Menu Close

Category: Life

Chronic Pain: Paying the Price

13 Comments
st julian wine
Four bottles of inexpensive wine we purchased at St. Julian Winery in Paw Paw. Michigan

She took the day off.

The weatherman says sunny and 55, I hope he’s right.

I busy myself getting ready for tomorrow.

Clean the house, I tell myself. Can’t leave if the house isn’t clean.

House is clean.

I put my camera equipment on the table, tripods behind the door, ready for loading in the morning.

I check the camera batteries and make sure the flash cards are installed.

No need for the GPS, we have iPhones now, so Google maps will direct us to our destination. Just to safe, I put some paper, a pen, a flashlight, and maps of Indiana, Michigan, and Ohio in my briefcase and put it with the camera equipment.

Clothes, shoes, wallet, jacket, and hat, all ready for the morning.

She will be home soon.

She sees that I cleaned the house. She smiles and shakes her head. She knows…36 years of knowing…

I want to be out of the house by 10, I tell her. And I mean 10, I add, knowing that I am fighting a battle I have lost more times than I can count.

A restless night, I get 4 hours sleep before she wakes me up.

The car is loaded, ready to go. Ten minutes late…

She drives. I want to drive but I know I can’t. I am no longer physically able to drive. I know this, but I still want to drive. She ignores me, knowing I will no longer put up a fight.

Off to Fort Wayne first to drop off papers at the hospital. I owe them $5,000.00. I hope they will reduce the amount I owe.

Pain meds.

She wants to go Rome City to see an old, no longer functioning self-sustaining nunnery.

Pain meds.

It’s not long before I start feeling every bump and thump as we ride over roads savaged by harsh Midwestern winter.

Our destination is South Haven, Michigan. Sunset is at 7:45. I want to get there by 6:00. How we get to South Haven is undetermined.

This is a Gerencser road trip, one our six children experienced many times. A general destination with no certain route.

Pain meds.

The assault on my body continues. I complain some, but I know it is not her fault. If I had known this is how painful the trip was going to be, I would have stayed home. I am glad I didn’t.

North and West we travel, meandering down never before traveled roads.

I set Google maps to no highways or toll roads. We want to see what most people never take the time to see.

Amish, horses, buggies, laundry gently blowing in the wind. What a pleasant surprise.

Where’s their school, she asks. Soon, we stumble upon it. Look at all the bicycles and yellow vests.

Countless stops so I can get out of the car and take photographs. It’s not long before my shoes are muddy, muddying up the floor and mat cleaned the night before.

Sometimes, I stay in the car, using the window to steady my telephoto camera lens. We fuss a bit as she tries to maneuver the car so I can take a shot. We’ve been fussing for 36 years. It means nothing, our love transcends anything we could say to one another.

Pain meds.

We finally come to a road we’ve traveled before. Soon we come to Paw Paw, Michigan. Let’s stop at the winery, she says, and I say, sure.

So much wine, so little money. I sure could use a drink. We buy four bottles of inexpensive wine. As we checkout, I tell the young woman waiting on us that we were once part of a religion that forbade the drinking of alcohol. She replies, really? Her face tells me she’s never heard of such craziness. I go on to tell her that we were 50 years old before we drank wine for the first time. I chuckle and say, we are living the 60’s and 70’s a little late in life.

She needs to use the bathroom, so does our daughter with Down Syndrome. I’ll tell her I’ll take the wine out to the car,  She says, OK, and hands me the keys.

I open the trunk of the car, put the wine in, and carefully wrap the bottles with a towel.

I slam the trunk of the car and reach into my pocket for the keys so I can unlock the car.

Panic. You didn’t. You fucking idiot. Surely, you didn’t lock the keys in the trunk? You damn idiot, yes you did.

Soon she comes out to the car and I tell her what I’ve done. I thought I had ruined our day. She calmly reaches into her purse and pulls out the second set of keys. Disaster averted.

