. But, at three years old I used to cry until somebody took me to church. So I went to many churches in my little town; I went with whoever would take me. I was up and dressed and ready a full hour before services started. So as a child I went to the local United Bretheren church, the Pentecostal church, the Methodist church and the Catholic Church.

Now why would such a little kid have such a need? Religion wasn’t discussed in my house, my parents didn’t stop me, but they certainly never influenced me. And at the age of about eight years old, I chose to become a Catholic. So, I was Catholic by choice. I followed everything, I went to First Fridays and Rosary Circles; I was in the choir. I went to confession and communion every week. I went to church several times a week for years.

Now, for others reading this, you might think it’s because the church was my “only” social life. Not so.. I was a very popular kid in school. I got good grades and made friends easily. I was a cheerleader, too. To me, church was never a “duty” or a chore, it was a joy.

Upon my “awakening” after 9-11, I did a lot of thinking. Meditation was such a big deal in metaphysics, yet here I was, reading my Daily Missile and there it was in black and white… daily meditations. Weekly meditations. Special meditations. Hmm, so Catholics meditate? I’m sure I’ve always known that, but it never “hit” me until then.

The “signs” that were so stressed in metaphysics were also a part of the Catholic religion. The mysteries of Jesus Christ, the mysteries of Mary, the mysteries of the Holy Trinity, the mysteries of the Holy Spirit and the mysteries of faith.

The beauty of looking at a leaf and really discovering each cell was also part of the Catholic Church for me. This may be the reason I chose the Catholic Church in the first place. It was hushed, it was beautiful, it was awe-inspiring, it was sacred. It felt holy and that feeling was always inside me anytime I entered the church, whether with the congregation or on my own. I felt connected to God the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit there. I was connected. And that was the little parish of St. Anne’s. I loved it.

You should always remember this letter Catholic Church, because if you keep your churches holy, sacred and awe-inspiring, you will always have new Catholics. Some of us just can’t help it. The sacred act of the Eucharist fills our eyes with tears and our hearts with joy. The unchanging mass brings stability to lives in turmoil and the beauty of the churches brings rest and comfort to a weary soul.
So thank you Catholic Church, for instilling in my heart the true love of God, the sacrifice of Jesus Christ and the hope I have for my eternal rest. Thank you for teaching me about the bible, about our Savior. Thank you for your traditional ways. Thank you for naming the Beatitudes, I just love that name because it really describes the Sermon on the Mount. Beauty.

Thank you Catholic church for the thousands and thousands of good and decent priests and nuns; those special ones who are called to serve mankind–To serve the hungry, the sick, the grieving and the poor. And do it with grace. Thank you for Catholic Charities that helps people pay electric bills and buy food and pay their rent and adopt babies. God bless them in their selfless mission in this life.
Thank you Catholic Church for EWTN TV, so those like me who can’t physically go to mass have the opportunity to participate in the rosary and the mass. I thank you for the sense of mystery and miracles that now take the place of metaphysical signs and magic. But most of all Catholic Church, I thank you for keeping the church the way it’s needed…traditional, sacred and holy.

