Frivology

When I first started to learn about natural selection in middle school, no one had to convince me that it existed.  I’d already heard some about evolution and had made the decision, based upon what I saw in the world around me, to believe that it was true.  In fact, at the time I still believed in God (as much as I ever have), and I still didn’t find that belief in God and belief in natural selection (so much as a scientific theory can be “believed”) were at odds.  I believed that Genesis was not literal and “7 days” could well have been 7 billion years or 70 billion years, or however long it would take to evolve humans. 

Evolution and natural selection seemed so obvious and clear that I had a hard time believing that anyone else would find them not obvious and clear, or even find them at odds with religion.  It became more difficult for me to understand this the older a got.  Thus, when my best friend (who isn’t even a Christian) told me that she couldn’t believe that we evolved from monkeys, I was shocked.  I was in my 20s, then, she in her 30s.  We spent a few nights with me trying to convince her and her just not listening to me, and then I dropped the subject.  That was ten years ago, and even though she and I have remained incredibly close friends who lean on each other for all kinds of support, evolution still remains a topic that’s forbidden. 

She went with me through a large chunk of my religious exploration.  Wicca, run-of-the-mill Paganism, Pantheism, then something sort of close to Pantheism, but more like Humanism in the form of watered-down Pantheism.  But, when I heard Julia Sweeney’s “Letting Go of God” and felt like Julia was very nearly describing my own journey with her experiences, and I completely let go of any form of “mystical being”, the journey together ceased.  I don’t remember how we got on the subject, as it was one I’d been avoiding, but she told me that she felt sad that I’d chosen this route.  It immediately raised my shackles - I don’t want to be pitied.  It was that sort of pity that had me stumbling in the dark for so many years, afraid to call myself an atheist for sure.  When I finally took the leap and embraced the fact that I don’t believe in God or Goddess or “The Great All” or any of that junk, I was sure I’d feel some sort of sense of being alone, of being orphaned… but, I didn’t.  Rather, I felt an extreme sense of relief.  I could suddenly be myself.  Yet here I was, sitting in my car, and my best friend, the one to whom I felt I could tell anything, was telling me that she felt “sad” for me because I no longer believed at all that anything would happen to me when I died other than just … dying. 

I tried to explain it to her, to tell her just that.  I don’t feel sad, so she shouldn’t feel sad, either.  I don’t feel lonely, orphaned, abandoned or left behind.  I don’t feel like my lack of belief has suddenly made my life less meaningful.  In fact, I explained, I feel the opposite.  I have one chance in my life to do the things I want to do.  One chance before it’s all over and I cease to exist… so damn it, I’m going to make that chance matter.  She got defensive within a few moments, then started to tune me out.  It was the same thing as happened when we talked about evolution.  I knew, then, that this would be a topic I just don’t bring up.  That conversation was partially why I decided I really needed to make Frivology.  I wanted somewhere that I could talk about these things without getting that questioning, raised-eyebrow look that made me feel as if I’d done or said something wrong. 

I bring all of this up because something happened with her yesterday that really put me on edge.  It isn’t something that just she did - lots of people do it - but it’s something that I think really does a disservice to all of humanity. 

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“To believe in God is impossible - to not believe in Him is absurd”
- Voltaire

Have you ever wanted something so badly that you believe if you try hard enough it’ll just be a reality?  I’d heard of kids who could talk to spirits or who would have those that were dead to them come back to them, and I desperately wanted my Grandfather to do this - but he didn’t.  Ever.  God didn’t send him my messages, I didn’t get any from Him, and there was never a chance where I felt like anything I ever said laying in my bed and staring at the ceiling every really mattered. 

Disconnecting wasn’t somthing that I did on purpose or with a lot of thought.  I still believed in god - as much as a budding teenager really could - but my belief started to get more and more amorphous.  I took on my mother’s belief that all gods were really one god, and that God, himself, didn’t really need an organized religion to be followed.  In Middle School, Tina and I maintained our close friendship, but as we weren’t in the same classes most of the time, we each developed our own circles.  I spent a lot of time with my nose buried in books or writing, and Tina… well, I never really knew what she did. 

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Jesus loves me, this I know.
For the Bible tells me so.

After grandpa died, my family moved to NW Washington from Southern California. It was a pretty big no-brainer for my parents.  Mom was having trouble finding work and dad was about to get laid off.  Grandpa had just died, removing our ties there for his reasons, and NW Washington had friends of ours.

I was eight and starting the third grade.  I  did a lot of living in my head back then, for a variety of reasons.  My school in California consisted of a lot of rich kids, and I came from a family that had hardly anything.  This was a reality I was constantly reminded of, so I tended to avoid the other kids.  In Washington, the kids came from a more diverse selection of households, but they were still mean.  So, I stuck to myself most of the time.

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Faith does not give you the answers, it just stops you asking the questions.
- Frater Ravus

For nearly the first decade of my life, I lived in Orange County, California. This being the late 70s / early 80s, there were still vast stretches of Orange County that contained absolutely nothing but orange groves. The earliest memories I have about God come from those orange groves. Every Sunday morning, we would all get up and go through a circus of dressing nicely before we’d all pile into the car and drive through acres and acres of beautiful orange groves to get to church. We were Presbyterians and we went to a church that didn’t have it’s own physical building. We actually went to several different places, and my “Busy Bees” classes (now called GEMS - Girls Everywhere Meeting the Savior) were held in someone else’s church.

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