I am mad at myself, still upset over the keys. 57 years, and I’ve never locked the keys in a car until today. My self-esteem takes another dive.

Back on the road, time to head to South Haven.

The roads continue to pummel me. She notices that I am writhing in the seat and says,I’m sorry. I say, it’s OK. It’s not, but only death will keep me from reaching our destination.

5:00 Pain meds. She notices I have taken the maximum dosage for the day, but she says nothing. She knows I will have to take extra pain meds to get through the day.

It’s 5:30 as we pull into the parking lot near the beach. She and I have been here many times. It’s our favorite place to be. There’s nothing better than watching a Lake Michigan sunset, especially when the one you love are by your side.

The sun is shining, it’s 54 degrees.

The Lake is frozen, the beach is covered with a mishmash of ice, melting snow, and sand.

People are out and about. One young woman is in flip-flops and a white sun dress. Silly humans, we are, worshiping the warmth of our star.

We make our way out to the lighthouse. I walking slowly, prodding the ground with my cane, making sure the slushy snow beneath my feet is firm.

We finally reach the point, the first time we’ve been here when the Lake is frozen.

People come and go as we stand there enjoying the warmth and the view. What a wonderful view…

A talkative woman stands nearby. Her back is to the sun and Lake. She seems only interested in talking to those who are near her. She’s lecturing a young couple about an upcoming sales tax initiative. She’s against it. She turns to me and asks, do you read? Yes. What do you read? Books. Philosophy? Yes. I’m thinking, really, here I am 3 hours from home, away from my blog, and I am getting quizzed about philosophy? The talkative woman asks, Who? I snap back, Kierkegaard. This satisfies her and she turns to the woman in the white sun dress and tells her she’s crazy for being out there in flip-flops and no coat. I thought, I’ll tell you who’s crazy.

We walk back to the car and drive to the bluff overlooking the Lake. I’ve never taken photographs from this spot before.

I set up my tripod and prepare both my cameras to take photographs of the sunset. The show will be short and sweet, I know I must be ready.

She gets out the portable camera I bought her for Christmas. She is quite proud of her work. I hear her camera beep, knowing she is photographing me going about my craft. I used to object, but I know my children and grandchildren will one day appreciate her photographs. I’m reminded of what my friend Tom told me, photographs are about the memory, the moment. That’s what matters.

Soon the show is over and we quickly load everything back into the car. The temperature is quickly dropping. By the time we get home it drops 20 degrees.

As we make our way down from the bluff, I ask her to stop at the beach. Just a few more shots, I say. She’s cold, so she stays in the car as I setup my tripod and take a few photographs of the lighthouse, now lighted by incandescent lights along the walkway.

It’s 8:15 as we walk into Clementines. All the adrenaline has dissipated and my body now screams for attention. I can barely eat. I use the bathroom before we leave, leaning against the stall, a few tears come to my eyes. Why does it have to be this way? Why does one day with my friend and lover cost me so much?

Pain meds.

More pain meds.

I have a counseling appointment scheduled for tomorrow. She knows, and will cancel it in the morning. Bed is what awaits me come tomorrow and several days after that. It’s the price I pay for living, for experiencing the beauty of my wife and a Lake Michigan sunset.

It’s midnight as we pull into the driveway. We’ve been gone 14 hours and driven over 300 miles. Exhausted, she falls asleep in minutes. I take more pain medication and my normal nighttime meds. I’m so exhausted that sleep comes quickly.

12 hours later, I wake up, knowing that I must now pay for yesterday.

Is it worth it?

She’s at work now and she sends me a text. The sun is shining, want to go to on a road trip?

I reply, sure…

Medical Costs: Proof that Dying is Cheaper than Living

8 Comments

health care

As many of you know, last month I had an endoscopic ultrasound done at Parkview Regional Hospital in Fort Wayne, Indiana. The doctor also biopsied a lesion on my pancreas and nearby lymph nodes. The good news is…there was no cancer. The bad news is…they had the gall to send me a bill. Well, they haven’t really sent me a bill yet. They have billed my insurance and it looks like my bill is going to be a whopper!

