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The Only Reason I’m Still Alive

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gerencser grandchildren 2023 3

Yesterday, I saw a neurosurgeon affiliated with ProMedica in Toledo, Ohio. Over the past three years, I have been dealing with increasing pain in my neck and spine. MRIs revealed numerous herniated discs, arthritis, and other structural deficiencies. While these scans didn’t do anything to help with my pain and debility, they did provide reasons for my suffering.

Three or four months ago, I started having severe pain in my lower back. An MRI two weeks ago — which I had to pay for myself since my insurance company refused to approve the test — revealed that I have disc problems in my lower back too, along with a Tarlov cyst in the sacrum area of my back. From neck to tailbone, my spine is a mess. And it is likely that my disc problems are congenital. Gotta love DNA. As things stand, I am unable to stand straight, or walk more than a few feet at a time, and I have lost bowel and bladder control. Just when I thought things were bad enough . . .

I found the surgeon to be personable, patient, and to the point — traits I admire in a doctor (besides being proficient and competent, of course). He told me that my problem was in the L4-L5 area of my spine. The damage is such that there is pressure on the nerves; the only fix is surgery. Not having surgery is not an option; that is, unless I want to be an incontinent invalid for the rest of my short life.

That said, this 2-3 hour surgery is not without risk. The surgery has a 90 percent success rate, with a 2-3 percent mortality rate. Factor in the fact that I have several comorbidities, my concern about the outcome is warranted.

I have had problems with my lower back my entire adult life. I was 20 when I saw a doctor for the first time about my back, and since then I have seen other doctors who pointed out the narrow disc space in L4 and L5. My mother and father both had back surgery to “fix” low back problems — Dad in 1969, at age 33, and Mom in 1979, at age 43. Both of my siblings have had back surgery, with a varying degree of positive outcomes. My sister is facing more surgery on her neck. Several years ago, we had a friend — who has since died from COVID — who was left crippled and unable to work from low back surgery. It’s hard not to think about these people and their experiences when considering my own back surgery.

Today was my scheduled appointment with my therapist. We talked extensively about my pain, suffering, and prospective surgery. She said, “Bruce you have two choices. Either you have the surgery or you don’t. I replied, “Actually, I have three choices.” I can choose to have the surgery, not have the surgery, or end my life. “Oh, Bruce, that’s not a choice.” Sure it is. It is a choice that I always have as long I am in my right mind and have access to the means of my demise.

There are moments when I want to end my life. I am flat worn out from the constant pain and suffering. (And just because you see me in public smiling or interacting with my family doesn’t mean my pain has suddenly gone away. It hasn’t, and when you see me, I am likely gritting my teeth and crying inwardly as I try to enjoy life and my family as much as possible.) Currently, my pain levels are top-of-the-chart awful. I can, at best, take two or three steps before I feel biting pain in my back, hips, buttocks, hamstrings, and calves; so much so that it doubles me over and takes my breath away.

My therapist asked why I didn’t kill myself, probing for the reason or reasons why I still find life worth living. This question led to a lengthy discussion. My answer was short and to the point; one word, to be exact: FAMILY! The only reason I choose to press forward is Polly, our six children, and sixteen grandchildren. I am ready to die. I am flat worn out from the pain, incontinence, and lack of sleep. I am tired of my wheelchair, my cane, and the struggle to do simple things like taking a shower and brushing my teeth. This sort of life is not worth living, if not for my family.

So why don’t I kill myself?

First, I know what suicide does to those left behind. My mother’s repeated suicide attempts and successful bullet to the heart left deep, lasting scars on my psyche. I would never, ever want to do this to my family.

Second, Polly doesn’t know how to operate the TV or remote control. She needs me. 🙂 (I thought this dark post needed a bit of humor.)

I said to my therapist, “If my family was gathered together at my house and an asteroid hit our home, killing everyone but me, I would have no reason to live.” While it is unlikely that this will happen, my point was this: Family is the reason I get up in the morning. While I love writing and sundry other things, they are not enough to keep me among the living — though $1,000,000 in blog donations might change my mind. 🙂

In recent weeks, I have seen a grandson graduate from kindergarten, and two granddaughters graduate with honors from high school. On Sunday, I am taking my 6-year-old grandson to his first baseball game in Toledo. Two of my granddaughters will be spending the weekend with us, and on Friday, we are going out to eat and then to a baseball game in Fort Wayne with our oldest son and his family. “But, Bruce, what about your pain and other health problems?” Oh, they haven’t gone anywhere. When I do things such as those mentioned above, I take extra pain medication, hoping that will get me through the night. Regardless, I know pain and suffering is the price of admission, and I am willing to pay the price. One thing I know: when I am with family or when they stop by for a visit, I feel better. There are scientific reasons for why this is so, but all I know is that when I see them, I am given strength to push through to another day.

I am not trying to guilt my children into seeing me more often. I know they are busy with life, jobs, and responsibilities. All I am saying is that when I DO see my children, their spouses, and my grandchildren, it makes a difference when it comes to my will to live. I am grateful that I am not a sick, elderly old man whose family never makes time to see him. I always want to see my grandchildren more often, but I am glad that I see them as often as I do. Even when it hurts me to touch or hug them, I still want to see them. When one of my young grandsons runs into the living room to hug me and inadvertently smacks me in the nuts, I still want their hugs and silly words. If you haven’t figured it out yet, pain is not as much of a problem as loneliness is. For me — and I ONLY speak for myself — family matters. I know that may not be the case for some readers. Family can cause pain, and people rightly distance themselves from their families, choosing loneliness or other social connections instead.

As things stand, I plan to have surgery on August 19. I hope when I awake from anesthesia that the first faces I see will be family. If so, it will be another day worth living.

Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.

You can email Bruce via the Contact Form.

Short Stories: Grandpa, Can I Play with The Boat?

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noahs ark

My partner, Polly’s late father, an Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) pastor, was handy with his hands — roofing houses, remodeling homes, building knick-knacks, constructing baby cradles, and making toys for his grandchildren. Lee’s favorite thing to make was a wooden version of Noah and the Ark, complete with animals. We still own one of the Arks, one Dad made for our youngest son Josiah, thirty years ago. This Ark has been beat-up, misused, and abused, but it is the type of toy that is virtually indestructible.

