As many of you know, I had major surgery on my spine in August. By all accounts, the surgery was a success. Three months later, I am still recovering from the surgery. That said, I am being hammered on every side by chronic pain, gastroparesis, exocrine pancreatic insufficiency (EPI), fibromyalgia, and degenerative spine disease — all of which are incurable. These diseases are my cross to bear. My cross is increasingly heavy, leaving me, some days, in despair. I am also having a blood pressure problem. I am on three blood pressure medications, yet it wildly fluctuates. My primary care doctor made several adjustments to my medications, hoping this will lead to better numbers.
Thanks to a major gastroparesis flare-up and EPI, I am constantly nauseous, and since October 1, I have lost twenty-five pounds. I am on protein supplement shakes so I get enough calories in my diet.
For these reasons, my ability to write is limited, as I am sure you have noticed. My writing production has dropped precipitously. There’s little I can do other than hope for a better day. I saw a new pain doctor who put me on a buprenorphine patch, which is slowly being titrated. The doctor required that I stop using cannabis, which had helped with my pain and nausea. The doctors giveth, the doctors taketh away.
I am woefully behind on answering emails and sending thank-you notes to donors. I apologize for my tardiness, but there’s nothing I can do to change things. I hope things get better soon, and if and when they do, I will do my best to catch up on my correspondence. In time, I hope I can return to a fuller writing schedule. For now, what you see is what you get.
By the way, Polly will have her right knee replaced on December 30. She will be off work for eight weeks.
I appreciate your understanding as I navigate this new normal in my life.
Your kindness, love, and support are greatly appreciated.
Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen 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.
Life is like a spinning plate. In normal circumstances, the plate as it spins is balanced and in control. Occasionally, the plate will become overloaded or unbalanced, but with time will balance itself out, and life will continue along with little to no spillage from the plate.
For people battling chronic illness and pain, their spinning plate is dissimilar to that of many people. Thanks to struggles with pervasive illnesses and unrelenting pain, their plates are already full, spinning wobbly, sending the contents of the plate every which way, and, sometimes, propelling the plate into the wall or floor. Daily, small things are added to the plate, causing further imbalance. The plate owner struggles to keep the plate spinning without crashing. Sometimes he succeeds, sometimes he doesn’t. And when he fails, he makes a mess for all to see, often leading to despair.
For me personally, it is the small things in life that often fuel my depression. I can handle big things, and big decisions. It is the small things that pile up on my plate, leading me to deep, dark — at times suicidal — times in my life; moments when I just want to die. Those are times when narcotic pain medications don’t work effectively or eating food of any type makes me sick or leads to vomiting. Last night, I spent the night into the morning hours in the bathroom — sixteen visits in all. Loose bowels and lack of sphincter muscle control . . . shitty bed, shitty clothes, shitty floors, shitty, shitty, shit everywhere. An accumulation of small things that left me in despair, not wanting to live another day. Fortunately, after dropping eight pounds in less than a day, things have returned to normal — whatever the hell “normal” means.
Every day, the small things change, but their effect on my life is the same, threatening to spin my life’s plate out of control. My therapist and I often talk about small things and how they affect my life. The goal, of course, is to lessen the number of small things in my life; to lessen the small things piling up on my plate. That’s easier said than done. When your bowels say shit, you shit. When your stomach says vomit, you vomit. When your legs and spine leave you writhing in pain, you writhe in pain. Contrary to what the positive mental attitude (PMA) prophets might say, some things are beyond our control. There’s little I can do to change how my body responds to food or nerve and joint pain. I can take medications or use mental techniques to redirect my pain, but there are times when nothing I do works. All I know to do is grit my teeth and hold on, hoping that my suffering will lessen. There’s no healing or deliverance on the horizon. All I can do is endure . . . until I no longer can do so.
I wish I had the luxury of sitting back and enjoying life, but when you have chronic health problems, you have no time to waste on the “good life.” I am at the place in life where I have tied a knot at the end of the rope, and I am hanging on for dear life. I love Polly; I love my children and their spouses; I love my grandchildren; I love my siblings. I live for them. I still have writing I want to do; and a book to finish. I still want to get my house in order, so that when the day comes that my plate comes crashing to the floor one last time, Polly won’t be left with a mess. As it stands now, if I died today, my demise would leave the love of my life in a difficult spot. She deserves better, and so do my children and grandchildren.
Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen 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.
Last week, I shared with readers my interaction with a former church member named Terry. Terry was a teenager and young adult in two churches I pastored in the 1980s and 1990s. You can read my responses to Terry here and here.
Terry decided to stop messaging me, leaving me with one final comment. After striking a conciliatory tone, Terry took issue with my use of swear words — three out of 3,000 words — saying, “Not sure why you have [to] drop foul language in you[r] blogs sounds ignorant and childish.” Sigh, right? (Please read Why I Use the Word “Sigh.”) It is almost always Fundamentalist Christians who get upset over my use of non-approved words. I addressed this subject in a post titled Evangelical Swear Words. I don’t use many swear words in my writing. If my sparse use of them offends you, then, by all means, stop frequenting this site. I wouldn’t want to cause any further anal clenching for you. 🙂
Terry also had one more judgment to hurl my way:
Have you considered your health might be a judgment from God.
Terry knows I have serious health problems. I explained all of these issues in my second response to him. Yet, he decided to say that the “real” reason for my suffering is that God is judging me. Terry is not the first Evangelical to make such a claim. How could Terry possibly know that my health problems are his peculiar God’s judgment on my life for walking away from Christianity? Only God could know this for sure, right? Yet, Terry and other Evangelicals, seem to think they can divine God’s will, purpose, and plan for what I have experienced in life.