Our insurance has a $3,000.00 deductible and a $6,000.00 maximum out-of-pocket. The billed cost  for the endoscopic ultrasound is $20,667.37 and this does not include any outside lab charges that have not yet been billed. If insurance knocks this down to $15,000.00, we will be over our deductible and maximum out-of-pocket. That’s good news, but the bad news is we will be over our maximum out-of-pocket, which means we will owe several medical providers $6,000.00.

Here’s screen shots from our insurance company’s website:

parkview 3
Pre-Op Blood Test Costs
parkview 2
Doctor’s charges?
parkview
Parkview Regional Hospital Charges

Polly’s employer pays over $15,000.00 a year for our family medical insurance coverage. We pay $3,120.00 in additional premiums. Before anyone gets sick or visits a doctor, over $18,000.00 is spent providing medical coverage for our family. Since the above mentioned costs will likely put us over our maximum out-of-pocket, this means our total out-of-pocket for medical insurance and medical costs in 2015 will be $9,120.00.  While we are certainly glad we have insurance, the total cost will be 25% of our gross income for 2015.

The silver lining? Hey, if we have a heart attack, get cancer, or  need a leg amputated any time before December 31st,  it is totally paid for. (that’s sarcasm in case you don’t recognize it)

Note

I also had a CT scan, an ultrasound, and an MRI done in December 2014. These three tests cost over $4,000.00.

Just Because I’m Fat Doesn’t Mean I Need to Change my Diet

26 Comments
bruce and polly gerencser 1978
Bruce and Polly Gerencser, February 1978 I am a size 30 waist and size 40 suit.

Rant ahead. Raw feelings revealed that might offend others. You have been warned!

I am quite open about my health and my battle with depression, chronic illness and pain. As most readers know, I recently had an endoscopic ultrasound to see if I had pancreatic cancer. I didn’t, which is good news, but the one thing that has irritated me through this whole process is the assumptions that people make about my lifestyle. If I would only do _______________, then all would be well, or so these I’m-not-a-doctor-but-I-stayed-at-the-Holiday-Inn people think.

Let me state the obvious: I am obese. I’ve been overweight for 30 years. Thanks to recent health problems, I have lost 35 pounds. I weigh less than I did at any time in the past decade. I do not feel one bit better for having lost the weight. My feet are still invisible and I can assure you that losing weight does not make your penis longer.

Are you laughing? A pastor told me years ago that he read you gain an inch in penis length for every 30 pounds you lose. According to this dimwit’s advice, if I got down to my BMI chart weight, I would gain six inches. That would certainly be porn-worthy.

Ten or so years ago, I saw an orthopedic doctor about a problem I was having with my left knee. After taking less than two minutes to talk to me about my knee pain, he pronounced that I needed to lose weight. Duh, like I don’t know that? But here’s the thing about my knees. I have a torn meniscus in each knee. I have had these tears since 1981. A doctor wanted to do surgery 30 years ago, but I decided to cut back on the amount of basketball I was playing instead. When I injured my knees, I was quite fit. I played basketball three times a week in the winter and spring and played softball several times a week in the summer.  My weight had NOTHING to do with my knee problem, but all the orthopedic doctor saw was an overweight man and he judged me without knowing the first thing about me. (My first sports related knee injury happened in 1973 when I was 16 years old.)

I am 57-year-old, fat man. Thanks to Fibromyalgia and a host of other problems not related to my weight, I can no longer physically do many of the things I used to do. (I must use a cane or wheelchair to get around.)  People who haven’t walked one step in my shoes or lived one day with the pain I have are quick to offer unsolicited advice about everything from exercise to diet to the latest, greatest alternative medicine. These advice givers take a bare amount of information about me, make some assumptions, and conclude I need to do ______________.