Fast forward to today. Our youngest daughter and her three children were over last weekend to visit. . .

Ezra (who is six): Grandpa?

Grandpa: Yes?

Ezra: Can I play with the boat?

Grandpa (puzzled): The boat?

Ezra: The one with the animals.

Grandpa (Still puzzled)

Ezra’s mother starts laughing

Laura: He’s talking about Noah’s Ark and the animals.

Grandpa (laughing): Sure.

As I later pondered this short exchange with my grandson, I was pleased with how far we have come as a family. Ezra doesn’t attend church. He’s never been indoctrinated or fed a steady dose of fictional Bible stories passed off as historical fact. Ezra had never heard of Noah’s Ark before. All he knew about was the wooden boat with animals in the closet upstairs.

This is progress. The curse has been broken.

Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.

You can email Bruce via the Contact Form.

Short Stories: Go Get in the Car, I’ll be Right Out

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beater station wagon
$200 beater. Polly HATED this car.

My wife, Polly, and I are the parents of six children — four boys and two girls. We have two distinct families: our three oldest sons, then our two daughters and youngest son. There are almost nine years between these “families” of ours. Their experiences as the children of Bruce and Polly Gerencser, an ordained Baptist pastor and his wife, vary greatly.

Polly and our oldest three sons often went with me when I visited church families. I visited every family in the church at least once a year. I wanted them to get to know me personally, away from the church and pulpit.

I love to talk. I used to apologize for this trait, but I no longer do so. Being talkative is who I am. I am not boorish, only talking about myself. When visiting with congregants, I was interested in hearing about their families, their needs, and their spiritual struggles. Sometimes, I would spend an hour or two with church members, depending on what they want to talk about.

Much like an airplane circling an airport, getting ready to land, I would eventually know it was time to leave. Polly and the boys said to themselves countless times, “Finally. We can go home.” Several minutes later, I uttered the words my dear children hated hearing from me: “Go get in the car, and I will be right out!” Inwardly they groaned, knowing that the airplane wasn’t ready to land; that Dad wouldn’t make it to the car for another fifteen minutes.

You see, I like to talk. I genuinely enjoy conversing with people. As I would get up to leave, all of a sudden a question or comment would stop me in my tracks, and a “forever” (according to the way my children kept time) later I was still talking.

Being a part of a strict patriarchal family, neither Polly nor our sons objected to being left in the car. Today, I suspect my sons would say “I ain’t going anywhere until you get in the car,” and Polly would likely say, “Hey, Bud, I’m not getting in the car until you do.” Such protestations would have been impossible when we had a “Biblical” family, but today I hope they would demand I respect their time.

While Polly and I, along with our oldest sons, reminiscence about the good old days when I said ” Go get in the car, and I will be right out” we all laugh, but I can’t help but think in my heart that I wish I had never walked out of countless doors without Polly and our boys in hand.  I wish I had shown them more respect and less authority.

Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.

You can email Bruce via the Contact Form.

2023: A Few Family Photos From an Atheist and His Heathen Wife Who Have No Meaning and Purpose in Their Lives

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Our children and their girlfriends and spouses, along with our thirteen grandchildren, were over to celebrate Father’s Day on Sunday. We had a delightful time. On Monday we drove to Cincinnati to watch the Reds play the Colorado Rockies.

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Bruce Gerencser at Great American Ballpark, June 19, 2023

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Polly and Bruce Gerencser, Father’s Day 2023.

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Polly and Bruce Gerencser, Great American Ballpark, June 19, 2023

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Our children, ages thirty to forty-four, Father’s Day 2023

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Our grandchildren, ages three to twenty-two, Father’s Day, 2023

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Our grandchildren, ages three to twenty-two, Father’s Day, 2023

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Our older grandchildren, ages fifteen, seventeen, seventeen, and twenty-two, Father’s Day, 2023

As you can see, the Gerencser family lives empty, purposeless lives. While some of us are religious, most of us are not. None of us are Evangelical, nor are we fans of much of what we see in organized religion. Thank God, the curse has been broken.

The next time an Evangelical tells me my life is worthless without Jesus, I will point them to these pictures and say, “Sure buddy, keep telling yourself that.” I live a happy, fulfilling life, one filled with love, all without Jesus and the church. Impossible, you say? The evidence is right in front of you, much like Jesus when he said “here are the nail prints in my hands. Will you not believe?” Or do you have an agenda; a strawman you must maintain at all costs?

Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.

You can email Bruce via the Contact Form.

1957-2020: Christmas Memories

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christmas tree new lexington 1985
Our Christmas Tree, 1984, New Lexington, Ohio

Christmas has played a part in my life ever since I entered the world in June of 1957. In this post, I want to detail some of my memories of Christmas.

As a child, Christmas at the Gerencser home was a typical American Christmas. Family, food, and gifts. While there were never many gifts, my siblings and I always received several presents from our parents. My Dad filmed many Christmases with his 8mm movie camera. Sadly, after Dad died in 1985, the movies were either lost or destroyed.

In the 1960s Christmas at our home changed, and not for the best. My grandfather on my mom’s side remarried. My grandmother remarried several times, but was divorced by the late 1960s. My grandparents on my Dad’s side died in 1963. Grandpa Gerencser died February 1, 1963 and Grandma Gerencser died a month later on March 5. I was left with Grandpa and Grandma Tieken and Grandma Rausch for Christmas, and they didn’t get along.

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Christmas, Dad with his 8 mm Movie Camera

In the 1940s, Grandpa Tieken and Grandma Rausch went through an acrimonious divorce — a divorce that resulted in neither parent being deemed fit to raise their children. They had two children, my mother Barbara, and her brother Steve. Their hateful acrimony was on full display in the 1960s when Bob and Barbara Gerencser gathered for Christmas with their three children — Butch (that’s me), Bobby, and Robin. Into our family gathering would come the grandparents, teeth bared, hateful towards each other — likely fueled by alcohol. The fighting got so bad that it became necessary for us to have two Christmas gatherings, one for each grandparent.