While my gastroparesis and exocrine pancreatic insufficiency (EPI) diagnoses were determined in the past three years, everything else I am dealing with: fibromyalgia, osteoarthritis, high blood pressure, diabetes, neuropathy, and degenerative spine disease, all first showed their faces while I was still an Evangelical pastor. My debilitating pain predates my atheism. I was an on-fire, sold-out follower of Jesus when I saw a doctor who diagnosed me with fibromyalgia. I was twenty-one years old the first time I had a problem with my spine. Polly, my partner of forty-six years, has many “fond” memories of the years I spent battling pneumonia and never-ending problems with bronchitis. She fondly remembers me spending a night in the ICU for a suspected heart attack, only to, thankfully, hear I had pleurisy. She remembers me almost dying from mononucleosis in the early 1990s; hearing the internist at the hospital tell her that if my immune system didn’t pick up there was nothing he could do for me. She almost was a widow at a young age.
Evangelicals who say my health problems are God’s judgment seem to be clueless as to how their words are “heard”; either that, or they don’t care. Do they really believe that telling me that their peculiar God is inflicting me with pain and suffering for no other reason than I lack sufficient evidence to believe in or worship him will lead me back to Jesus?
I have a three-year-old redheaded grandson named Silas. He’s a handful. Silas has no fear of anything. He must be watched at all times. Our living room is small, 16’x20′. We have three lamps in the room, along with an overhead light. I HATE the overhead light. My grandkids know not to turn the light on when I am in the room. Not Silas. He will run over to the wall switch, give me a look — you know, THAT look — turn on the light, and run off. No matter what I say or do, Silas keeps flipping the switch. Mischief is his middle name, some sort of karmic payback for my own childhood mischief. If my mom were alive, she would be smiling.
Imagine if I determined to teach Silas a lesson about the overhead light. I decided that the next time Silas turned the light on I would break his arm. Boy, that would get his attention, right? This is EXACTLY what Evangelicals are saying when they say that God has afflicted me to get my attention or to teach me a lesson. What, exactly, did I ever do to God to deserve such punishment? Or is God okay with Bruce, the Evangelical-preacher-turned-atheist, and it is Evangelicals who want to see me suffer? Sadly, many Evangelicals are sadists. Unbelievers have what they can’t have, so they rail against them, uttering threats of suffering, death, and Hell.
If I broke Silas’ arm because he kept turning on the light, I would deserve to be arrested and locked up for my crime. So it is for the Evangelical deity who inflicts suffering on finite beings. If such a deity exists, he is unworthy of our worship.
As far as my pain and suffering coming from God is concerned, I wrote:
Let me circle back around to this idea that God gave me fibromyalgia, gastroparesis, and degenerative spine disease because he is trying to get my attention; that every night I writhe in pain in bed, unable to sleep, my suffering is a message of love from the Christian deity.
What’s with God “trying” to do anything? Is he weak and powerless, unable to do what he wants? If God is not willing that any should perish, how is possible that Bruce Gerencser, a frail, broken-down biped, can thwart God’s will? Surely God can easily and effortlessly reach me at any time. “Nothing is too hard for God” and “with God all things are possible,” the Bible says. Yet, it seems that saving me is too hard for God and that it is impossible for the Big Kahuna to reach me.
If my suffering is God trying to get my attention, does this mean that if I repent and put my faith and trust in Jesus, my chronic pain and illnesses will immediately and magically disappear? Crickets are all I hear from Evangelicals. They know there is no connection between my health problems and God. None. Shit happens, and this is my shit to deal with.
As I told one Evangelical zealot several weeks ago after she said she was praying God would totally heal me, if God heals me I will immediately repent and become a Christian. I will shutter this blog and immediately return to church. I might even become a pastor again. What a miraculous story I would have to tell. The Defiant Atheist Bruce Gerencser Brought to Repentance and Faith By God Delivering Him From Pain and Suffering!! What a story, right?
And a “story” it shall remain. As much as I would like to go to bed tonight without pain and debility, I know that God is not going to heal me. This is my lot in life, and no amount of praying will change this fact. God isn’t judging me. I am paying the price of admission to the human race. I accept that this is just how things are.
Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen 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.
Years ago, I had no email or comment guidelines for this site. This led to a wild, wild west feeling, of sorts, with Evangelical zealots daily sending me hateful, nasty emails and leaving comments with similar content. Over time, I established comment guidelines and asked readers NOT to contact me if they intended to preach, evangelize, or deconstruct my life.
If you would like to contact Bruce Gerencser, please use the following form. If your email warrants a response, someone will respond to you as soon as possible.
Due to persistent health problems, I cannot guarantee a timely response. Sometimes, I am a month or more behind on responding to emails. This delay doesn’t mean I don’t care. It does mean, however, that I can only do what I can do. I hope you understand.
To help remedy this delay in response, my editor, Carolyn, may respond to your email. Carolyn has been my editor for six years. She knows my writing inside and out, so you can rest assured that if your question concerns something I have written, Carolyn’s response will reflect my beliefs and opinions — albeit with fewer swear words.
I do not, under any circumstances, accept unsolicited guest posts. Think that I’m interested in letting you write a post with a link back to your site, I’m not.
I am not interested in receiving commercial email from you.
I am not interested in buying social media likes, speeding up my website, signing up for your Ad service, improving my SEO, or having you design a new blog theme for this site.
I will not send you money for your ministry, church, or orphanage. In fact, just don’t ask for money, period.
I know you stayed at a Holiday Inn last night, but you are not a medical professional, so please do not send me unsolicited medical or psychological advice. I am not interested — ever.
If you are an Evangelical Christian, please read Dear Evangelical before sending me an email. If you have a pathological need to evangelize, spread the love of Jesus, or put a good word in for the man, the myth, the legend named Jesus, please don’t. The same goes for telling me your church/pastor/Jesus is awesome. I am also not interested in reading sermonettes, testimonials, Bible verses, or your deconstruction/psychological evaluation of my life. By all means, if you feel the need to set me straight, start your own blog.
If you email me anyway — and I know you will, since scores of Evangelicals have done just that, showing me no regard or respect — I reserve the right to make your message and name public. This blog is read by thousands of people every day, so keep that in mind when you email me whatever it is you think “God/Jesus/Holy Spirit” has laid upon your heart. Do you really want your ignorance put on display for thousands of people to see? Pause before hitting send. Ask yourself, “how will my email reflect on Jesus, Christianity, and my church?”