My cancer scare has encouraged people to give me advice about how and what to eat. Everyone has a diet for me, sure to fix what ails me. But, here’s what’s wrong with their advice: they don’t know how or I what I eat to start with. If they did, they would refrain from giving me unsolicited advice I do not need.

What’s the underlying assumption here? If you are overweight, fat, obese, plump, a tall person in a short body, or whatever term is used to describe your largesse, the assumption is you don’t eat right. Over the past few weeks, more than a few people have told me I need to change my diet. Eat this, don’t eat that. Eat less of this, more of that.

Here’s the thing, my eating habits, 95% of the time are fine. I eat lots of veggies and have a varied diet. Most of time, I don’t overeat. I will consume eat a candy bar from time to time, along with a donut here and there, but I don’t drink pop. If we buy cereal, I will eat it and if we don’t I won’t. Most of my meat-eating is fish and chicken. Simply put, my diet is not the problem.

I am never going to be a vegan, vegetarian, or a raw food eater. It ain’t gonna happen. If that’s how you eat, fine, but I have no desire to eat as you do. I try to eat responsibly and healthily, but I have no desire to obsess about food and turn it into a religion. I read labels, count calories and carbs, and try to have a lot of fiber in my diet. I don’t need any more information about food and diet. I know all I need to know.

Here’s the real problem I have with those who preach the change your diet gospel to me. They take what works for them and they assume it will work for everyone. They practice bad science when they equate the health problems I have with diet. I know of no study that equates a bad diet with Fibromyalgia. I have MS-like neurological problems. I know of no study that equates a bad diet with Multiple Sclerosis.

Yes, I have high blood pressure, but even here, is my high blood pressure caused by my weight or diet? I doubt it. I took the time a few years ago to research my medical records all the way back to when I was six years old. I found an interesting thing; my blood pressure was marginally high way back when I was a teenager. I have an aunt on my Mom’s side, along with several other relatives, who have high blood pressure. But, here’s what’s interesting: none of them is overweight.

I have one health problem that is directly related to my weight and diet and that is diabetes. When people hear that a person is diabetic, they assume the person is on insulin. I am not on insulin. I take a small amount of medicine each day. My blood glucose levels are under control and my A1C level is on the high side of normal.

Let me sum up this post. Yes, I am fat but there is little I can do about it. I try to eat well and I don’t, most of the time, over feed. I’d love to run, play ball, and exercise, but I can’t. Those who have the kind of problems I do know this, and they, too, have had to deal with the judgements and comments of the exercise police. I do what I can. I am not a lazy person; if anything, I tend to overdo.

I know this is hard for the physically fit to understand. Through the lens of their personal experience, they judge fat people, concluding they are lazy and indulgent. This may be the case for some fat people, but I know one obese Hungarian for whom that is not the case.

Here’s what I want from family and friends. I want love and support. I don’t need fat shaming or subtle condemnation. I don’t need diet books, diet articles, or personal opinions about my eating habits and diet. I know all I need to know about food, diet, Fibromyalgia, chronic illness, and chronic pain. A lack of knowledge is not my problem.

Why is that people take it upon themselves to offer unsolicited advice about diet and food? The same goes for medical advice from people who have no medical training and don’t know the intricacies of my health problems. I have a good primary care doctor. I know how to read and I know how to properly and sufficiently investigate the various health problems that afflict me. Again, I am well cared for and educated.

I have a great marriage — 37 years to a wonderful woman. Not everyone has a marriage like Polly and I have. I have friends who have challenging marriages. I also have friends and family who have had their marriages end in divorce. Imagine me writing them and telling them, based on my own marriage, how to have a successful marriage. Imagine me writing my divorced friends and telling them how they could have avoided a divorce if they had just read and practiced Bruce and Polly’s 27 steps to a Long Marriage©. Offensive, yes? Why then is unsolicited advice about diet and eating habits any different?

