It has been some months since my wife and I left the org. My mother is an absolute zealot, and had heard through the grapevine (aka the underground policing comitee; we live in a different circuit and district now) that we haven't been to meetings. She is the last vestige of guilt that I have remaining about leaving, though not in the conventional sense. My father (a devout elder and a wonderful man) died suddenly of a heart attack 10 years ago and left my mother devastated, clinging to the hope that she will one day be reunited with him on a paradise earth. I've wanted so desperately to tell her that I've left, that I'm happy I've left, and that for once I am being a sincere, non-hypocritical sentient being before God. But there is that ever-present wall that a glossy eyed witness hits upon being faced with the reality of someone really, sincerely (I'm not referring to the society's definition of "all honest-hearted ones") leaving the org out of conscience. To that witness, leaving the society = death.
That realization rang in my ears as I made the drive up North with my wife to visit my mother. My sister who had left the org quite a few years back had also made the trek seperately to visit old friends. The idea was that we would correlate our visits with my mother as a type of "buffering". My mother has recently re-established a "relationship" with my sister who was at one point considered "dead" by my parents but never formally disfellowshipped because of some ridiculous societal technicality. My sister is one of th most incredible people I've had the privilege of meeting ( a non dub would not get that last statement). The idea was my sister's presence would still my mother's courage to confront us about the rumours or our recent meeting truency.
Through whatever twist of fate I wasn't able to get in contact with my sister, and my wife and I found ourselves alone at the dinner table with my mother expectantly waiting for me to sink or swim as a Christian head, before she dared stabbed at her coleslaw without Jehovah's blessing.
I decided to step up to the plate. I gave the prayer.
I contemplated the old spiel, "dearjehovahgodweapproachyourthronetothankyouforthisdayoflifeandforthefoodandyourorganizationandbrotherhoodandweaskthatyourspiritbeuponthosebeingpersecutedandthatyouhelpallthe-brothersandsistersundergoingdifficultyduetosatanswickedworldandpleaseforgiveuswherewefallshortbecausewearesoimperfect.....
(seal it with a stamp and send it off to heaven....) through jesus' name... amen...
But I decided that the typical prayer was neither appropriate, nor honest.
I prayed in earnest for the first time in front of my mother. It was weird and honest and I remember it. I think it would be a dilution of honesty and importance to it relate word for word.
For the first time aloud I prayed for us to embrace His example of unconditional love without hypocrisy, to appreciate each gift every day our life affords us, and the freedom we have as a creation of a loving god to choose how we can glorify him. I ended with the request that His will be done. My mother said "amen".
As we ate, my mother and I talked about my dad's death, about how it affected us. We talked about the family. We didn't talk about the latest Watchtower for once. I'm kind of glad that my sister wasn't there to act as a buffer. My relationship with my mom seemed always a catalyst for furthering kingdumb truth. Call me an optimist, but I think our relationship may change.
I think my prayer wasn't in vain.
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