Outside of the exceptions mentioned above, I promise to treat all correspondence with you as confidential. I have spent the last fourteen years corresponding with people who have been psychologically harmed by Evangelical Christianity. I am more than happy to come alongside you and provide what help I can. I am not, however, a licensed counselor. I am just one man with fifty years of experience as a Christian and twenty-five years of experience as an Evangelical pastor. I am more than happy to lend you what help and support I can.
Thank you for taking the time to contact me.
Adding this text to the Contact page greatly reduced the volume of my mail, though some readers ignore my requests and email me anyway. In their minds, all that matters is them putting in a word for Jesus or putting the Evangelical-preacher-turned-atheist Bruce Gerencser in his place. Generally, I use such emails for blog fodder or ignore them altogether.
I also receive emails from people who are determined to give me unsolicited medical advice — even though I ask them NOT to do so. Let me share with you a brief email exchange that took place recently:
Shari:Have you ever looked into the carnivore or lion diet for help with all of your health issues? I have heard many amazing recovery stories from this kind of elimination diet. MeatRX.com Just thought I’d pass it on in case you are at your wits in with the medical establishment and taking more and more prescriptions. Don’t know why, maybe God lead me to your site.
Bruce:My contact page says: “I know you stayed at a Holiday Inn last night, but you are not a medical professional, so please do not send me unsolicited medical or psychological advice. I am not interested — ever.”
Shari: My sincerest apologies. My heart just went out to you for all your medical issues and I thought, you are too young to be dealing with all you are dealing with medically and you have grandchildren to love! I did not read the whole contact page. I read some of your other pages and was on your bio. I didn’t read that you had lost 100 lbs until after I emailed you. I just saw you had some medical issues.
Do not worry, you will never EVER hear from me again sir! What a shock to read this reply to a genuine concern for your quality of life and a desire to help. I am truly sorry for whatever you have experienced to cause you to be so ungracious. “Thanks for your concern but no thank you” could have sufficed or just not reply at all!
You are right, I am not a medical professional but I have been misdiagnosed/damaged by them and am always looking for natural ways to improve my life! Yes, it was unsolicited advice but I thought maybe you have not seen the amazing stories I have seen.
I bet you are really a lot of fun at parties!
Bruce:It is not ungracious to expect people to respect your wishes. I have received hundreds of emails just like yours— from people who either can’t read or were never taught by their momma to respect the place and person of others. That you think it is okay to offer unsolicited medical advice to complete strangers is astounding.
I have serious health problems; incurable problems; problems that will likely kill me. Twenty-seven years ago, I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia — a disease that causes widespread pain and debility. Three years I was diagnosed with gastroparesis, and last year I was told I have exocrine pancreatic insufficiency (EPI) — both of which affect my ability to eat, digest food, and absorb nutrients. I take a medicine that costs $3,000 a month to provide enzymes that help with food digestion and absorption. Since 2021, I have lost 100 pounds. Yes, I am still obese, but I have lost 25 percent of my body mass.
Thirty months ago, after extensive testing, including CT scans and MRIs, I was diagnosed with degenerative spine disease (Please see Health Update: I’m F**ked):
Disc herniation (T7,T8)
Disc herniation (T6,T7)
Central spinal canal stenosis (T9/T10, T10/T11)
Foraminal stenosis (T5,T6)
Disc degeneration/spondylosis (T1/T2 through T10/T11)
Facet Arthropathy throughout the spine, particularly at T2/T3, T3/T4, T5/T6, and T7/T8 through the T12/L1 levels.
Hypertrophic arthropathy at T9/T10
Look at a picture of the human spine, and using the joint numbers above, you will see that I have widespread damage to my spine and neck. A recent visit with a neurosurgeon left me with a diagnosis that said my spine damage could not be fixed surgically. I also have osteoarthritis throughout the joints of my body.
None of the aforementioned diseases is curable. My primary care doctor considers me to be one of his most challenging patients. There is little he can do for me except to lessen my pain and suffering. I know he’s frustrated and disappointed that he cannot do more for me.
No change of diet will “fix” any of these serious health problems. Shari suggested that I follow the carnivore (only meat, eggs, dairy) or lion (only beef) diet, which are nothing more than extreme versions of the Atkins diet. Of course, with my digestive problems, a meat-laden diet would kill me. According to Shari, if I follow her unsolicited medical advice, it will help ALL my health problems. What’s next, Reiki, homeopathy, or candida elimination? Changing my diet will not do one damn thing for the aforementioned health problems.
I also have high blood pressure and diabetes — both of which are controlled with medication. What I find odd (and offensive) is that people assume that there is something wrong with my diet to start with. How could they possibly know this? Outside of Polly, no one but me knows what I eat. These “health experts” assume that because I am sick or overweight, there must be something amiss with my diet. I hate to break it to you, Sister Geraldine, but I eat a balanced diet with lots of vegetables. Like all of us, I can eat more than I should, but generally, there is nothing wrong with my diet.
I am almost sixty-seven years old. I have never, ever, not one time, offered someone unsolicited medical advice. If asked, I will certainly offer what knowledge I have, but I do not seek out strangers on the Internet and offer them my ill-informed, ignorant diagnosis of their health problems. Such behavior is rude and disrespectful. But, Bruce, they mean well! Maybe, but I don’t care if they do. If I have a sign on my front door that says NO SOLICITATION, I expect people to respect my wishes. And if they don’t? They have no right to get butthurt as Shari did when I pointed out her boorish behavior. If I want medical advice from you, I will ask for it. Until then, mind your own fucking business. (This, by the way, is me being polite. If you knew how much emails from the Sharis of the world piss me off, you might compliment me on my reserve. 🙂 )
Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen 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.