Yes, I could stand to lose some weight. Yes, I could ALWAYS eat less of this and more of that. Yes, I could always make improvements in my diet. I am quite good at self-judgment and I know the difference between lazy and can’t. What I want from my family and friends is love and support, not unsolicited advice and judgment. When I want or need the advice of others, I will be sure to ask for it.

Now, let me get the ice cream out, put  six scoops of rocky road in a bowl and cover it with hot fudge, whipped marshmallow, pineapple, nuts, and a cherry on top. Oh wait, there is no ice cream in the freezer. Damn! I need to get Polly to bring home some healthy ice cream.

Note

Here’s my listing in Conservapedia’s wiki on Atheism and Obesity

conservapedia bruce gerencser

 

040816

 

Today

30 Comments

today

My oldest son hugged me and told me he loved me.

My youngest son did the same.

My middle son stops by to borrow my miter saw. I joke…if I die you can keep the saw.

My youngest daughter frowns. Will she ever understand my gallows humor?

Old pictures put on Facebook. Pictures of those who matter to me.

We watch The Equalizer, the one with Denzel Washington.

My sister calls. She loves me and tells me it won’t be cancer.

And then we watch the Mentalist. Will Jane marry Lisbon?

My brother tries to call but the phone dies. He texts and tells me he loves me and he hopes it isn’t cancer.

My last meal, a ham sandwich.

I put my wallet on the table, along with my cane and camera.

Prescription list.

Symptom list.

Current diagnoses.

Past surgeries.

Past diagnostic tests.

Durable power of attorney.

Living will.

Shower and shave.

It’s time for bed.

Polly looks at me and I look at her. Our looks tell the story.

I put on Passenger, in a few minutes Polly is asleep.

I can’t sleep, just like every other night, the pain, oh the pain.

I’m nervous, dare I show weakness and say I’m worried?

I pick up from the nightstand Imagine There’s No Heaven: How Atheism Helped Create the Modern World.

I can’t seem to focus on the words.

I get up and put on my robe.

I sit down and write Polly a letter.

If something goes wrong and this is the last day of life for me, I want Polly to know that I love her and that the 38 years we’ve spent together have been wonderful.

I tell her if the doctor says I have cancer or something else is seriously wrong, we will face it together. I have much to live for, Polly, the kids and grandkids.

I lay out my clothes. Sweatpants, underwear, white socks, orange long sleeved thermal shirt, tennis shoes. And my orange Bengals hat. It matches my shirt.

I feel tired now, the hydrocodone, tramadol, flexeril, and temazapam are doing their job.

Passenger plays on.

I know what lies ahead.

Paper work.

Put on this gown.

Endless questions.

Time to put the IV in. How many times will they have to stick me?

Dr Sharma will come in to talk to me, as will the anesthesiologist.

It’s show time.

A kiss, a hug, and I love you.

Come nine hours from now, what will the doctor say?

I am ready, come what may, I am ready.

If it’s cancer, I’ve made my wishes known, no surgery.

If it’s not, then what?

Maybe it’s just my gallbladder but that doesn’t explain all my symptoms.

I remain my doctor’s enigma, his puzzling hard case.

No prayers.

No thoughts of heaven or hell.

My thoughts go no farther than my lover and friend lying next to me. Our shared experience is the sum of life for me.

Today…

Passenger plays on.

I sure would like to eat another ham sandwich.

040816

Why Many Christians Aren’t Interested in What I Have to Say

10 Comments

i just don't care

As many of you know, I see a secular counselor from time to time. More than once, he has challenged me over what he considers my naïveté about my fellow humans. For the longest time, I sincerely believed that if I just explained myself to people, they would at least understand where I am coming from.  While they might not agree with me, they would at least understand my viewpoint. I now know that many people, especially Evangelical Christians, aren’t interested in understanding where I am coming from. They are not interested in my beliefs, explanations, or story. Armed with certainty, God living inside of them, and an inspired, infallible, inerrant text in the crooks of their elbows, they already know who and what I am. Nothing I say will change their opinion of me.

