I have to write a personal narrative for my writing class in College, and I wrote about my journey away from religion. I don’t know if the teacher is a theist or not, but it shouldn’t matter should it? Anyway, let me know what you think (good and bad… I like criticism). I think the ending is kinda weak, what would you propose I do about it. It’s two pages in word, so beware…
Growing up from Church
I was six years old, and my mother had woken me up early on a Sunday morning to get ready. Warm teddy bear shaped pancakes were on the table, waiting to be eaten. She dressed me up in my finest little man’s suit and clip on tie, laced up my shiny, black, size one dress shoes, and combed my hair. We were going to church, and I was excited about the lesson I was going to learn today. It didn’t matter what it was, it only mattered that I was there with my friends, and I got to hear about all the wonderful stories in the Bible. We all loved to hear those stories, so full of good lessons, stories about God, and the occasional act of violence. I was a happy child then, when I was with my friends, in the presence of God, and was living the joy that was His word. Then it was time to go home, and I did everything I could to keep from walking out that door. But it had to end, and home we went.
I was ten years old now. On Sunday I woke myself up to the smell of bacon cooking as I hopped into the shower. I dressed myself in my nice set of clothes, and clipped on my tie all by myself. I slicked back my hair back like a responsible 10 year old, and walked out to greet my mother. When we arrived, I walked into the church to find myself sitting among adults. I was old enough to attend the adult service, but I couldn’t see over the person in front of me, and I didn’t know any of the hymns. I was lost in the lesson about how to find God in the workplace, and I felt out of place in church for the first time. After the service though, I was able to talk with my friends and I was happy again. When it was time to leave, I put my friends aside, and walked out the door with my mother.
I was twelve years old now. On Sunday I woke to my alarm buzzing loudly in my ear. I hit the snooze button. I woke again to the buzzing in my ear, and dragged myself out of bed. The house was quiet, and I stumbled with unsure footsteps through our new house. We had moved to a new city and it was time to find ourselves a new church. As my mom walked out, dressed in her finest, I was getting the cereal off the table where it still lay from dinner the night before. My nice cloths were still packed in a box, so I put on a pair of khakis, a button down shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes. The off we went to the service recommended by my grandmothers friend. As I sat at the end pew, I felt out of place yet again. The hymns were strange, the people were strange, and the service was strange. I was bored by the monotonous voice of the pastor, and instead doodled on the pamphlet I was given. But the end I was eager to leave, and as my mother stay, talking with our new pastor, I tugged on her arm, ready to go. We walked out, her looking back, myself looking forward.
I was thirteen years old now. I didn’t set my alarm, and I was shaken awake by my mother mere minutes before we had to leave.
“It’s time to go to church!”
“ I don’t want to!”
“Get up or you don’t get allowance!”
“Fine…”
I hastily put on my undersized khakis from the year before, and rushed out the door without even brushing my hair or teeth, let alone getting a wholesome breakfast. I sat in the service, bored out of my mind. The lesson that day was about sinners, and how everybody sins. How we owe everything to god, and are not worthy. My voice was changing, so I couldn’t sing effectively, and the hymns made my voice hurt. People would look at me funny when it cracked, and eventually, I gave up all together. At the end, I went straight out to the car to wait, while my mother stayed and chatted with her one year old friends.
I was now seventeen years old. I slept. For the first time, I had deliberately and knowingly slept though church. I didn’t feel bad about it. I hadn’t gone to church for god in 2 years. I had been attending solely for my mother’s sake. I had started reading the bible in church and at home. Not listening to the daily lessons the way the pastor portrayed them, but instead reading the bible for myself. What I found drove me away from belief. The contradictions, injustices, absurdities, cruelty, intolerance, insults to women, “family values,” false prophecies, foul language, and incorrect science. Is this, the work of a perfect being? I think not.
I am now nineteen. The bible is still a central part to my life. Not because I believe in it, but because it is thrust upon me, day in and day out. By family, and friends, siblings, and parents, Mother and Father. But I resist. I resist the urge to go back, and I maintain my intellectual integrity. I have made my decision, and I am sticking to it, not because I am stubborn, but because it is what I believe is right.
If you have made it this far, thank you. Now, I think the ending is kinda weak, what would you propose I do about it? Thanks.