Jesus and Satan and Sin, oh my!

It is a known fact that it takes me about two years after a movie comes out to see it, well after everyone else and their mother has already seen the film and commented on it. So while this little rant may be about two years late, it’s here and waiting to be written out as I sit here contemplating about the sheer insanity of everything that I have just seen.

Everyone in America is probably quite familiar with the horror and simultaneously undeniable amusement that is the documentary Jesus Camp. You would think that watching a bunch of kids being brainwashed by a solitary, fat, insane woman (yes, I’m talking about you Becky Fischer) would simply be a good laugh. And while it is beyond hilarious to hear the woman claim that Harry Potter is Satan incarnate and would be “put to death” in the Old Testament, or that “democracy will destroy itself because we must give everyone equal rights,” a part of me cannot help but feel an overwhelming sense of blatant revulsion hand in hand with the humor.

The thing that terrified me about Jesus Camp was not the fact that these people were teaching their kids about their religion (albeit as radical as it is), but the fact that while they were teaching their children about Evangelical Christianity they failed to give their children alternative perspectives, and claimed that every other thought was simply wrong. At one point in the documentary, you see a woman homeschooling her son Levi, telling him about creationism and evolution. Well. Telling him that creationism was the correct school of thought and that evolution was stupid and wrong. If a person wants to believe in creationism, that’s fine. Hats off to them. But how can a parent tell a child that every other way of thinking is wrong? By doing so they are creating a generation of closed minded fanatical right-wing crazies whose only mission is to turn our country into a terrifying God-fearing nation.

There was an interesting comment made by Becky Fischer, the child pastor in the documentary. While I cannot remember her exact words, I suppose paraphrasing wouldn’t hurt. Basically, she was commenting on how there are Muslim people willing to die in the name of Allah and how she wanted to raise a new generation of children willing to die in the name of Jesus. Because, in her mind, the Christians are the ones with the “truth,” they are the ones who are right and who have the word of God. Everyone else, well, they’re all just fooling themselves.

That comment in itself scared me. Personally, I don’t think anyone should be dying for any god, but it seems that my opinion is moot. It wasn’t even the terrifying child pastor that really sent waves of nausea through my body, it was the fanatical speech spilling from the lips of the nine and ten year old kids. You could tell simply by watching them that their words weren’t really theirs. Their words belonged to their parents, the people that have been implanting these philosophies into their heads for their entire lives. These kids didn’t even speak like children; they were just mini religious adults.

The camp that the little Evangelicals in training went to was located in this lovely remote area in North Dakota and called “Kids on Fire.” The name does raise a few eyebrows, doesn’t it? From what I’ve read, the camp was closed down about a year ago because “the movie Jesus Camp sparked such outrage that [Becky Fischer] feared for her safety and that of the kids attending the camp.” As much as I hate to sound like a crazy radical liberal waving my aborted baby and PETA signs all over the place, I’m glad the place was closed. I don’t know if it’s been reopened, but I’m sure with a little research I’ll be able to get some answers. But. Later. Right now I’m not through ranting.

As funny as it was to hear these people rant about the glory of the Lord, it was also downright ew, for lack of a better term. It’s not the teaching of religion that bugs me, it’s the fact that these people are not exposing the children to any other point of view. They’re not teaching about Jesus’s message, no, they’re teaching the kids that abortion is evil, everyone is drowning in sin and that it is their (the children’s) job to take over the country and return America to its Puritan foundation. We’ll completely forget about all of the other religions in this country and just pretend that they don’t mean anything. America is a Christian nation and unless these children set the country on the “right” path we’re doomed to hell for all eternity.

Man. That sucks.

Jesus Camp is a documentary that I think everyone should watch, regardless of your religion. It will either make you really really happy, or really really terrified. Or it will just make you shit your pants with laughter. All are wonderful choices.

Am I ready? Not in the slightest.

This food is crack food right here.

A lot of things get on my nerves. Little, tiny, insignificant things that really shouldn’t bother anyone but seem to annoy the crap out of me anyway. I wonder if maybe I’m just an irritable person or perhaps if everyone has those little trivial things that get on his/her nerves and it’s really the people who seem to have few or no pet peeves at all that are the minority.

