Born Okay the First Time!

Chapter 7
Farm Boy Pete lay in bed, swatting at the occasional fly that had not completed its kamikaze attacks into the screen of the opened window, where, out of energy and with no residual desire to annoy, it would eventually die. God cared, even for sparrows, but he had no empathy for his flies and mosquitoes. Fly larvae eat rotting flesh, even they have a useful niche. Why do those God-damned mosquitoes even exist. "Everything is from God," must mean that all things have a purpose or as stated in more eloquent terms, "God don't make no mistakes." Mosquitoes' raison d’être is misery. When one of them gets swatted, splattering blood all over the back of your neck, does the Big Guy care? What about chiggers? Pete hated chiggers with all the passion of a tent-preacher curing his latest cripple. The tiny buggers left his armpits, tight clothing areas and his crotch itching something awful. One even crawled into his urethra to cause the worst itch ever. His mother wouldn't allow scratching of the nether regions in public, when the itching was always at its worst. God put chiggers in Grandma Cordel's buffalo grass making it so Pete wouldn't even play in her yard. Maybe He loved the perpetrator more than He loved the victim. To say the least, Farm Boy was deep into the throes of religious ponderings.
God is such a kidder, to wit: Creationists say that fossils are "God's joke" on humans, i.e., HE sneaked pterodactyl skeletons and trilobites, into the rock layers, only to test our faith in Him. God certainly does like to kid around. The other version of that is that Satan cached the fossils to lure us away from the big Kahuna. Creationists also know the Earth began at 9:00 A.M., on Monday, October 23, 4004 B.C., as calculated, exactly, from the King James Bible by the Irish Bishop James Ussher in the 17th century. That, however, is no joke. It is accepted by Fundamentalists and it is plainly more specific than the 4.54 ± billion years ago calculated by Geophysicists. Scientists admit they may be wrong but Creationists and those favoring ID (Intelligent Design) have no such doubt because the word of God is indisputable. The joke, seemingly, is on Science, n'est-ce pas, (is it not so) ?
Farm Boy learned Bible stories and they were excellent stories, like Jonah and the Whale, that was a whopper of a good tale. The story of the big Flood was how God laid down all those layers of rocks and fossils, so that ID'ers would have counter arguments to geologists' radioisotope dating, proving the Grand Canyon was created about 6,000 yrs ago by The Flood and not by the Colorado River cutting through the uplifting of the Colorado Plateau. Noah must have had one helluva view as the water drained away, even though Earth was totally water-covered with no place for the torrents of water to go. (To where did it recede, wasn't the core full of magma, or did Hell fill with water and reject it as geysers at Yellowstone?) Pete knew the story of Job and his legendary patience. Patience could, without the fuss, have been learned by waiting for a large herd of asses or goats to cross the road to Damascus and without God letting Satan kill Job's wife and kids. Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego had fun-to-say names. They did something with a fiery furnace, perhaps in Pittsburgh, PA. All kidding aside.
Baptism with Holy water and choice words spake from the Good Book and POOF! it was safe for Farm Boy to die and be immediately Heaven-eligible. Temptation is so pervasive, could there be a frequent re-baptism? Not having to be immersed like the Christian Church members, was a blessing in itself. We were Methodists but that became hazy when our church joined the E.U. B (Evangelical United Brethren) to become the United Methodist Church. How could either side give up beliefs, to join with people who did things differently, if God had guided their previous choices. Could His word be murky here and there? Maybe you just had to take your best shot based upon what your parents believed, but what they believed was pretty much a fluke of where they were born, be it Christian or Muslim or Hindu. "God, puhleeze help me out here," was continually the ardent prayer of this confused boy, stewing and ruminating as another fly committed suicide, which meant the fly would go to Hell.
