I'm interested in knowing, so I'll go first. I grew up as the daughter of a Southern Baptist preacher, married a ministerial student, and found my parents' marriage and parenting skills a tough act to follow. Cut a wide swath around organized religion for 20 years. When my grandsons came into my care for a time, I felt I needed to have them in church, so found my own way partially back home as a United Methodist, where I was introduced to the likes of Bishop Spong, Gary Zukav, and Marcus Borg. Yes! There was not a Unity church in the town where I lived, but now I am privileged to be in New Braunfels, Texas.
I'll finish in verse, as that's how I seem to tell my stories most comfortably. (Hey Mindy, how about a poetry forum?)
Beyond Knowing
How I used to envy people
who, possessed with certitude,
soar above the plain and steeple
setting straight the misconstrued.
As a young adult, I traded
childhood spontaneity
for a rigid creed, persuaded
sure's the only way to be.
Ultra-literal allusions
struggled to accommodate
metaphorical exclusions.
Feathers flew in hot debate.
Noisy flaps in lieu of balance
simulate a mighty whir
but, when gripped in zealot talons,
dogma's merely tufts of fur.
Comforted by Faith (the closest
place I've ever felt I stood
to The Truth) I learned osmosis
wouldn't make me right or good.
Soon the need for battle dwindled,
frantic worries losing steam.
Disencumberment rekindled
wonder in the Master Scheme.
Then, ostensibly regressing,
tender roots began to sprout.
I became immersed in guessing,
softly growing into Doubt.
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