I have a lot of health problems: fibromyalgia, gastroparesis, and exocrine pancreatic insufficiency (EPI) — all of which are incurable. I am also diabetic and have high blood pressure, both of which are controlled by drugs. Further, I have degenerative spine disease:
Disc herniation (T7,T8)
Disc herniation (T6,T7)
Central spinal canal stenosis (T9/T10, T10/T11)
Foraminal stenosis (T5,T6)
Disc degeneration/spondylosis (T1/T2 through T10/T11)
Facet Arthropathy throughout the spine, particularly at T2/T3, T3/T4, T5/T6, and T7/T8 through the T12/L1 levels.
Hypertrophic arthropathy at T9/T10
I have widespread osteoarthritis and a torn labrum in my right shoulder. There’s never a moment when I am not in pain. Sometimes, my pain is unbearable. Every day is a challenge. Do some people have it worse than me? Of course, they do. But all pain and suffering are personal, so it doesn’t matter if some people have it worse than I do. My body, my pain, my suffering, and so it is for all of us. I wish I could adequately convey to readers how it really is for me, but words seem to not suffice. Even my partner and family sometimes miss how bad things are. Sadly, those who love us the most often get used to us being sick or in pain. They no longer see us as we are. I can’t tell you the last time a family member said to me, “How are you doing?” or “How are you feeling?” I often feel as if I have become part of the furniture. People “see” me but they don’t really “see” me. I am little more than the rocking chair that has always sat in the corner of the living room — ever present, but rarely, if ever, noticed unless someone wants to sit in it. Chronic pain sufferers and people with debilitating illnesses can reach a point where they give up and kill themselves. They feel as if they no longer have a reason for living. I have come to that place numerous times over the years, more so in recent months. I see a counselor every week, hoping to lessen my depression. Sometimes this is helpful, other times, not so much.
I have always been open about my health. This, of course, leads to all sorts of unsolicited medical advice, even when I ask people to NOT send me such advice. My openness turns some readers into medical experts, even though they have no expertise in medicine. Evidently, reading a few books and listening to a few podcasts is the equivalent of 10-14 years of post-high school education, and anecdotal stories are the same as double-blind studies. Typically, I ignore such people, knowing that medical ignorance abounds. On occasion, a few readers have pushed the issue, and that’s when I tell them to fuck off.
The scientific method is the best tool available for us to understand the natural world. Science isn’t perfect and can and does make mistakes, but I know of no other way to explain and understand our bodies. So, when readers tell me to do this or that and I will be healed, the first thing I want to see is the empirical evidence for the claim. When someone tells me that a particular supplement, food, diet, or alternative treatment will cure me, I want to see the evidence for this claim. When someone says veganism, reiki, homeopathy, iridology, essential oils, cupping, dry needling, acupuncture, chiropractic care, magnets, and a host of other alternative treatments will cure me, I want proof that these things work. Someone saying they do isn’t good enough for me (and shouldn’t be for you either).
I value expertise. Sadly, we live in a day when many people don’t. Valuing expertise is not the same as accepting what experts say without reservation. When one of my doctors suggests a new treatment or drug, I value their expertise. I have had the same primary care doctor for twenty-seven years. I trust him. But, he also knows that the first thing I am going to do after he suggests a new treatment or drug is do a Google search for relevant information. I am going to read the studies. I am going to visit patient forums. I am going to check out what online medical professionals say on the matter. Then, and only then, will I decide what to do. I have an appointment with a specialist at the University of Michigan later this month. I will likely have a relatively new surgical procedure that hopefully will lessen my suffering from gastroparesis and exocrine pancreatic insufficiency. I am hoping this procedure will reduce my nausea and vomiting. I have done my homework on this procedure, so all that remains for me to do is determine whether the benefits outweigh the risks (and there are serious risks). Statistics, probabilities, and outcomes play a big part in my deciding whether to have a procedure done or take a new drug. I never do anything blindly or by faith.
Let me be clear, I trust my doctors, and when I don’t, I look for a new one. They are the experts, so I must, to a large degree, have faith in them. It is unlikely that I will ever know as much as they do on any given issue, so I am dependent on them getting it right. I don’t know what more any of us can do. The system isn’t perfect, but it is the best we have.
To those who are defenders of veganism, reiki, homeopathy, iridology, essential oils, cupping, dry needling, acupuncture, chiropractic care, magnets, and other alternative treatments, please don’t. Don’t what, Bruce? Turn this post into a pulpit for you to preach your religion. Much like my view of religion in general, I am not interested in your personal opinion. Ouch, Bruce. Sorry, but I don’t ask the counter worker at McDonald’s about the best treatment for EPI, and I am sure as Hell am not going to ask non-experts either. If you are a medical doctor with a relevant specialty or an expert in a relevant medical field, by all means, share with me what you know — not feel or think, but what you know. Opinions are what we share on Friday nights at the pub amongst friends. When I want are facts and evidence, I seek out experts, not my drinking buddies. Just because you can do a web search doesn’t make you an expert. You do know this, right?
Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen 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.
Polly had an appointment with her orthopedic doctor today. Major surgery is in the future for her — when is yet to be determined. Afterward, we drove to Archbold to eat lunch. We planned to eat at Samuel Mancinos, but the restaurant is closed on Mondays. Instead, we ate at a Mexican restaurant. I ordered a #18 — a taco, burrito, and rice and beans. I took three bites of the taco and some of the beans and rice before my ever-present nausea turned into feeling like I needed to vomit. I took some Zofran to lessen the need to vomit, sparing me the indignity of throwing up in a public restroom. Our server came to collect our plates. When she saw most of my food went uneaten, she asked, “You didn’t like the food?” I explained why I couldn’t eat my food. She genuinely felt sorry for me, taking my meal off our bill.
This is my life with gastroparesis — an incurable stomach disease. Every day, every week, with no respite in sight. In two weeks, I will have an endoscopy and colonoscopy. After that, I plan to have a gastric peroral endoscopic myotomy. This will hopefully reduce my symptoms. It is NOT a cure.
I have had numerous tests in recent weeks. A stool sample revealed I have an uncommon disease called exocrine pancreatic insufficiency. My pancreas — for an unknown reason — doesn’t make enough digestive enzymes. As a result, my body can’t properly digest food and absorb nutrients. This may be why I am anemic and have low B12, potassium, Vitamin D, and testosterone. I will likely have to go through pancreatic enzyme replacement therapy with expensive drugs.
