The history of God and me is a long and complex one I am afraid(is it for everyone?). I almost don't know where to begin. I really don't. The thought just occurred to me a few minutes ago to begin a series of blogs regarding my relationship with God, my philosophies on God, and anything else God related that comes to mind along the way. But where to begin? At this point I am thinking a chronological approach would be best as then events could unfold as they occurred and perhaps some understanding gleamed from them. Maybe not for you the reader but perhaps for me the writer. I want to understand. Perhaps I want a new beginning with an old friend, God. This subject is one I tend to avoid. This subject makes me squirm sometimes. This subject is one in which I will jump all over someone's ass who uses the God card to their own advantage. Occasionally seen in chatrooms, the God card player pisses me off to no end. My buttons are easily pushed when I witness them. And I will fry their ass given the opportunity! Why? That is a question for discussion later. I am not sure I know the answer at the moment anyway.
The history of God and me begins as a child growing up in Oklahoma where I was raised in the Methodist church. I had no choice in church attendance as a child. My parents went so I went. Basically I hated it. And I hated being forced to do something that bored me to tears. I hated Sunday School except on rare occasions when they did something interesting like analyze contemporary song lyrics such as the Rolling Stones "Paint It Black". I remember doing that exercise and thinking to myself, "self, I already know he wants everything painted black, I already understand he sees everything in terms of a dark side, why did we just spend time "analyzing" this in church"? But I dug the song and it was cool to hear again in class and it was certainly a diversion from the normal boring routines I was accustomed to.
My mother had(has) a beautiful voice and sang in the choir. There was actually a record(33RPM for those who have heard of such animals)released on vinyl of the church choir singing various hymns. My mothers voice can be heard on it or so claims my Dad. He use to play the record and point out her voice within the harmonies. "Do you hear that son? That is your mother singing like an angel" . My parents still have the vinyl record. One day when they pass(if I survive them) I will be the beneficiary of their old vinyl collection including some cool bluesy old 78's from the 30's or 40's. I hope to someday hear my mother on my turntable. Perhaps I would hear God there too. I dunno.
So Sundays was the day mornings were spent in utter boredom unless doing such things as listening to the Rolling Stones. Never got to hear the Beatles in church. I was ripped off! The worship service was survived as a child by entering a world of total fantasy. This was accomplished on paper with pencil. P and P. Tools of the trade. Always made sure to have that in my pockets or I was doomed to an hour long spell of ADD neurosis. Typically I would draw. I loved to draw evil figures(heehee). But the thing I really got into for what seemed like the longest of times was mazes. I loved to draw mazes. Then I had another world on paper I could enter and try to find the escape out(yes as the creator I was cheating more or less). I could not escape church but I could escape the maze.
A vivid memory still burns in my mind. One Sunday morning after enduring yet another sermon along the lines of what some would call the "social gospel"(don't ask), the usual routines were performed afterwards, benediction and such. But at the very moment the last note was sung from the closing song(whose title evades me now) and I do mean the last note, I witnessed a man fall over on the bench making a loud thud sound which echoed throughout the church! The man had passed out on the bench in church! Somehow he waited till the last note ended but he went out, way out. I wondered if he had died of boredom.
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