In the summer of 1970, we moved from Deshler, Ohio to Findlay, Ohio. In the spring of 1972, my parents divorced. Dad would marry a 19-year-old girl a few months later, and Mom would marry her first cousin — a recent Texas prison parolee. From this point forward until I entered college, I have no recollections of Christmas. I am sure we celebrated Christmas. I am sure we had a tree, perhaps gave gifts, etc., but I have no recollection of it.

In the fall of 1976, I left Bryan, Ohio, and moved to Pontiac, Michigan to enroll at Midwestern Baptist College, a Fundamentalist Christian college noted for training men for the ministry. In September of 1976, I began dating a beautiful 17-year-old freshman girl named Polly. She would be the last girl I dated, and two years later, in July of 1978, we married.

My first Christmas with Polly was in 1976. I drove from Bryan, Ohio, to Polly’s parent’s home in Newark, Ohio. Polly’s Dad, the late Lee Shope , was the assistant pastor at the Newark Baptist Temple, an IFB church pastored by her uncle Jim Dennis. The Shope/Robinson/Dennis family Christmas was a multifamily affair, with two sisters joining together to have the celebration. Christmas of 1976 was held at the home of Jim and Linda Dennis.

Being Polly’s boyfriend, I was a topic of discussion and inspection. Needless to say, I failed the inspection. I vividly remember Polly’s uncle letting the whole church know that I was there visiting Polly. He said, “Bruce and Polly have a shirttail relationship. We just don’t know how long the shirttail is.” While I have no doubt Jim was trying to be funny, Polly and I were thoroughly embarrassed. This coming year we will celebrate 45 years of marriage –so the shirttail has proven to be quite long and resilient.

As I entered the Dennis home, I was taken aback by how many gifts there were. Underneath the tree and flowing out from its trunk were countless gifts, more gifts than my siblings and I received our entire childhood. The number of gifts– what I would later label an “orgy to consumerism” — continued unabated for many Christmases.

Polly’s family was littered with Fundamentalist preachers — her dad, uncle, and grandfather, along with cousins who later became preachers or married one. They made sure they put a good word in for Jesus before the gift opening commenced. Every Christmas, one of the preachers, which later included Polly’s cousins and nephew, gave a short devotional reminding everyone that the birth of Jesus was the real meaning of Christmas. Interestingly, even though I was an Evangelical pastor for 25 years, I was never asked to give the devotional. Make of that what you will.

After Polly and I married in 1978, we began to develop our own Christmas traditions. We spent Christmas Eve with Polly’s parents and Christmas Day with either my family in Bryan, Ohio, or with my Mom at her home in Rochester, Indiana, and later Columbus, Ohio. Polly’s family Christmas continued to be marked by the gift-giving orgy and lots of great food. Christmas with my Mom and family was a much more measured affair. Mom made sure her grandkids got several gifts, as did my grandparents and Aunt Marijene. Christmas at Mom’s house continued until around 1990 when she and her husband Michael moved to Michigan. The move was sudden and unexpected, and I came to understand later that they likely moved due to Michael’s shady business dealings with people who threatened to kill him.  Mom would commit suicide in April 1992, while living near my sister in Quincy, Michigan. Please see Barbara.)

Christmas 1983. Polly and I decided to have Christmas with my extended family at our home in Glenford, Ohio. I only remember two things from this Christmas: Grandpa and Grandma Tieken being their usual judgmental, pushy selves and Mom being upset with me because I made her go outside to smoke. This would be the first and last time my extended family came to our home. For the next decade, not one member of my extended family came to our home, save several visits by the Tiekens — whose visits were excruciatingly unpleasant and psychologically harmful. (Please see Dear Ann and John.)

Over time, I drifted away from my extended family. I began to see them as outsiders — people in need of salvation. I regret distancing myself from my family, but as with everything in the past, there are no do-overs. We continued going to my Mom’s for Christmas until she moved to Michigan. We continued going to Polly’s parents’ home for Christmas until circumstances forced us to stop going. I will detail those circumstances in a moment.

In the late 1980s, I came to the conclusion that Christmas was a pagan holiday, a holiday that no sold-out, on-fire Christian should ever celebrate. I unilaterally gave away all our Christmas decorations and we stopped giving our children gifts for Christmas. It’s not that we didn’t buy our children anything, we did. Our children, to this day, will joke that Christmas for them came when the income tax refund check showed up. Living in poverty with six children resulted in us, thanks to the Earned Income Tax Credit, receiving a large income tax refund. When the check arrived — an annual large infusion of cash into our bank account — we bought our children everything they needed — with “needed” being the operative word. While we bought our children clothes, shoes, underwear, and the like, we bought them very few toys. We left it to grandparents to buy those. We did make sure they had bicycles, BB guns, and firearms, but very few toys. Living as we did, 8 people in a 720-square-foot, battered, old trailer, required our children to spend a significant amount of time outside. Toys became whatever the kids picked up in the yard or woods. I have often wondered, looking at the wealth of toys our grandchildren have, if our children are not compensating for their childhood. I know, as we buy for our grandchildren, that we are.

During my “Christmas is a Pagan Holiday” years, I routinely disparaged the gift orgy that went on at Polly’s parent’s home.  At the time, I thought the money being spent on gifts could be better spent on evangelizing the lost. While I would later move away from the view that Christmas is a pagan holiday, I never lost the belief that many Christians are quite hypocritical when it comes to Christmas. Jesus is the Reason for the Season and Wise Men Still Seek Him, devout Christians tell us, but their orgiastic celebration of the true meaning of Christmas — consumerism — betrays what they really believe. After all, conduct reveals what we truly believe, right?

Over time, I allowed — remember, we were patriarchal in family structure — Polly to resume a low-key celebration of Christmas in our home. We had to buy new decorations because I gave all away our old antique decorations given to us by our mothers. For a time, we had an artificial Christmas tree. Since we moved back to rural Northwest Ohio in 2005, we have bought our tree each Christmas from the Lion’s Club in Bryan.

With my parents being dead, we spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with Polly’s parents. This abruptly changed in 2010. I left the ministry in 2003 and we abandoned Christianity in November 2008. In early 2009, I sent out my family-shattering letter, Dear Family Friends, and Former Parishioners. This letter fundamentally changed our relationship with Polly’s IFB family.