Throw in fibromyalgia, osteoarthritis, and degenerative spine disease, and I am in a world of hurt. My life is dominated by managing my health and lessening symptoms. My life has been reduced to striving to live another day. Joys that I once took for granted are gone. Eating is one of those joys, and not being able to enjoy food is so depressing I wonder why I keep trying.
As you may have noticed, my writing production has dropped dramatically. My life has pretty much come to a standstill. I am trying, but readers should no longer expect me to generate as much content. I cannot do so, and it seems evident, at least to me, that this is my new normal. Readers should expect less content from me, and if you notice my writing pace has picked up, don’t assume I am “better.” I am not, and I fear my best day is today, with more suffering and pain in my future.
I am 90 days behind on answering emails and social media messages. There’s nothing I can do about this. I will answer them when I can, and, quite frankly, some of them will go unanswered. I have had thoughts about hanging up my blogging spurs, but I enjoy writing, so I can’t bring myself to throw in the towel. All I know to do is manage my symptoms, rest, and do what I can.
Please don’t offer me medical advice. I am seeing competent doctors, to whom I trust my life. They are the experts, and unless given reason to believe otherwise, I trust them. I appreciate your friendship and support, but sending me links to articles and blog posts or questioning my diet, is not helpful. I appreciate your understanding.
Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen 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.
Medical doctors are very much a part of my life. I see my primary care doctor four times a year, a dermatologist twice a year, a cardiologist once a year, and other specialists, as needed. Today, I saw an orthopedic doctor for pain in my left hip and a carpel tunnel-like problem in my left hand; a problem I had surgically fixed in 2010. While I was lying on the cold table for an X-ray of my hip, the festering cyst on my upper back — which I had removed a few months ago, but has returned — burst, leaving a wet, bloody, puss stain on my tee shirt. “Wonderful, right?” I have an appointment with a dermatologist tomorrow to figure out what, exactly, to do about the cyst. (I have an ongoing problem with cysts here and there on my body. I have spent thousands of dollars getting them drained and incised. More often than not, the cysts make repeat appearances.)
The orthopedic doctor walked into the room, and after we exchanged pleasantries, I told him why I was there today. The doctor, whom I have seen before, had no recollection of my medical history, including the fact that I have widespread osteoarthritis, and was diagnosed two years ago with:
Disc herniation (T7,T8)
Disc herniation (T6,T7)
Central spinal canal stenosis (T9/T10, T10/T11)
Foraminal stenosis (T5,T6)
Disc degeneration/spondylosis (T1/T2 through T10/T11)
Facet Arthropathy throughout the spine, particularly at T2/T3, T3/T4, T5/T6, and T7/T8 through the T12/L1 levels.
Hypertrophic arthropathy at T9/T10
The orthopedic doctor was unsure what the problem was with my hand. Scar tissue from my previous surgery? A new problem? He ordered a new EMG — a nerve conduction test. As far as my hip was concerned, he decided my pain was caused by the aforementioned back problems. Solution? Live with it.
And then came the lecture . . . “have you thought about losing weight?” I told him I had lost one hundred pounds over the past three years . He asked, “How?” I replied, “Gastroparesis.” I added, “Nausea, lack of appetite, and vomiting, will do that to you.” I quickly determined that he knew little to nothing about gastroparesis. This, of course, is not surprising since bones and joints are his specialty. His cluelessness didn’t stop him from suggesting I see a different gastroenterologist to get a “second opinion.” Second opinion, for what?
Gastroparesis is an incurable stomach disease. The treatments are limited: medication to manage symptoms, feeding tubes, and experimental procedures. I hate when doctors think they always need to be the expert in the room. I have no doubt that I know a hell of a lot more about gastroparesis than my orthopedic doctor did. I have read the relevant literature, and know gastroparesis is a miserable disease; that no miracle is forthcoming. I take medication, vomit, forego eating, and I had an experimental procedure done under anesthesia last year (to no effect).
Ignoring everything I said, my orthopedic doctor suggested I contact the practice’s weight loss clinic for a consult. He said, “You know, if you lose more weight, it will lessen the pain in your back.” By this point, I wanted to scream. “Are you not listening to me? “Or do all you see is the fat guy?”
Had my orthopedic doctor asked, he would have learned that I started having back problems at age twenty. I was first diagnosed with narrow disc space in my lower back when I weighed 225 pounds and still played competitive sports. My spine is literally falling apart. Losing weight won’t fix structural problems. I have had back problems at various weight points throughout my life. Lose, gain, it matters not, the pain remains. I am a living study that shows that the idea that losing weight will fix whatever ails you is untrue. As I mentioned, I have lost one hundred pounds. The only thing losing twenty-five percent of my body mass did was improve my glucose levels and provide me a new wardrobe. That’s it. My debility and pain remain the same. But, hey, I love my new Charles Tyrwhitt shirts.
I am comfortable in my own skin. Lecturing me about my weight is not helpful, nor will losing weight magically cure my fibromyalgia, osteoarthritis, or gastroparesis. While there certainly could be benefits from losing more weight, I doubt dropping another twenty-five to forty pounds will lessen my pain.
What I most wanted my doctor to do today is see “me;” to listen to me; to consider the totality of my health. Since that was beyond his “expertise,” he is no longer my doctor. In fact, I am done with doctoring. When I leave their offices worse off than when I came in, I wonder “why bother?”
Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen 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.
Ask the average person why people commit suicide and they will give you all sorts of explanations. Many people think there are signs depressives display when contemplating suicide. While that can be the case, often the person seemed “fine” before killing themselves, or the “signs” were so subtle that they were overlooked. Depressives often fade into the fabric of day-to-day life. They become like furniture, always in their places. When this happens, people miss the signs, often tragically so. I know my wife and family love me, yet I also know that they are so used to me being sick, disabled, and in pain that I always seem “normal” to them.