These kinds of people think they know the REAL reasons I left the ministry and left Christianity. They are certain they know exactly why I became an atheist. If my telling my story contradicts their conclusions, then I am lying, deceived, delusional, or a con-artist. Because their mind is already made up, anything that does not fit into the narrative they believe to be true is rejected out of hand. One commenter told me years ago, Bruce, I know you better than you know yourself. I think there are a lot of Evangelical Christians who think this way about me. They think their special relationship with God gives them an understanding of me that other people might not have. Most of these people have never met me and the only things they know about me are what they read on this blog. They are quite certain that they know me inside and out.

When I tell them I left Christianity primarily for intellectual reasons they don’t believe me. There must be some other reason, perhaps a “secret” reason why I am no longer a Christian. They cannot imagine how anyone, having all the training and experience I have, could ever intellectually reject Jesus Christ. They are like people who drive Fords. They love driving a Ford, and because they love driving a Ford, everyone else should too. They can’t imagine ever driving any other car but a Ford. When asked what kind of car their parents drove, they will proudly say, a Ford! It never dawns on them that perhaps the reason they drive a Ford is because their parents drove a Ford. They are convinced they drive a Ford because it is better than every other automobile make, even though they have never driven any other make of car but Ford.

Most of the atheists/agnostics I know were Christians before they became an atheist/agnostic. Many of them were serious, devoted followers of Jesus Christ. They attended church regularly, were active in the church, read and studied their Bible, prayed regularly, and financially contributed to the church. In every way they were true-blue Christians.

These atheists, like myself, reached a place where they began to have doubts questions about the Bible and Christianity. These doubts and questions led to more doubts and questions. They never intended to not be Christian, but as they read and studied they came to the conclusion that they could no longer believe the tenets of Christianity. They lost their faith in God, the Bible, and Christianity. Few people can understand the pain and heartache that they faced and continue to face as they walked away from that which was once most precious.

Many of my critics assume that I jumped from fundamentalist Christianity to atheism. They refuse to take a careful look at the path that led me to where I am today. It goes something like this:

  • Independent Fundamentalist Baptist Christian
  • Evangelical Christian (Calvinistic)
  • Emerging/Emergent Christian
  • Progressive/Liberal Christian
  • Universalist
  • Agnostic
  • Atheist/Humanist

I tried to find a natural stopping point as I slid down the slippery slope, but I couldn’t. No matter how much I tried to shut off my mind to the questions, they would continue to come to the forefront of my thinking and demand answers. It is the seeking of answers that finally led me to where I am today, and will lead me to where I will be tomorrow.

Many of those who refuse to accept my story at face value are sure that there is some other underlying motive for my unbelief. Brad, a  commenter on a post I wrote about Steven Furtick, is an excellent example of this. Here is what he had to say:

I’m sorry to hear that you left the ministry and even more that you decided to leave Christ for a life of Atheism. I do agree with some of your comments about Furtick and his financial lifestyle.

I actually relate more with the approach of Francis Chan, as described in his book Crazy Love, which I’m assuming that you are probably familiar with. The reason I wanted to comment is because the bigger picture that you are missing is salvation. No matter if Furtick is making poor decisions regarding his finances, that does not change his salvation.

I’m concerned for you Bruce. I understand that I came on your website and read your blog, but as a Christian and believer in Christ, I feel like that someone needs to simply remind you of God’s grace, mercy, forgiveness, and unfailing love. I wonder if you were hurt somehow in the church?

Why did you serve God for so many years and then decide to leave from the protection and shadow of his ‘wing’? If you were hurt in the church, I’m sorry for that. You can’t however, hold God accountable for something one of his crazy kids may have done! I had a bad experience at Wal-Mart one time, but I still go back and buy my groceries there!

