ARTS 'N FARTS 'N CRAFTS

Sometimes, I resent my family.  I always hated my church, growing up.  I was surrounded by terrible people who constantly whispered terrible things about each other.  My family always dragged me there, and made me wear clothing that I was embarrassed to wear.  I was made to be an acolyte, which is a fancy word for ‘kid who lights the candles’.  I was dragged to youth retreats, because my dad was the youth minister.

Now I’m a grownup, and I’ve found a church that I truly enjoy going to.  It is nothing like the church of my youth, which is probably why it appeals to me.  Now, mind you, I was made to go to church as a child.  There was no option.  I like my church, what it stands for, and I also play music in the band, periodically.  As the years have passed, my parents stopped going to church.  I’ve stopped inviting them to visit my church.  They would rather sit on the couch and do nothing, or perhaps anything OTHER than seeing their son play drums in church.

It’s a disgusting irony to me.  The people who REQUIRED me to go to church, now won’t even get out of bed to see their son play drums when he simply INVITES them.