Several days ago, I attended the Defiance Pride Parade. While I can walk short distances using a cane, I can no longer walk long distances without the use of a wheelchair or motorized cart. The degeneration in my spine, hips, shoulders, and arms, makes it difficult, if not impossible, for me to operate a wheelchair without help. Polly or one of my sons usually pushes my sorry ass around. My youngest son got the privilege and honor to push me along the parade route. The road was rough in spots, causing me excruciating pain. I knew this is the way it would be, but supporting LGBTQ people mattered more to me than pain. I endured.
A dear friend of mine told me that he could tell I was in a lot of pain. I tried to hide my suffering, but my face said to him that my pain levels were high. I appreciated the fact that he understood what I was going through on that day. The next day, we had dinner, a monthly event for myself and three other men. We now call ourselves “The Woke Mob.” Getting together with them is one of the highlights of each month. I rarely get out of the house these days. Thanks to declining motor skills, I can no longer drive. The last time I drove an automobile was in March 2020 — over three years ago.
After dinner, my friend said to me, “you look better today.” I smiled and replied, “narcotics, and the use of modern pharmaceuticals.” You see, I always want to “look better.” I don’t want to be pitied. I want to be perceived as the virile, strong-as-an-ox Bruce of yesteryear, even though I know this is the absurd fantasy of a crippled, broken-down old man.
My pain levels were the same on both days, but what was different on the second day was a significant increase in suicidal thoughts. My friend couldn’t know this. I didn’t give off any signs that suggested that I was struggling with making it another day. Even when talking with my therapist, it is not always easy for her to suss out whether I have increased suicidal thoughts. I see her tomorrow, which is good. The edge of the cliff is getting too close for comfort.
Many people wrongly think that those with suicidal ideation have exact plans as to how they will do themselves in. While I have a good idea of what means I will use to kill myself, I really don’t sit around thinking about it. It is the small, insignificant things in life that often drive my suicidal thoughts. Let me explain.
My life has a rhythm to it; what I call my “new normal.” This normal changes over time, as disease and pain continue to ravage my body. Two years ago, when an MRI and CT scan of my thoracic spine revealed:
Disc herniation (T7,T8)
Disc herniation (T6,T7)
Central spinal canal stenosis (T9/T10, T10/T11)
Foraminal stenosis (T5,T6)
Disc degeneration/spondylosis (T1/T2 through T10/T11)
Facet Arthropathy throughout the spine, particularly at T2/T3, T3/T4, T5/T6, and T7/T8 through the T12/L1 levels.
Hypertrophic arthropathy at T9/T10
I adapted to my new normal. I had already been diagnosed with widespread osteoarthritis (joint pain), fibromyalgia (muscle pain, weakness, and fatigue), and gastroparesis (a debilitating, incurable stomach disease). I also have diabetes and high blood pressure — both of which are well-managed. On any given day, I spend my time managing my health, writing, and spending time with my family. Some days, I have doctor’s appointments or we go grocery shopping. On other days, I try to do things around the house or in the yard. Our backyard is teeming with wildlife and feral/stray cats. I enjoy watching them from the living room window. We have a new outside cat, Binx is his name. You know, the strays that don’t go away. He and I are now friends, so I will spend some time petting him or feeding him tuna fish. This is my normal.
Typically, I have a four- to five-hour window to productively work. After that, I lose my starch, and I retire to my recliner for the night and read, watch TV, or cheer on the Cincinnati Reds (I watch every game). Polly comes home from work at 2:30 am. Then comes bed, the worst part of my day. Yet, I have come to accept that this is my “normal.” It takes me twelve hours to get seven or eight hours of sleep, and even then I am never rested. At best, I live to see another day. Tired, fatigued, in pain — but alive.
It is what it is, a cliché I often tell myself as I try to navigate a life of pain and suffering. However, there are unexpected things that happen, small things that can quickly increase suicidal thoughts. My life is like a spinning plate full of food held on one finger above my head. Okay, I can handle this, I tell myself, but then along comes someone or something that is thrown on my plate, and my life spins out of control. All of a sudden, I find myself thinking about whether I want to keep living. But it was such a small thing that caused your plate to spin out of control. And therein lies the problem. When small, insignificant things accumulate, collectively they can be overwhelming. A bowel problem, incontinency, phantom smells attack, blurred vision, Morton’s neuroma flare-up, a fall, memory problems, unexpected bills, not hearing from my children or seeing my grandchildren as often as I want (need), edema so bad I can’t put on my shoes, getting out of the house so I can attend a sprint car race, only to get hit in the head with a rock thrown off one of the car’s wheels, stepping on Legos, tripping over the cat, finding out I have a yeast infection from taking an antibiotic for a toe infection, losing my glasses, being so weak I can’t lower the footrest on my recliner, eating food at a restaurant that immediately causes me to vomit, finding out someone ate the last of the peanut butter, or a host of other small things. To the healthy, and to the strong, these circumstances may seem insignificant; and they are when taken in isolation. However, when it takes every bit of your strength and energy to just get through the day, small things tend to overwhelm you and leave you questioning whether you want to live another day.
This is not a plea for help, nor is it an opportunity for readers to send me unsolicited medical advice. Please don’t. If my friend and I had more time together, maybe I would have shared with him where I really am in life; how close to the cliff I am actually standing. Or maybe not.
Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen 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.
Bruce Gerencser, Midwestern Baptist College, Spring 1978. I already had high blood pressure. 1969 Pontiac Tempest, by the way. 326 CID, three-speed on the floor. Sweet ride.
Every month or so, I receive a polite, wordy email — complete with links — from someone who is certain that if I just follow a certain fad diet, eat certain foods, or follow this or that dietary program, whatever ails me will be instantaneously, miraculously cured. These Food Fundamentalists® certainly mean well, but I don’t find their “advice” helpful at all.