I will pray for you and believe that you will come back to Christ. I am a licensed therapist (Masters in Counseling) and an ordained minister and I own a private practice and work with hurting people everyday. My experience is that hurt people, hurt people! I think there is a possibility that you are hurt and bitter. Maybe not. I do know that you are confused because you left God’s calling for your life! Peter Pan, you have forgotten how to fly! Don’t worry, God still loves you more than you could ever imagine. Prodigal son, when are you going to return to your Father?

Brad thinks there is an underlying reason for why I am no longer in the ministry and no longer a Christian. He made no effort to read anything else I wrote but the Steven Furtick post, and based on that post he read he “intuited” that I must be hurt.

I want to conclude this post by dealing with the notion that the reason I deconverted was due to some underlying emotional issue. For the longest time, I refused to see my deconversion as anything other than an intellectual pursuit. I knew that admitting that I was angry, jaded, cynical, or hurt would allow critics to dismiss everything else I wrote. All that would matter to them is that I left Christianity for some other reason than an intellectual one.

This coming September, it will been thirteen years since I pastored a church and seven years since I walked away from Christianity. As I continue to analyze and understand why I no longer believe, I now know the reasons are many. While the intellectual reasons are certainly the main reason I no longer believe in God, I now know that there was/is an emotional component to my deconversion.

Was I hurt in some way? No. There was no crisis event that led me to renounce my faith. There were five years between pastoring my last church and my loss of faith. During this five-year period, I had numerous opportunities to pastor. I could have started a new church, and as late as 2007,  Polly and I had discussions about starting a church. I even contacted the Quaker/Friends denomination about starting a church in the Defiance, Ohio area. Until the last Sunday in November 2008, when I walked out the doors of the Ney United Methodist Church for the last time, I still thought of myself as a Christian pastor. I knew I was hanging on by a thin thread, but I still thought I could intellectually make it work. In the end, I couldn’t. No one hurt me, no church so injured me that I had no other choice but to leave Christianity. If anything, my deconversion was more like a married couple who loved each other dearly but couldn’t stand to be around each other. My lifelong marriage to Christianity ended, not only for intellectual reasons, but because I could no longer stand to be around American Christianity.

Anger came after I deconverted. For the longest time, I was angry at myself for wasting so much of my life in the ministry. I was angry over how the ministry hurt my wife and children and how my preaching hurt other people. I was angry over what Evangelical Christianity was doing to America. But, most of all, I was angry at Evangelical Christians who refused to take me at face value and who refused to allow me to authentically tell my story.

While I can still get angry at belligerent, self-righteous, arrogant, cement-headed Christians, most of the time I just sigh and shake my head as they deconstruct my life or let me know that they know the REAL reason(s) I am not in the ministry or why I am no longer a Christian. I now know that I cannot make the blind see or the deaf hear. While I can readily accept their confession of faith in Jesus Christ at face value, they cannot grant me the same respect. I suspect this is because of who I am.

I am not just a generic, run-of-the-mill Christian turned atheist. I am not someone who was raised in the church and then when I became an adult, rejected the faith of my parents. I am a man who spent fifty years in the Christian church. I am a man who started preaching when he was fifteen. I pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years. Even among the apostate pastors who are prominent today, I have more time on the job than most. Many pastors who deconvert do so after five or ten years in the ministry. Rare is the man who spends fifty years in the Evangelical church and walks away from it all.  I think this is the real reason many of my most vocal critics try to reduce me to dog shit on the bottom of their shoes. I wonder if they, deep down, fear that if someone such as I can lose my faith, that it is possible they can too? Perhaps when the doubts and questions they say they never have come to the surface in the still of the night, those doubts and questions have my face. Perhaps they are like a few former parishioners who cannot talk to me anymore because they find my deconversion so unsettling? They wonder, how can this be? How can Pastor Bruce be an atheist? He led me to Christ, he baptized me, he taught me the Bible, he loved me, cared for me, and prayed for me. If Bruce is an atheist, is the faith of anyone safe?

070216