Personal Narrative †Atheist Essay -- Personal Narrative Writing

Personal Narrative AtheistI didnt ask for the government minister to come over. I would have much rather been left exclusively to watch day clock TV. True, I was beginning to feel I teensy isolated, however some sissy-voiced holy man I hardly knew wasnt press release to make me feel any better. But it was standard policy to publish the church when one of its fold has been hospitalized, for prayer requests and all that mush, and when the curate comprehend that I was already home, he felt obligated to visit, as if perceive my swollen, drooling face was somehow doing me a favor.If just I could have had the mathematical operation a year ago, when I still believed in divinity, but the sawbones made me wear these braces first, buying me plenty of time to flow my freshman year of college. The first class I took was a organized religion course, Literature of the Old and New Testament. Although Id always considered myself a Christian, I had never taken time to read the Bible, p artly out of apathy and partly out of fear, until that class. During the semester, with my bliss of ignorance lifted, I discovered how barbaric the Christian reliance was. I learned of the scores of men sent to die by Davids hand so he could learn a lesson about lechery, of the Egyptian corpses floating in the Red Sea. There was also the famous cede Issac prank God pulled on Abraham, and the office pool between God and His Accuser to see how long Job could be toyed with before he snapped. clear up of all, a brief tour of Revelations revealed that the Devil might have been the production of a fever dream taken too seriously and that the and real Evil in the world sprang from the hands of an arrogant, pissy God.Mom was engage tidying up the room, dusting this and that so the church didnt think we were total slobs. She s... ...drens Motrin. God whitethorn have crushed Jacobs nuts, but a warrior God was still the only god worth praying to.The prayer began with a brief request for the entitle to watch over me, which turned my thoughts once again to the comminuted presidential term Jesus in the recovery room. I had secretly missed the little Jesus since the day I checked out, but as the pastor was praying the same old Christian rhetoric, I realized that I didnt contain him anymore. The real Jesus was watching over me. Dont ask me how I knew, but I knew. Jesus was watching over the entire world, protecting it as if it were His younger brother. Protecting it from an abusive Father.As the pastor left I flicked on the TV, more to have something to stare at than something to watch, and to the low, lulling drone of newscasters top a political scandal, I silently wondered about the last time I attended church.