Christmas of 2009 was best remembered by a huge elephant in the middle of the room; that elephant being Polly and me and the letter I sent the family. No one said anything, but the tension was quite noticeable.

2010 found us, just like every year since 1978, at Polly’s parent’s home for Christmas Eve. This would be the last Christmas we would spend with Polly’s parents and her extended family. We decided to blend into the background, and besides short pleasantries, no one talked to us. Not that they didn’t want to. We found out later from one of our children that Polly’s uncle wanted to confront me about our defection from Christianity. Polly Mom’s put a kibosh on that, telling her brother-in-law that she had already lost one daughter and she was not going to lose another (Polly’s sister was killed in a motorcycle accident in 2005. Please see If One Soul Gets Saved It’s Worth It All.)

I appreciate Polly’s mom being willing to stand up to the man who is generally viewed as the spiritual head of the family (and a bully). I am glad she put family first. If Polly’s uncle had confronted me there surely would have been an ugly fight. Whatever our differences may be, I deeply respect Polly’s parents. They are kind, loving people, and I couldn’t ask for better in-laws.

Christmas of 2010 was two years after President Obama was elected to his first term. Polly’s family didn’t vote for him, and throughout the night they made known their hatred for the man, Democrats and liberals in general. Polly and I, along with many of our children, voted for Obama, so the anti-Obama talk and the subtle racism behind it made for an uncomfortable evening.

Most years, a gag gift is given to someone. This particular year, the gag gift, given to Polly’s uncle, was an Obama commemorative plate one of our nephews had bought on the cheap at Big Lots. One of Polly’s uncle’s grandchildren asked him what the plate was for. He replied, “to go poo-poo on” — poo-poo being the Fundamentalist word for shit. This was the last straw for us. (Please see The Family Patriarch is Dead: My Life with James Dennis.)

On our way home the next day, I told Polly that I couldn’t do it anymore and she said neither could she. We decided to stop going to Polly’s parent’s home for Christmas Eve. We do try to see her parents during the holiday season, but we no longer attend the family gathering on Christmas Eve. Making this decision saddened us, but we knew we had to make it. (By the way, our children still attend the Christmas Eve gathering.)

We moved back to Northwest Ohio in July of 2005. Since then, our family has gathered for Christmas at our home on the Sunday before Christmas. Doing this allows our children to avoid conflicts with their spouses’ family plans for Christmas.

These days, Christmas for Polly and me is all about family, especially the grand kids. For us, Christmas has become a celebration of love, a celebration of the gift of a wonderful family. While we do not believe in the Christian God, we still enjoy Christmas music and all the other trappings of the Christmas season. It’s a cultural thing — no need to complicate things with religious demands and obligations. When twenty-three people pile into our grossly undersized living room to open presents, we are reminded of how good we have it.

This Christmas, thanks to a raging pandemic, our children and grandchildren will not be at our home celebrating with us. We have all our shopping done, and we plan on Christmas Eve to deliver our grandchildren’s gifts to their homes. Well, their driveways, anyway. It’s hard not to feel lonely this holiday season, but I hope by next Christmas COVID-19 will be behind us.

How about you? How has the way you celebrate Christmas changed over the years? If you are now a non-Christian, how do you handle your Christian family? Please leave your experiences in the comment section.

Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.

You can email Bruce via the Contact Form.

Advice for Atheists: What to Do When Your Christian Family Won’t Respect You

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all-about-jesus

I listen to several atheist call-in shows on YouTube: The Atheist Experience, Talk Heathen, Matt Dillanhunty’s The Hang-Up, Jimmy Snow’s The Sometimes Show, and The Sunday Show on The Line. It is not uncommon for me to listen to these shows late at night when I am having trouble sleeping (which is EVERY night). It is not uncommon for atheists to call, asking for advice on how to handle their Fundamentalist Christian families — especially parents. I have heard heart-wrenching stories from atheists who have been kicked out of their parents’ homes, excommunicated from their families, and generally treated like dog shit on the bottom of a shoe.

I have concluded that many expressions of Christianity cause otherwise decent people to treat their unbelieving children, grandchildren, siblings, nephews, nieces, and cousins with disregard and disrespect. And even when behavior doesn’t go this far, atheists often feel marginalized and walled off from those they love. All because they no longer worship the family/tribal deity or refuse to go to church on Sunday. And it is worse yet for atheists who are also politically progressive/liberal or who are LGBTQ.

My parents died years ago, so my deconversion played no part in our relationship. While both of my siblings believe in God, religion is very rarely talked about. Neither of them regularly attends church. On the other hand, Polly’s family are, for the most part, devout, church-going Independent Fundamentalist Baptists. Polly’s father was an IFB preacher. He and I started a church together, Emmanuel Baptist Church in Buckeye Lake, Ohio, in the early 1980s. Dad died last November. Mom still attends an IFB church, the Newark Baptist Temple.

In November 2008, Polly and I walked out of the doors of the Ney United Methodist Church for the last time. We had reached the end of the proverbial line. Not sure what we had become, we were certain that we were no longer Bible-believing Christians. Several months later, in a letter titled Dear Family, Friends, and Former Parishioners, I informed those who knew us that we were no longer Christians. Not long after that, I began calling myself an atheist. This letter caused immediate outrage. We feel its reverberations to this day. Ironically, most of Polly’s IFB family, including pastors, evangelists, missionaries, and their spouses, took what I call the silent approach. For the most part, Polly’s family pretends that there is not a ginormous rainbow-colored godless two-trunked, six-leg elephant in the middle of the room. It has been over twelve years since Polly’s parents learned of our unbelief. Four thousand-plus days, and not one question or conversation about why we are no longer Christians. Outside of being told, “we are praying for you,” Polly’s parents and extended family ignore our unbelief (and that’s preferable to how some atheists are treated by their Christian families).

In the early days of our unbelief, Polly’s mom would invite her to come to special church events (even though we live 3 hours away), and when we visited on a Sunday, she would ask if we would go to church with her. It’s been years since Mom has asked us to attend her church or asked Polly to come to a Mother-Daughter Tea. I suspect that she has resigned herself to the fact that we aren’t interested in such things. Last year, Mom — during a hospital stay where death was a real possibility — did tell Polly that she hoped we would come back to Jesus and get back in church. I snarkily told Polly to tell her, sure. We are now Muslims. 🙂 What Polly’s mom wants, of course, is for us to come back to her brand of Jesus, and start attending a Bible-believing, Bible-preaching Baptist church. That ain’t going to happen — ever.