This tenor of thought was intensified when the Catholic Church announced that meatless Fridays were no longer required (Vatican Council II, 1962). Whattt? If God told the Pope to make his flock eat fish on Fridays, how could that suddenly change? The answer came later in the revelation from God, circa 1978, to the Mormon President, Spencer Kimball. He essentially went to the mountain top, where God proclaimed it was time to let black men be elders and priests in the LDS church. How could Farm Boy have been so obtuse? When social pressures wore the church down, God came through with, "I was just testing you, now go ahead and do the right thing. I meant to tell you earlier, sorry, no hard feelings, eh?" See, God is a kidder. Fossils are just a fun way to give paleontologists an interesting occupation and there are so many fossils. The Lord works in many mysterious ways. Hallelujah!
Regarding church attendance, George attended C & E plus - Christmas and Easter plus weddings, funerals and events that involved his children. He appeared preoccupied when he sat in church. His religion was complemented by two of his sayings, heard countless times. "God helps those who help themselves." "There is no rest for the wicked and the righteous don't need any."
Ruth's faith was strong, even though her father, Will, had been something of a religious zealot, simply crazy religious or just plain crazy. He left a scar on the top of her head, made by the tine of the pitchfork he threw at her. Her parents, some of her siblings and a half-brother went to the Nazarene Church and adhered to practices including the avoidance of sinful enticements such as movies, dancing, and the playing of cards, except Rook. Rook was apparently okay because it only had a black bird and numbers, not the evil symbols of a standard deck of cards, with which you could gamble and divine one's future. Regular cards were "the Devil's tools," while a Rook deck could be used for what some called "Missionary poker." (Rook was introduced by Parker Brothers in 1906 to sell more decks by appealing to the devout with "Christian Cards.")
When television began to air movies previously seen in theaters, even gentle genteel gentiles who were full of goodness began to watch movies in the privacy of their own homes. Was God going to tolerate that twist or had he not foreseen the invention of TV? I think not, He is infallible and humans have free will, except when HE REVEALS stuff. Hellfire and damnation! That is confusing. (George REVEALED to Pete that he preferred he take a date to a movie rather than take her to a lonely dirt road to park.)
Fortunately, Mom went to the Methodist Church. She attended faithfully and sang in the choir. She loved to sing and those who appreciated music thought she had an excellent soprano voice. She sang solos in church, at funerals and other events. Her singing was once broadcast via the nearby Superior, Nebraska radio station Her favorite Hymn was the beautiful "Amazing Grace." Farm Boy liked it, too, especially played by bagpipes.
Ruth made sure that Pete went to Sunday school, church and Vacation Bible School and that he sang in the choir. He had an attendance pin with several bars for years of Sunday School attended without missing. Perhaps the best thing about church came once a year when those born in June came near the altar, with a donation of a penny for each year, to get their small white birthday cake with the most delicious white frosting. Growing up stunk because by High School age the cake was reduced to a slice.
Interlock your fingers and say, "Here is the church. Here is the steeple. Open the doors and see all the people." (For anyone uninitiated, do the following while saying those words: Put the backs of your 2 hands together. Interlock the fingers in this position. Keeping them interlocked close the palms gently together as you bring the index fingers up to a point. The thumbs should be like the Twin Towers with the thumbnails pointing up toward the index fingers. Now you can say, "Here is the church. Here is the steeple," as you make those two things with your digits. When you say, "Open the doors and see all the people," you should be opening your palms to the heavens. A different version of the words is, "Here is the church and here is the steeple, we sure are cute for two ugly people." Thank God, we did not know that one.
