So many gods, so many creeds, so many paths that wind and wind, while just the art of being kind is all the sad world needs. -Ella Wheeler Wilcox
I have never been one for church. I suppose I liked Sunday School enough. There were cotton balls and popsicle sticks and graham crackers and plenty of places to hide and snicker in the church basement. The service, though. That was another matter entirely. And not just because my buns ached from the hard pew (they did) or the sermon was dry (it wasn't) or the crotch of my tights were hanging somewhere around my knees (weren't yours?). No- it was because it just didn't make sense to me.
I wasn't particularly captivated by the stories in the Bible, though I can go toe-to-toe with our school chaplin when it comes to recounting them. I did love the Christmas holiday and the dresses my mother made us for Easter, but it didn't take me long to figure out that the magic of those holidays was in the hands of my family- that crafted the ornaments on the tree, braided bread into wreaths, held me up to place the star, stitched each seam into place- and not in the palms of an invisible Him.
And so, early on, I decided that I was an athiest. (I use the softer "heathen" for my mom's sake, and though she still threatens to baptize the Biscuit in a secret bathtime ceremony, I think he might foil her plans by peeing in the bath water and then threatening to drink it from a cup.) And this is why it was so funny this weekend to be constantly mistaken for a minister's wife.
Mr. Frick officiated a wedding ceremony on Saturday. I won't give you all the details, though some of them are great, like the fact that a dog named Oscar Nascar was mentioned in the homily. I will just say that I was SO proud of him and the entire experience served to reinforce my belief that kindess and family-however you want to define it- are at the core of all that is good, and there's no way you or even an army of Hims can convince me otherwise.