We live with the fact that there will always be a huge God-shaped hole in the middle of our relationship. And not just with Polly’s mom and extended family. We have six grown children, ages twenty-seven to forty-two. Outside of our oldest son, not one of our children has had an honest sit-down discussion with us about our beliefs and why we are no longer Christians. (Maybe, reading my blog satisfies this need, but I have my doubts about whether many of them read my writing.) Granted, only two of our six children regularly attend church (Catholic and Southern Baptist). Maybe our unbelief just doesn’t matter to them. However, a short conversation with one of my sons last year led me to conclude that some of our children and their spouses do not understand why we walked away from the ministry and later deconverted.

Polly and I are determined to live open, authentic lives. If people want to know “why,” we are more than willing to share our reasons and motivations with them. There are no secrets when it comes to our defection from the One True Faith®. Our children know that we won’t be cowed into doing things we don’t want to do, and that includes baptisms, confirmations, and church programs. Polly will, at times, attend such things, but I do not — ever. If that makes me a bad father or grandfather, I don’t know what to tell them.

All in all, I am fine with the relationship I have with my children and their spouses, siblings, Polly’s mom, and our extended families. I wish we could be openly atheistic around family, but I am willing to set aside my beliefs when around them (unless asked) for the sake of maintaining harmonious, peaceful relationships. Some atheists, however, don’t have this option. Their Christian families are openly hostile towards their unbelief. I know of atheists who are brutalized in Jesus’ name every time they come into contact with their Christian families. Viewed as unsaved or backslidden, these atheists are often evangelization targets. Sometimes, their Christian parents sic their pastors on them, thinking the man of God can rope them and drag them back to church. Another steer corralled for Jesus. Amen? Amen! Is it any wonder many ex-Christians need years of therapy to deal with how their Christian families treat them?

Most atheists want love, kindness, and respect from their Christian families. Surely, that’s not too much to ask, right? Unfortunately, in some families, Jesus, the Bible, and the church are more important than having good relationships with unbelieving family members. Many Evangelicals believe that blood is not thicker than water, that their church families are their “real” families. Over the years, I have watched the harm caused to Polly by this kind of thinking. Polly’s sister died in a tragic motorcycle accident in 2005, so she is her mother’s only living daughter. Yet, Polly’s mom acts as if her IFB Christian granddaughters and nieces are her “real” daughters. I can’t tell you how many times I have watched Polly’s mom treat her like she is the proverbial ugly stepchild with hurtful words and behaviors. It wouldn’t surprise me if Polly never talked to her mom again. But she does. Why? Because she loves her. And on those Sundays when she doesn’t want to talk to her mom, I encourage her to do so, reminding her that someday soon her mom will be gone.

Polly’s favorite uncle, Art, died in 1994 at fifty-one from viral heart disease. Polly asked her mom if she could have one memento to remember Art, a glass elephant. That’s it. (We are not big on such stuff.) Art collected glass, so he had all sorts of expensive glass collectibles. Over the past twenty years, Polly has, from time to time, asked about the elephant. Polly’s mom gave her all sorts of excuses (lies) about the elephant’s whereabouts, finally saying it had been sold years ago. Imagine Polly’s surprise and heartbreaking disappointment when she learned that the elephant was very much “alive,” having been sold at an auction earlier this year. She would never have known this had it not been for the fact that after Art’s glass was auctioned off and the unsold items picked through my Mom’s “real” family, Polly was offered the leftovers no one wanted. (And there’s a reason no one wanted them. Anyone want some famous composers plates. All six for $100 plus shipping if you want them.) In the tub of leftovers was an inventory of the items sold at auction (for thousands of dollars). On that list? Yep, a glass elephant.

While this may seem a small matter to some of you, it crushed my wife. Being constantly treated as less-than will do that to you. When you see other women in the family treated as daughters, and you are just an afterthought (except when a fucking mess needs to be cleaned up), it’s hard to not feel hurt and marginalized. Polly will never say to her mom or extended family what I have written here, but I will. Why? Because Polly is a wonderful person, a loving, caring mother, daughter, aunt, and cousin — even when treated as less-than, due to unbelief, lack of church attendance, or Loki forbid, whom she is married to. (God, if she had just married someone else she would still be a Christian!) If Polly said to me, “I am done with my family,” I would understand.

With the aforementioned story in mind, let me try to bring this post to a conclusion. Family relationships, even the best of them, are complex. In families where religion is front and center 24-7, family relationships are often fraught with conflict. Unbelievers walk on eggshells, fearing saying or doing the “wrong” thing will result in hostility, correction, or rebuke. What’s an unbeliever to do?

Some atheists refuse to cower to Jesus and the Bible. This, of course, often leads to open warfare. Sometimes, this warfare destroys relationships. I know some atheists who have not seen or spoken to their Christian families in years. This is especially true for atheist LGBTQ people. When your parents or siblings view you as a vile, sinful reprobate, it is hard to have a healthy relationship with them.

When atheists write to me for advice about how to deal with their Christian families, I typically ask them several things:

  • Do you want to have a relationship with your family?
  • Does your atheism matter to you?
  • Are acceptance and respect important to you?
  • Are you willing to endure unwanted attacks and badgering from religious family members?
  • Are your Christian parents, grandparents, siblings, and extended family willing to have an open, honest discussion with you about why you are an atheist?
  • How much time are you willing to devote to having a relationship with your Christian family.
  • Do the benefits outweigh the costs?

How atheists answer these questions, and others, will guide them in how best to measure their relationship with Christian family members. Some atheists are like Polly, willing to endure mistreatment for the sake of maintaining family relationships. Others, unwilling to be misused and abused in Jesus’ name, will have frank discussions with their families, defining boundaries that MUST be maintained if there are to be continued relationships. And some atheists will conclude that it is impossible to have relationships with their Christian families. No path is the right one. Every atheist must determine for themselves what, if any, relationships they want to have with Christian family members. Atheists might find that it is possible to maintain relationships with some Christian family members, but not others. Twenty years ago, I ended my relationship with my Fundamentalist Christian grandparents. John and Ann were/are awful people, judgmental assholes. (Please see Dear Ann and John.) I have not regretted telling them to take a hike. I am quite happy that none of my thirteen grandchildren know them. They will never have to endure the indignities dished out by John and Ann Tieken.