Sunday school was a bit of a repeat of the first grade, Pete liked to talk too much. In the church basement, Stanley Johnson, a church elder and the Cordel's rural mailman, taught Sunday School for years. From time to time he became fed up with Pete's chit-chat and made him put his nose to a spot on the stucco wall. He was to keep it there until Stanley decided the non-theological lesson had been learned. His mother was unmoved by whining and said that perhaps Stanley "had to do it to keep order."
Belief in good deeds and in doing the right thing inspired Pete to have brief thoughts of ascending to the pulpit. He even gave a 5 minute talk to pump-up the congregation, by speaking about being a good person and behaving in a moral way, he assumed that was what everyone truly believed. The Holy Trinity didn't figure into the mini-sermon, he just felt that people ought to do what they professed. It brought pats on the back for being such a "good boy." Had God "called" him to be a man of the cloth? If so it had been too faint for him to hear and there was no echo. Yes, you have to listen for the call, Pete knew that catchphrase, too.
Pete was a member of MYF (Methodist Youth Fellowship) and was its president for a time. A recital for the W.C.T.U. (Women's Christian Temperance Union) was held in the Methodist Church so he worked to memorize a poem about Old King Cole, the Merry Old Soul who shunned alcohol. The event was held to please the still numerous Prohibitionists in the community, who continued to vote the Prohibitionist Party ticket, well into the 60s and beyond. He sang baritone in the Church Choir, sometimes by himself, surrounded only by lady choir members, which wasn't all that bad. "We Shall Gather at the River," "When The Roll is Called Up Yonder," "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," a tune with a different significance later in this memoir, and many other hymns continue to provide ample fare for shower solos. Jesus does love the little children, black and yellow, red and white. All the children of the World, but do Christians??
Comprehension of what church was about was overshadowed by a feeling of responsibility. Believing that he must do what was right, Pete may have looked like he was "in the zone" more than he actually was. Infrequently, evangelists were invited to give the Methodists some of that "old time religion." If it was good enough for Grandpa, it is good enough for me, went the theme of the song. They would pepper the attendees with music, the Gospel, and a heavy dose of Fire and Brimstone. The congregation nearly filled the pews one Sunday evening, when an evangelist beseeched church folks to come forward and accept the Lord. He kept asking but no soul was so moved. Farm Boy felt, a twinge of leadership but more so, an urge to do what the authority figure asked. How could all these grownups just sit and ignore "the call" from a person whom they had invited to their church, to do this very thing?
Farm Boy had to act, so he stood up and tried to step past his H.S. classmate, who was nearer the center aisle. She, who seemed to have caught the fever, arose and they went together. The preacher guy was elated and stated that it was wonderful that "this young couple," though they were not, had come forward to accept Jesus. "Now, won't more of you do the same?" Saving what breath that remained, he focused upon the two available sinners. "Accepting Jesus" meant what? Farm Boy bowed his head and let the congregation pray for his iniquities and for the upcoming football season. "It" did not "take." Truth be told, the Evangelist didn't care any longer because he had done his best. This was a tough crowd.
1967 brought a new favorite to Pete's hymn selections. In the movie, "Cool Hand Luke," Luke, sitting on his prison cot and looking for solace for all his misdeeds, strummed a banjo as he sang this song.