The contact page states: “I know you stayed at a Holiday Inn last night, but you are not a medical professional, so please do not send me unsolicited medical or psychological advice. I am not interested — ever.” Food Fundamentalists® — who often eschew Western medicine — evidently believe that since they are “helping” me, my request doesn’t apply to them. These food zealots are not much different from Evangelical Bible thumpers who fill my email box with sermons, Bible verses, and personal attacks. Food Fundamentalists® think their gospel, if believed and practiced, will “save” me from my “sins.” In their minds, my biggest “sin” is obesity or a bad diet. If I just worshipped and obeyed their deity, why I would drop 200 pounds and look as slim and trim as I did the day I entered Bible college.
Of course, when I investigate their Holy books and websites, I find that they are filled with errors and contradictions, much like the inerrant Word of God. Every food cult has its own divine text, each purporting to be the truth. What’s someone like me supposed to do? Read. Investigate. Look at the science and studies behind a particular food cult’s gospel. (Two of the first places I go are Quack Watch and Science-Based Medicine.) I find, without fail, that Food Fundamentalists® preach gospels that are not backed up by science and empirical data. I am not saying that these cults don’t help anyone – they do. But the same can be said for Christian Fundamentalism. Some people find real, lasting help through believing in the miracle-working power of a dead man named Jesus. The reasons for this are many, and so it is with the various diets Food Fundamentalists® present to me as the cure for my afflictions. Despite the success stories, most people who put their faith and trust in Jesus find out that the dead Son of God is not what cultists claim he is. So it is with diets. Most people who go on diets lose weight for a time, but, in the end, they gain the lost weight back and then some. Diets don’t work, regardless of their name. Bruce, it’s not a diet, it’s a way of life, food cultists say. Sound familiar? It’s a relationship, not a religion.
Christian Fundamentalists blame the person when Christianity doesn’t stick. They didn’t pray the right prayer, believe the right beliefs, or really, really, really have faith. Food Fundamentalists® do the same. If an obese person fails to succeed or later regains lost weight, it’s their fault for not religiously, devotedly following the plan.
The biggest issue, at least from my perspective, is that Christian Fundamentalists and Food Fundamentalists® both make assumptions about my life — past and present. Food cultists assume — wrongly — that the reason people are obese is because of the type or quantity of food they eat. In the minds of these Fundamentalists, all fat people need to do is eat less and eat cult-approved foods. These preachers of fidelity to the BMI chart, make assumptions about me, assuming I am overweight because I eat too many McDonald’s Big Macs or eat too much processed foods. These zealots don’t know what or how I eat, they just assume that I must eat too much food or eat the wrong food because I am spatially challenged.
I hate to break it to them, but my diet is NOT the problem. Sure, I can overeat at times, and I certainly am not going to pass up ice cream if it is offered, but on most days, I eat healthily — that is, if anyone can actually define what the fuck it means to eat “healthily.” Sorry, Food Fundamentalists®, but your super-duper diet plan is not the answer to my medical problems. If it were really that simple, I am certain one of the many doctors and specialists I have seen over the past thirty years would have mentioned it. Yeah, I know, they are all members of a secret cabal who deliberately keep me sick so they can make lots of money off of me. Child, please.
Miller Peak, 1975, with my Sunday School class. Miller Peak is almost 10,000 feet high. In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m the 18-year-old redhead in the back.
The only medical problem I have that is affected by what I eat is diabetes (and it’s under control with medication). That’s it. Everything else: Fibromyalgia, osteoarthritis, degenerative spine disease, gastroparesis, and the excruciating, debilitating pain that comes from these medical afflictions are not helped, harmed, or cured by what I eat. The real problem now, thanks to gastroparesis, with its attendant nausea and vomiting, is that I often don’t eat enough. In fact, I have lost one hundred pounds. Did my health change after losing twenty-five percent of my body mass? Surely, losing a lot of weight magically cures obese people, right? That’s what Food Fundamentalists® say. The only measurable difference for me has been the reduction of my A1c to 5.8.
I have high blood pressure too, but I have concluded, based on a thorough study of my sixty-six-year medical history and family history, that hypertension runs in our family. My seventy-three-year-old aunt started taking medicine to control her blood pressure in her 20s, and she has never been a pound overweight a day in her life. I took a careful look at my blood pressure numbers from my high school years. At the time, I was 6 feet tall and weighed 150 pounds soaking wet. I played baseball and basketball, I rode a bicycle virtually everywhere I went — spring, summer, winter, and fall. Later in my teen years, I frequently went hiking, including hiking to the top of Miller Peak in the picture above. I was a slim, trim, fit fighting machine, yet I had high blood pressure.
As I look back over my medical history, I see a plethora of reasons that better explain where I am today than simplistically saying, Bruce, you are fat. Lose weight and all will be well. I wish things were that simple, but they are not. I am at a place in life where I do what I can, and some days, “doing what I can” means getting through the day without committing suicide. So, please walk in my shoes first before you decide to send me “advice” I didn’t ask for. Think I am being too pointed and direct? Again, walk in my skin for a few days, weeks, or months, and then we will talk. When you are doing all you can to make it to tomorrow, the last thing you need is a pompous, arrogant Food Fundamentalist® preaching to you his or her food cult’s gospel. Imagine, for a moment, you are walking home from a long twelve-hour day at work. Every part of your body is screaming for an hour-long dip in a hot bath, followed by several glasses of red wine. As you walk towards your home, an Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) street preacher accosts you on the street, intent on evangelization and conversion. How would you respond to this man’s evangelistic efforts? What if he persisted to hound you every time he saw you? Why, I suspect you might feel homicidal rage welling up inside of you. You might even tell him you “tried” Jesus and it didn’t work for you, and with a flip of your middle finger say to him, now, fuck off. This is exactly how I feel when I receive yet another email from a Food Fundamentalist® wanting me to join their cult. If you really love and respect me as a person and appreciate my writing, then do me a favor: leave my medical treatment to me and my doctors — men and women who, unlike you, actually went to medical school to become experts in their chosen fields of practice.
Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen 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.
“Bruce, your problem is that you lack contentment.” I was stunned when my counselor told me this in 2019. I had been seeing him for years. I wondered if it is time for a change. (I changed therapists in 2021.) His words seemed sharp and judgmental. I felt as if he was ignoring me as a person and making a character judgment instead. Weeks later, I was still talking about whether this judgment was correct. Polly would say, I’m sure, if asked, “Bruce, you are discontented over contentment.” 🙂 Maybe.