I hope atheist and agnostic readers of this post will share how they handle their relationships with Christian family members in the comment section. Knowing how others deal with their Christian families will be helpful.

Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.

You can email Bruce via the Contact Form.

Dear Family and Friends: Why I Can’t and Won’t Go to Church 

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no church

To those who call me Bruce, Butch, Dad, or Grandpa:

In November 2008, Polly and I attended church for the last time. Since then, I have walked through the doors of a church three times, once for a baby baptism, and twice for a funeral. All three experiences left me angry and irritated.

The first service was a baby baptism at a local Catholic church. I thought, Bruce, ignore the bullshit, you are there to support your children. I was fine until the priest began exorcising the devil out of my granddaughter. I wanted to scream, but I didn’t. After the service, I made up my mind that I would never again attend such a service. No baptisms, no confirmations, no dedications, no nothing. Nada, zero, zip. All of my children and extended family know this. Polly is free to attend any or none of these services, but I can’t and I won’t.

The last two services were funerals. One was the funeral of my sexual predator uncle. The local Baptist preacher preached my uncle right into heaven. (I wrote about that here: Dear Pastor, Do You Believe in Hell.) The second service was for Polly’s fundamentalist uncle. Nice guy, but the service was all about Jesus, complete with a sermon and call to salvation. Again, I wanted to scream, but I reminded myself that I was there to support our family.

I’ve decided I can suck it up and endure the Jesus talk for the sake of family. I know there are a lot of funerals in our future, that is if the rapture doesn’t take place. I wish it would so there would be no Christians left to bother me. I’ll do my best to support my family in their hour of grief; however, anyone who tries to evangelize me does so at their own risk. I refuse to be bullied by sanctimonious Bible thumpers who think they are salvation dispensing machines.

I’ve decided that I will walk through the door of a church for two events: funerals and weddings. That’s it. I don’t do church, and the sooner family, friends, and local Christian zealots understand this the better. If the event doesn’t say funeral or wedding, I ain’t going. I can’t and I won’t. If this causes someone to be angry, upset, or irritated, there is nothing I can do about it. That’s their problem.

You see, twelve years ago I said to my family, “you are free.” (Please see Dear Family, Friends, and Former Parishioners.) Be who and what you want to be. Be/stay a Christian, choose another religion or philosophical system, or choose nothing at all. With freedom comes choice. It seems the religious love their choice. They find great benefit, purpose, and meaning, through their particular religion. That’s great. If it makes them happy, then I am happy. But, shouldn’t I be afforded the same freedom and happiness? Why shouldn’t my wife and I have the freedom to NOT participate in church services, rituals, and the like?

Suppose I worship the Cat God Purr. Once a year, all the Purrites get together at my house for a very special service. Part of our ritual is the sacrifice of a female cat. Much like the Israelites in the Bible with their blood sacrifices to Jehovah, we offer up a cat as our sacrifice to Purr. Afterward, we roast the cat and eat it, and in doing so we are taking into our body and soul the blood and body of Cat God Purr.

Now imagine me inviting my Christian family to the service. I let them know when the service is and how important it is to me for them to be there. I also let them know that I would like them to partake of the roasted cat so they too could have inside of them the blood and body of the Cat God Purr. Can you imagine how they would respond?

First, in their eyes Purr is a false God. Second, the cat roasting ritual is barbaric and offensive. While I may invite them to the service, I would certainly understand if they didn’t come. Why? Because my God is not their God and I respect their right to believe whatever they want to believe. 

It seems if people are atheists, they are not afforded the same decency and respect. Did Polly and I become lesser persons, parents, or grandparents the moment we stopped believing? Does our relationship with family and friends hinge on us sitting our ass in a pew for ten minutes or an hour? Frankly, I refuse to let any particular circumstance harm a relationship. If someone asks me to go to a church service or a ritual and I say no and they never ask me again, it’s no big deal. However, once someone knows that I do NOT attend such services and they continue to ask me anyway, this tells me that they do not respect me.

I spent 50 years in the Christian church and 25 years in the ministry. I’ve had enough church to last me ten lifetimes. The best way for the religious and the nonreligious to get along is for both sides to compartmentalize their beliefs. I don’t talk about religion/atheism/humanism with my Christian family and friends unless they ask. If they ask, I will gladly give my opinion or share my viewpoint. I am not going to invite them to hear Sam Harris speak, nor am I going to give them Bart Ehrman’s books. If they ask or want to know, that’s different, but if they don’t then I choose to focus on the other things we have in common and leave religion/atheism in the closet. Christian family and friends need to do the same. If I ask, then by all means tell me. If not, let’s focus on the things we have in common. Life is too short to have conflict over religion.

I subscribe to the when-in-Rome-Do-as-the-Romans-Do rule. When I am at a Christian’s home and they offer up a prayer to their deity, I respectfully bow my head. It’s their home and they are free to do what they want. Yes, I have an opinion about God and prayer, but their home is not the place to share it. The same goes for my home. We are not religious, we are not Christian. We don’t pray over our meals, nor do we give the gods one thought before we eat. While we do allow Polly’s dad to pray over the meal when he is here, that is out of respect for him. No big deal, just one more prayer hitting the ceiling. Thousands are already embedded in the paint, what’s one more?

When Christians come to my home, they shouldn’t expect me to change how I live or how I talk. I shouldn’t have to change the music I am listening to, change the TV channel, or remove books from the bookshelf. This is our home, and anyone, even family, who walks through the door is a guest. And the same goes for the Christian’s home. If I visit there, I don’t expect them to do anything different from what they normally do. I respect their space, their freedom.