I dislike the way my dad compliments himself on his cooking during every meal. As if the food was actually cooked by some unseen spectral being and we’re all just lucky enough to be receiving the sublime meal. Don’t get me wrong. The man is a fantastic cook, there is no doubt about that. But he has been cooking for practically ten years. And each weekend, when each member of the family is not fending for him- or herself and we all sit down for a family meal, one gets tired of hearing, “This soup is delicious,” or, “This is crack food right here.” Yes. He refers to almost every one of his dishes as “crack food” because it’s just so fucking delicious that one cannot stop stuffing one’s face. The food is good. It is. But I don’t need to hear him pat himself on the back every single time he feeds us something tasty. Isn’t the fact that I’m eating the food enough? With my finicky disposition, it should be.

Yes, Daddy. Yes, your cooking is wonderful. Yes, I am spoiled by the fact that you feed me quality home-cooked meals. But please, can I just go through one dinner without hearing about how talented you are? S’il vous plaît?

I hate the way my best friend can make people like her without even trying. However, that’s not really her fault, is it? It’s more my own insecurities and my own worries that I’ll never meet someone that just enjoys me for me. However, it’s difficult when you constantly feel overshadowed by your funnier, more charismatic, ambivert friend. She has her flaws, just like everyone else, but she hides them so well, and everyone always sees the better side of her. A side that I think might be better than my own.

Ah, what am I whining about anyway? I should be proud of her, being able to make friends in a way that’s difficult for me to do. Perhaps instead in wallowing in my own complaints and silent envy I should take a leaf from her book and learn something.

Sounds so much easier than it is, right? Yes.

Twenty-two days until the start of my second college semester. Until then, what am I going to be doing? I hope pouting and complaining aren’t going to be my top two activities.

22,000 tales yellowing with age…

My grandfather owns over 22,000 books. Books of all genres and types, widths and lengths, colors and bindings. Practically every wall in his house is covered in bookshelves from floor to ceiling, filled with books two rows deep. New books, old books, paperback, hardcover, books with old, worn leather bindings. It’s a gorgeous sight for the average bibliophile. He owns so many books that he cannot keep even half of them in the house. He and my stepgrandmother had to buy a storage place to keep all of the books that were not kept in the home. It amazes me. As I walked through the house last night, letting my fingers run adoringly across each spine that I saw, I couldn’t help but hope that one day I would have a library to match my grandfather’s. From his library he pulled out a book for me. Sophie’s World: A Novel About the History of Philosophy by Jostein Gaarder. A book that I’ve been wanting to read for a year now. I had never told him about my desire to read Sophie’s World, and yet that was the one that he pulled from the shelves. I clutched it for the rest of the night, not wanting to set it down in case I would forget about it and fail to bring it home with me.How is it that simply reading words upon an otherwise blank page can be so addicting, and so enthralling? How can it be that I fall in love with nothing more than paper and ink?

New York’s #1 Bestseller

Let the broken moonlight fall upon your face like pieces of shattered glass
The stolen light as everlasting as your mummified innocence
Eyelashes fluttering with the essence of dream.

Sprinkle a dash of time upon your lips and watch as you defy
Each second that passes you by, the apple of your cheeks
Just as ripe as the day you let your head fall upon the moss colored sheet.

Tendrils of imitation silk curl around fingers as sharp as daggers
Untouched by the stones that were made to dull
A knife that has never been used has no business being called such.

Youth is fleeting but you cling to it as if it were the only means of life
A sun that never paints the sky a shade of soothing pink
While the rest of our pages are turning yellow with age
Your book remains unopened.

Transfixed by Carbon

The diamonds are dead
I’ve raped this mine a thousand times
My face is covered with the dust
The last remnants of your busted heart
Like grains of sand stuck in between my toes
The rock is crumbling and no glue is strong enough
To piece it back together
What was once damp is now dry
The only evidence of feeling
Are the dried streaks of emotion across the stone’s cracked surface
The coal turned to diamonds
But their existence was finite
And now I find myself picking at the skeleton of what once was
No one wants to admit that he wasted his life
But now I must sit in the dark and wonder
I have destroyed nature’s gift by searching for your diamond
When I should have found contentment in coal.