In November 2019, I wrote a post titled, Living with Unrelenting Chronic Pain: Just Another Day in Paradise. I intended to write about contentment then, but the post, as is often the case, went in a different direction from that which I had intended. As that Spirit moves, right? It’s impossible to determine if I am content without first understanding the primary issues that drive my life: chronic illness, chronic pain, loss of career, loss of faith, OCPD, and past emotional trauma. Pulling a singular event out of my life and rendering judgment based on that alone is sure to lead to a faulty conclusion. Think of all the clichés we use about understanding people: walk a mile in their shoes, see things through their eyes, judge not, lest you be judged. If we truly want to understand someone, we must take the time to see, listen, and observe — not something we do much of these days. We live in the social media era, a time when instant judgments are the norm. As a writer, I find it frustrating (and irritating) when people read a post or two and then sit in judgment of my life. In 2,000 or fewer words, I have, supposedly, told them all they need to know about Bruce Gerencser. Of course, I have done no such thing. Want to really get to know me? Sit down, pull up a chair, and let’s break bread together and talk. Truly understanding someone requires time, commitment, and effort. I have been married for forty-five years. It took years for Polly and me to really get to know each other. And even today, I wonder, do I really know all there is to know about my lover and friend? I doubt it.
Contentment. What does the word even mean? Happy? Satisfied? Complacent? How do I determine if I am content? Do I even want to be content? Is contentment a desirable human trait? What would the world look like if everyone were content? The Apostle Paul wrote spoke of contentment several times:
I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. (Philippians 4:11)
But godliness with contentment is great gain. (1 Timothy 6:6)
And having food and raiment let us be therewith content. (1 Timothy 6:8)
Be content with such things as ye have: for he hath said, I will never leave theeá, nor forsake thee. (Hebrews 13:5)
“Bruce, you are an atheist. What the Bible says is irrelevant.” Tell my mind that. These verses were pounded into my head by my pastors and Sunday school teachers, and then, as a pastor, I pounded them into the heads of congregants. Just because I say, “I’m an atheist,” doesn’t mean that decades of indoctrination and conditioning magically disappear. I spent most of my adult life trying to be the model of a “contented” Christian. Try as I might, I came up short.
My father was the epitome of “contentment.” Dad lived by the maxim qué seráserá (whatever will be, will be). He was passive and indifferent toward virtually everything. Dad and I were never close. It’s not that we had a bad relationship; it’s just that he treated his relationship with me the way he treated everything else.
I was much more like my mom. Passionate. Contrary. Opinionated. Everything mattered. It comes as no surprise that I am a perfectionist; that I struggle with obsessive-compulsive personality disorder; that I have high (and often unreasonable) expectations not only for myself, but for others. Ask my children about what they “fondly” call the Gerencser Work Ethic. Oh, the stories they could share. I am sure a few of you are thinking, “are you not admitting here that you are discontented?” Maybe, but I am not convinced that it’s as simple as that — as I shared with my counselor.
You see, I have always been a restless person. Does this mean that I am discontented? Or, perhaps, I am someone who needs a steady diet of new experiences. I bore easily. In my younger years, this resulted in me working a number of different jobs. My resume is quite diverse. The same could be said of the twenty-five years I spent in the ministry. I loved starting new churches. However, over time, these new churches would become old churches, and when that happened, I was ready to move on. I pastored a church in West Unity, Ohio for seven years. Awesome people. Not a problem in the world. Yet, I resigned and moved on. Why? I was bored. I was tired of the same routine Sunday after Sunday. It wasn’t the fault of the people I pastored. I was the one with a restless spirit. I was the one looking for matches and gasoline so I could start a new fire.
My counselor asked me if he could wave a magic wand over me and instantly make me content, would I want him to do so? I quickly replied, “Absolutely not.” I told him that instant contentment would rob me of my passion and drive. “What kind of writer would I be without restlessness and passion?” I asked. He replied, “ah yes, that which drives creatives.” If being content requires me to surrender my passion and drive, no thanks. I am not interested. Now, I can certainly see where I would be better off if I, at times, let go and let Loki. I have never been good at “be still and know that I am God.” I like being busy. I enjoy “doing.” One of the frustrating problems I face with having fibromyalgia, gastroparesis, and osteoarthritis is that I can no longer do the things I want to do. My “spirit” is willing, but my “flesh” is weak. Does this lead to discontentment? Maybe, but I am more inclined to think that the inability to do what I want leads to frustration and anger, not discontentment.
I’ll leave it to others to determine if I am content. I will leave it to the people who look at me and “read” my face, thinking my lack of a smile is a sure sign of discontentment; as if there couldn’t be any other explanation for my facial expressions — you know, such as chronic, unrelenting pain. Would it settle the contentment question if I tell people that I am generally happy; that I enjoy writing and spending time with Polly and our six children and thirteen grandchildren? I doubt it. Much like my counselor, people seize on anecdotal stories as evidence for their judgments of my life. I told my counselor about a visit to a new upscale pizza place in Defiance. I told him that the waitstaff left a lot to be desired, and our pizzas were burnt on the bottom (the restaurant uses a brick pizza oven). I told our server the pizzas were burnt. The manager gave us a 50 percent discount on our bill. My counselor seized on this story as a good example of my discontentment. Never mind the fact that I rarely complain about the quality of restaurant food. I just don’t do it. I am willing to give a place a pass; having managed restaurants myself. I know how things can get messed up. That said, I always wanted to know when an order didn’t meet customer expectations. No, customers are not always right. Some of them are idiots and assholes. But I couldn’t make things right if complaints never reach my ears.
Am I content? Probably not, but I sure as hell don’t want the kind of contentment preached by the Apostle Paul, modeled by my father, and suggested by my counselor. No thanks . . . I’ll take happiness with a slice of restlessness, and garnished with passion every time.
Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen 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.