Freedom is supposed to be a two-way street. Unfortunately, for many Christians it is a one-way street called Their Way. They want the freedom to worship their God and practice their faith, but they don’t want to grant others the same freedom. Of course, I know why. They think they have the truth and Polly and I are on a false path that leads to judgment, hell, and eternal punishment. They don’t want us to continue driving on the highway that leads to perdition. But, here’s the thing . . . we don’t think we are on the highway to hell. Since we don’t believe there is a God, it naturally follows that we don’t believe in hell, judgment, heaven, or eternity. It’s up to us to determine what road we want to travel, and for Polly and me, we are quite happy to drive on the road named Reason.

Let me conclude this post with a personal thought about church services in general and why I can’t and won’t attend them.  First, I know the Bible inside and out. I have a theological education, an education that began at a Bible college and continued through the 25 years I spent pastoring churches. So, when I hear preachers and priests preach, I can spot the bullshit from a mile away. I also have little tolerance for preachers who lack the requisite skills necessary to craft a good sermon and deliver it. In my opinion, there’s lots of anemic, pathetic preaching these days. Second, I find many of the rituals offensive. Casting the devil out an infant? Washing away sin with water? Services that are all show and no substance? Vows that are uttered and become lies before the service is over?  Wine and wafers turning into real blood and flesh? Magic wand rituals and practices that pretend to make the past go away and make the present brand new? Preachers, pastors, bishops, and priests touching a person and conferring some sort of divine power? All of these things are offensive to me. They are reminders to me of the bankruptcy of religion and why I want nothing to do with it.

I know that I can’t force people to accept me as I am, but I can choose how and when I interact with them. Years ago, I was listening to Dr. Laura and a grandmother called up complaining about her daughter-in-law. Dr. Laura told her to quit her bitching. If she didn’t, she risked not being able to see her grandchildren. That was good advice and I remembered it years later when my fundamentalist step-grandmother called me. I wrote about this in the post Dear Ann:

. . . For his seventy-fifth birthday you had a party for Grandpa. You called a few days before the party and told me that if I was any kind of grandson at all that my family and I would be at the party. Never mind Polly would have to take off work. Never mind the party was on a night we had church. All that mattered to you was that we showed up to give Grandpa’s birthday party an air of respectability.

I remember what came next like it was yesterday. The true Ann rose to the surface and you preceded to tell me what a terrible grandson I was and how terrible my family was. You were vicious and vindictive.

Finally, after forty years, I had had enough. I told you that you should have worried about the importance of family twenty years ago. I then told you that I was no longer interested in having any contact with you or Grandpa. Like my mother, I decided to get off the Tieken drama train…

That’s what can happen when we push, badger, and cajole. I am an atheist, not a Christian, and will likely remain so until I die. My family and friends need to come to terms with this, and if they don’t, then it’s on them if they ruin our relationship.

When our children married, we vowed that we would NEVER be meddling parents/grandparents. If we offer our opinion on something, we do it once. That’s it. Unless someone asks, we don’t say another word. Every person in my family has the right to live freely and authentically. Yes, they make decisions that I think are foolish, but it’s their life and they are free to live it any way they want. Whether it is Polly’s parents, our children, our daughters-in-law, or our grandchildren, we don’t meddle in their lives. We want them to be happy. If they are happy, then we are happy.

All that I want is the freedom to live my life authentically. Surely, that’s not too much to ask.

Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.

You can email Bruce via the Contact Form.

Christians Say the Darnedest Things: What Satan Wants by Lori Alexander

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lori alexander

Satan wants abortion to murder those babies.

Satan wants those babies in daycares being given bottles by strangers.

Satan wants mothers to have careers and the children to be raised in public schools where God is not allowed to be mentioned.

Satan wants children to be brought up in the ways of the world.

Satan wants to destroy the home by having it sit empty all day long and where strife reigns between the couples at night.

Satan hates marriage and wants perpetually singleness for young adults.

Satan wants the wife to rule her husband.

Satan wants foolish women who tear their homes down.

Satan celebrates divorce.

Satan hates the family and wants to destroy it.

….

Satan wants children to be raised without a father.

Satan convinces couples that children are a burden and an inconvenience, and they need to use birth control to prevent having many, if any, children.

Satan wants a mother’s career to take top priority.

Satan wants mothers’ hearts to be turned toward what society has to offer.

God’s will is good, and acceptable, and perfect. Satan’s goal is to kill, steal, and destroy.

— Lori Alexander, The Transformed Wife, Satan is Doing Everything to Destroy the Home, January 5, 2019

Simply put, in Lori Alexander’s world, any belief different from hers is Satanic; and lifestyle different from hers is Satanic; and family structure different from hers is Satanic.

Christians Say the Darnedest Things: All Liberals Are Self-Centered

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john horvat ii

Conservatives often blame liberals for the breakdown in society today. After all, liberals challenged an order that existed and replaced it with a situation that is now unraveling.

This unraveling can be traced to the efforts of liberal activists to influence legislation and elections and to liberal control of the media that shape the debate.

….

One characteristic of the liberal mind is its gradualist progression away from the objective truth. In its early stages, the liberal mind does not deny the existence of objective truth outright. Instead, liberals deplore its rigidity. Instead, they offer half-truths that mitigate the hard-hearted attitudes of conservatives, smoothing the slide into error. The liberal mind likewise does not initially embrace error but is drawn toward and harbors sympathy for it.

….

A second characteristic of the liberal mind is that it does not seek objective and external truths that explain reality. Liberals seek instead only those conclusions that please them. They search for perspectives that fit their temperaments, lifestyles and ways of being. These are the thoughts that guide their lives.

….

The liberal mind gives rise to a mode of action which is easily defined. The foundation of liberal action is a distorted vision of freedom that consists of doing only what one wants to do.

Thus, liberal action tends to be relativistic and subjective, following the whims of the individual. It can be imaginative and fantasy-driven when a person takes the action to its final consequences.

Liberal action is also characterized by a spirit of doubt toward that which does not correspond to personal whims. Such doubt, however, is never directed toward that which does not please liberal whims.

The final characteristic of the liberal mind is a dislike of rules and laws. Law by definition is restrictive.

Law consists of those reasonable precepts coming from a competent authority to which all must conform for the sake of the common good. Rules and laws upset the liberal mind, which feels attacked by them.

Thus, liberals dislike anything that imposes restraint such as laws, manners or morals. In more advanced stages, even the restrictive nature of clothing or grammar can irritate the sensibilities of the liberal mindset.