Your Loving Daughter,

An Awakened Metaphysician/Spiritualist

~~~

“Awakened” is a recovering metaphysician who actively pursued metaphysics as a lifestyle and income for more than twenty years. “Awakened” read Egyptian Cartouche Cards for others and used the Ouija Board and channeling for herself. “Awakened” now cringes at how naive she was and prays that others like her will awaken to the truth soon.

Tags: Religion

Dear Christian Woman,

I’m not even sure where to begin. You are yet another reason I doubt the preachings of your Christian religion. You called a group of fellow writers “heathens”, “evil” and “sent by the devil” all because we were not following your religion. Well, I take offense to that. I may not be Christian, which I readily express, yet neither are you if you go about disrespecting those of us not of your faith.

It is truly offensive that without ever meeting any one of us or learning where we have come from or why we have chosen our religious paths that you would arbitrarily call us names. The worst part was that you didn’t  just call us names but you tried to have God on your side by calling us those names in a Prayer.

Well, save your prayers. Pray for the sick, pray for the homeless, pray for the starving, but do not pray for me. I can tend to my own soul with the help of my spiritual guides. I have no need for you, a Christian woman who knows nothing about me, to refer to me and my ways as evil because they are different.

If you had taken the time to get to know me before calling me a heathen and evil you might have discovered I have great respect for people of all religions. You might have then discovered my religion follows one big rule, “Harm ye none”, which means to harm no one either by words or actions. You might have discovered I have friends who are Christian, Jewish, Agnostic and Atheist. You might have discovered I donate clothing, time, money and food to charitable causes no matter what religion asks for them. You might have discovered I went with my son to make Easter baskets for our American troops overseas so they could have a taste of home and feel that someone cares.

You may have found out that if I were your friend, I would defend you and protect you with my life.

But you didn’t discover anything about me.  You didn’t find out anything about the others you said were sent by the devil. You didn’t find out anything about them or me. All this hate because our religions differed from yours. That is terribly sad.

I was angered at first but the more I think about it, the more I am sad for you. I am sad you will not open your mind a little wider to find out about the beautiful people around you.

You want to pray for us whom you say are sent by the devil, heathens and evil yet it is you who needs to be prayed for. It is you, Christian Woman, who has a hole in her heart. It is you who spreads the darkness of evil by showing ignorance in the name of prayer. When all you had to do was take a little time to get to know us perhaps you would not have called us the names you did.

May you learn not to judge lest ye be judged yourself.

A Pagan Woman

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Linda St.Cyr is a professional freelance writer, artist and poet. She has been published in numerous online publications including Club Mom, Associated Content and outlets of Demand Media. She is currently working on a novel while raising two children in the beautiful Pocono Mountains. To learn more about Linda and her writing, please visit her author’s website at the following link:  http://sites.google.com/site/stcyrlinda/

Tags: Religion

Dear God:

Please don’t take this letter to mean that I am not still mad as hell at you.  Some days merely trying to believe in your existence is difficult. Today, I believe. I’m just not at all convinced that you care about your creation.

I wasn’t always this cynical.

As a child, I was so enthralled with my relationship with you that I wanted to tell everyone I knew how much I believed. I was at your church four or five days a week. I went on mission trips. For more than a decade, I thought you were my best friend. Life was tough, but I believed that God works in mysterious ways and that someday the struggle would be worth it.

Then, when I was in college, I lost faith in the church. Not in you, but in my church.  From the pulpit, men of God told me that my fellow Christians, specifically Catholics, were idolators and going to Hell because of their use of the saints in their prayers. I got mad. Some Catholics are among the best Christians I have ever met and to denigrate them based on doctrine differences was ridiculous. I was horribly offended at what the church did in Your name, but I was mad at the church, not You. I still believed you cared, that you were omnipotent and omniscient.

I was wrong.

Just before I turned 30, my life fell apart. I cried and screamed and prayed for justice and truth to prevail to no avail. People who called themselves Christians were the worst, stealing away the most precious thing in my life, my daughter. They judged me based on the same foul standards as the church I left in college and I tried with all my might to believe that you cared. That somehow you would make it all better, that you cared about me and my heartbreak. But you didn’t.

In Your name, these people stole my reason for living. And, I might as well have died. Friends with faith tried to convince me that it was part of your plan, that perhaps you knew best for me and her and that there was some reason for my pain. I didn’t care. If you were indeed omniscient and omnipotent, you could have prevented my pain, stopped me from loving her so much, stopped the foul lies that stole her away, but you didn’t.

So, I got mad. I felt betrayed. I stopped talking to you. I’ll throw up the ’Hail Mary’ pass of prayer once in awhile for people who are comforted by such things, but I don’t believe you’ll listen. I don’t believe that God answers prayer. I believe God has ordained to do what He wants and the rest of us suffer for it. “If you ever suffered it was me who did the crying,” became my favorite line in song. I knew that while God might be the opiate of the masses, for me He was a knife in an open wound, distant and unfeeling, unwilling to alter His plan for the child He claimed to love.

Faith, I have come to know, is simply a way to appease the people, to convince those who suffer in this life that they will have better days. Guess what?  I don’t buy that anymore either.

Certainly, there were times when I missed that fellowship I once felt. I miss the old hymn on Christmas and dinner on the church grounds, but I came to realize I could get that feeling of fellowship with people other than Christians.  I hoped that you would send me a sign, something to tell me that my little life matters enough to draw your attention, but you didn’t. Now I hear the hymns and the words that once touched my heart are now nothing more than catchy refrains, written with a good beat.

As we approach this holiest of holidays, I considered reaching out, maybe attending the sunrise services at Bald Knob Cross to see if I could find my way back to faith. Turns out, the Cross is being repaired. Huge panels have been removed for renovation. Like my life, the Cross will be incomplete this Easter, missing parts because its caretakers let it fall into disrepair. Somehow, it seems fitting, a visual representation of the way my relationship with you stands.
The question remains, will the rebuilding take place?

My faith is disappearing more each day as I see person after person of faith suffer needlessly because you are too busy to answer the prayers of your people. They are beaten down and abused and yet we are told to have faith.

Don’t tell me about the trials of Job. I can’t listen anymore. Tell me stories of God’s people rewarded for their faith, because right now I just don’t see it.
I wish I did.

Until I do, Easter is nothing more than a day of ham and bunnies and one more reminder of what God’s will has taken away.

I miss her every day and that pain reminds me how much I don’t miss you.

Formerly faithful,
Cindy

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Cindy Gunnin is a writer, reporter and heartfelt proponent of freedom of religion as well as freedom from religion living in Southern Illinois. She lives with her husband and one very spoiled cat. She pretends to be more cynical than she is and has been described more than once as a “tough softy.”

Tags: Religion