"Plastic Jesus"

I don't care if it rains or freezes
Long as I got my plastic Jesus
Sitting on the dashboard of my car
Comes in colors, pink and pleasant
Glows in the dark because it's iridescent
Take it with you when you travel far
Get yourself a sweet Madonna
Dressed in rhinestone, sitting on a
Pedestal of abalone shell
Going ninety, I ain't scary
Because I got the Virgin Mary
Assuring me that I won't go to Hell.

All the people shall say, Amen. All the people answered, Amen.

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Part Deux
College took me from home but the habit of going to church remained. I was "supposed" to go to church and the fellowship was enjoyable. About two years into the college scene, the urge to attend Chapel waned to the point I no longer attended. There were other things to do and J.C. had little pull on me. 6 months before graduation I was married in a church and upon completion of KSU I went off to the Army. We attended sporadically, both of us going because of the old, not quite lost, habit and from a vague concern that we might mess up eternity if we didn't.
Steve, a fellow Helicopter student pilot, always seemed very happy and he was a "born again" Christian. That must be why he was so cheerful. Church became important like never before. My wife and I both went, but I did so with purpose, I was determined to be happy like Steve. We went to Bible studies. We prayed and said all the buzzwords that flaunted Christianity on our sleeves. We "shared." Members of one Bible study group spoke of their auxiliary group that "spoke in tongues." That seemed even better so we asked to be part of the Tower of Babel clutch but we were rejected out of hand because we had not advanced far enough in our Christian beliefs to be present for such things. They were somehow more special, which slightly offended, but they obviously knew more than we.
Regurgitating Jesus-Speak, which I was still learning and perfecting, I moved onward. I begged Jesus to come into my heart, whenever the opportunity arose. I prayed and asked all the things the righteous advised me to ask. I waited and I waited and I waited. Jesus wouldn't even sit, like a pirate's parrot, on my shoulder. He wasn't under my hat nor on the dashboard of my car. J.C. was nowhere to be found. Must try harder. Pete, you aren't surrendering your soul to Jesus, you are holding back. Let everything go and he will find you. If I could just let go, the son of God would take up residence in my heart. Here Jesus, here Jesus. "J e e s u s H. Christ!, where A R E you?!" I knew it was my fault but I still thought I might be close, even though I had been working at it for a year or more.
We stopped at the Topeka home of my Best Man, Jon, and Georgia, on our drive from Virginia to Ft. Carson, Colorado. Soon, I was jabbering in God-bothering lingo and repeating some of the wonderful things that I knew would happen when I let the Baby Jesus "into my heart." We were up until 4 or 5 a.m., talking about the things that I was spouting and conversely, about the things that actually made sense to me. By the wee morning hours, "Oh dark-thirty," in Army parlance, I came to the very vivid realization that I was trying to make myself accept something that, deep down, I simply didn't believe. Whenever I asked "the Dude" to come into my peritoneum, there were always doubts but, repeatedly, I pushed them aside. It no longer made sense, especially when I, with every ounce of sincerity that I had been able to muster, had worked my tail off but still had not broken through to the other side. Bonnie Raitt sings, "I can't make you love me if you don't. You can't make your heart feel something it won't." That was where I was with Señor Jesus H. Christ.
"And that was the end of my religion period!" These words were uttered with a quivering voice by Dustin Hoffman's character, Jack Crabb, the 121 yr old narrator of the movie,
"Little Big Man." Jack Crabb was the only survivor of the Battle of The Little Big Horn. He was recalling Faye Dunaway's character, his religious mentor as a boy coming of age, when he saw her in a sexual embrace with the druggist in the drug store basement. This quote completely summed up the events of the very long night in early August 1973.

EPILOGUE
It occurs to me, having rummaged through my disbelief what I do believe should also be ferreted out. Skipping all the thoughts, readings and cogitations of how my mind traipsed to arrive at this point, the answer is simple. I believe in Love. I believe in Family. I believe in Friendship. I believe in Loyalty. I believe in Truth and Honesty. I believe in Goodness. I believe in treating others the way I want to be treated, with Fairness and with Respect for all humans and all our coexisting creatures roaming Earth. I believe in Community. I believe we are part of an evolving Universe, most especially, we are part of Mother Earth and we should fully respect our Mother. We are merely an extension of a branch of mammals. We are not better than the other animals or any other person, we are merely different and we are not bestowed with some divine right to treat them other than with Respect and Dignity. I believe in Education to teach each generation these beliefs and I refer back to Truth and Honesty, for guidance in how to accomplish this education. I believe that it is only logical and proper that we do Good for the sake of doing Good. Good will not be successful, if it is done under threats from a magical being who speaks in riddles subject to 1,000s of interpretations and under threats of harm or eternal damnation if the right thing is not done. I believe Good is done because it is the right thing to do. I believe things happen because humans make both good choices and bad choices. The Good choices bear repeating. The more we can accept, rather than deny, a negative event that has occurred, the more it can be prevented, dealt with, overcome or lived with (all inclusive). It is a crude but pragmatic saying, which I believe and try to live by: "Shit Happens." No magical being did IT to me nor will that ethereal being undo IT. I must deal with IT and the sooner I do, the sooner I can move onward to a new and better situation. These things are born from within us and are the powerful forces from which cometh Good.
Let all the people on Earth sing John Lennon's "Imagine"!!
AMEN, Brothers and Sisters!

Source: http://peter-o-dactyl.blogspot.com/2010/08/chapter-7-farm-boy-pete-lay-in-bed.html