This explains the liberal hostility to the Church and traditional notions of religion. God is the First Lawgiver and punishes those who sin against His Commandments. The liberal mind prefers a god for whom nothing is a sin. This god is one of the liberals own making. In their view, he radiates compassion, not justice.

While these four psychological characteristics differ, they do have a common trait. They all are self-centered.

What governs liberal minds and actions are the dictates of each individual’s ideas, tastes and desires. The individual is the center of everything. Each person determines right and wrong, truth and error.

….

The problem today is that half-truths now dominate and error is pushing the envelope ever closer to chaos. The liberal mind naturally leads to anarchy when taken to its final consequences. It admits no authority other than its own. It will accept no law nor respect any institution that encroaches upon the individual “right” to do whatever one wants.

— John Horvat II, CNS News, Four Characteristics of the Liberal Mind That Are Destroying Society, September 20, 2018

John Horvat II is the vice president of the American Society for the Defense of Tradition, Family, and Property — a Fundamentalist Catholic group dedicated to advancing right-wing political causes.

How Many Grandchildren Do We “Really” Have?

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grandchildren 2017
Our eleven Grandchildren, Easter 2017

My wife and I have twelve grandchildren, ranging in age from two months to seventeen years. Each one of these precious children is part of the Gerencser family. Polly and I have never made a distinction between grandchildren and step-grandchildren. We’ve never understood this obsession with blood children. If a child is part of one of our children’s families, he or she is our grandchild. It matters not to us if Gerencser sperm or egg played a part in their conception. We have never said of our grandchildren, even one time, that this or that child is a step-grandchild. Come Christmas, every grandchild is treated equally. We’ve never had the thought of treating some of our grandchildren differently because they were not 100% Gerencser. Unfortunately, Polly’s Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) family views things differently.

Polly and I recently traveled to Newark, Ohio to visit her mom in the hospital. My mother-in-law was scheduled for cancer surgery, and the day before surgery she developed heart problems which landed her in the hospital. Unbeknownst to me, Polly’s mom asked her how many grandchildren we had. When Polly said twelve, her mom replied, “yeah but all of them aren’t yours.” Polly replied, “yes they are,” to which her mom replied, “well, you know…. ” If I had been there I would’ve likely asked, “know what?” Of course, both Polly and I already know the answer to this question. In Polly’s parents’ minds, it’s blood that matters. This has been a common theme throughout the years. My youngest daughter received the same treatment the next day when asked about her oldest daughter — a child from a previous relationship of her husband. Much like her parents, our daughter does not make a distinction between stepchildren and “real” children. It’s absurd and offensive to even think this way. I like to think that this is a generational issue; one where older generations believe blood and name matter and that children and grandchildren who aren’t their blood or don’t carry their name shouldn’t expect the same kind gift or money on birthdays or Christmas as those who have the proper pedigree. I’ve come to the conclusion that there is no hope of fixing this type of thinking apart from death. As with many social ills, it takes the death of a generation to get beyond them.

ezra martin august 2017
Ezra, our latest grandchild, two months old. Born six-weeks premature, he was released from NICU several weeks ago and he is now packing on the weight.

Polly and I have two grandchildren who have either a different father or mother than a Gerencser. One grandchild is seventeen and will graduate from high school this coming spring. This girl has been in our lives since she was a toddler. She may have a different name, but she is very much a part of our lives. My son and her mother went through divorce last year. There’s no Gerencser in the home; that is, except our four grandchildren. No matter who marries whom and what happens in the future, there’s a hard, fast rule in our family: once a Gerencser, always a Gerencser. It is cruel for someone to be a part of a child’s life for years, and then, due to divorce or other social upheaval, walk away from him or her. I’ve never understood people who can do this. When our granddaughter graduates in the spring, we will be there. When she plays basketball games this winter, we will be there. Whatever comes her way — today, tomorrow, or a decade from now — we will be there. The same goes for our four-year-old step-granddaughter. We have known her pretty much from birth. She is every bit as much our grandchild as any of our grandchildren who have the “proper” DNA. We will be in her life from preschool to the day that she says “I do” — that is, if we live long enough. You see, what grandchildren really need is love and support; and Polly and I have enough of that for all of them. We wish that Polly’s family had the same, but they don’t, and it’s their loss. They are missing out on wonderful opportunities to have awesome relationships with two beautiful children. It makes me wonder about all their talk about the love of Jesus for sinners. Are these children not sinners worthy of love? And if their daughter and son-in-law say “these are ours,” shouldn’t they accept that and do all they can to be the best great-grandparents possible? I will never understand the kind of thinking that divides families according to DNA. I don’t get it, and I never will.

For a number of years, Polly and I took in foster kids. At the time, we had three children of our own. Many of these children were teenagers. Some of them were with us for weeks, but others were long-term placements. Our three children have many memories of their experiences with JR, Steve, Floyd, Roseann, Tonya, and Linda. For a number of months, a black girl by the name Tracy lived with us. Her placement was unusual because this made her the only black child in the school district. When our first two children were very young, a troubled church girl lived with us for almost a year. Years later, she would tell someone we knew that we made a big difference in her life. It’s gratifying to hear from children who lived with us, thanking us for loving them. And therein lies the core issue for Polly and me. These children, regardless of whom their parents were or what horrific experiences they had their life, we loved them as if they were our own children. Granted, some of the teenagers who went through our home didn’t want our love. In fact, they didn’t want anything from us. But we loved them anyway. Why? First, because of Jesus. We believed, at the time, that Jesus loved everyone; and if Jesus loved everyone, so should we. Second, it was inconceivable to us that we could love one child more than another. Who thinks like this? “Oh, you have the right DNA so I’m gonna love you more than these children who are placed in our home after being raped by their stepfather or abused by their parents”? Where’s the Christianity in that kind of thinking?

Here’s what I know: Bruce and Polly Gerencser are going to love every child that comes into their lives, regardless of their lineage. By God, if we can unconditionally love the feral cats that frequent our backyard and care for them spring, summer, fall, and winter, we can certainly — without reservation and a test from 23andMe — unconditionally love our grandchildren — all twelve of them. That’s just how we are, and we feel sorry for people who can’t see beyond the names on birth certificates.