I have a couple of frames hanging on the wall in my study at home. These frames contains some pages of a comic book called "Johnny the Homicidal Maniac." I saw these frames with the pages already in them in the back of a Hobby Lobby where I used to work. I fell in love with them. The art is done well, and the stories are very funny, albeit grim and morbid.
My parents are visiting us this weekend.
My dad saw them and asked my wife about them (I'm at work. Carolyn just mentioned it on the phone.)
My parents are super-uber religious.
We're about to spend four days in a cabin in the mountians at Petit Jean State Park.
I'm sick to my stomach because I can sense a confrontation coming. I think I'm going to have to tell my parents that I don't believe in God anymore. I'm scared out of my mind because I know that they love me and they are going to think that I am now destined for the fires of hell. And they are going to try to fix that.
But I've had too many bad experiences with church and church people and my uber-religious family and with my own quest to get closer to God. None of which have helped me to believe that God actually exists and loves me and everyone else and is constantly present in our lives and Jesus was a divine being and Job got a good deal in the end.
I love my parents and I know they love me. I don't want them to feel like they've failed and I sure as hell don't want them to think that they have to try harder.