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Posted a lot to various message boards, which I somewhat try not to do. I wonder if it's related to my numinous feeling of discontentedness.
Discussions about some of the stuff I wrote have led me in a couple of directions. One of these is pondering at tattoos again, but that's probably a matter for private conversation with involved parties.
The other sent me wandering off through Google to see if the pastor from the church I attended is still around. He seems to be at the Potomac United Methodist Church now.
I'm debating writing him a letter. Though I don't know what to say. "I was a child at First United Methodist Church of Hyattsville while you were there. I no longer consider myself Christian, but your sermons meant a lot to me, and I remember them, and wanted to thank you for them." I don't know, it seems odd. I don't know how to say things right. Don't know how to say that his voice is one of the things I remember from my childhood; that I paid attention during his sermons and the booklets they gave the children to fiddle with so they wouldn't be disruptive during the sermon didn't last very long; don't know how to say that he is one of the reasons I didn't want my break with Christianity to be a bitter one. Don't know how to say that I remember the palm fronds, the robes in the choir room hung up in rows, the huge stained glass window and the magnificent pipe organ.
The Bible he gave me when I was eight years old is sitting next to me right now.
I do think I want to write to him, somehow. If I can figure out what to say.
Discussions about some of the stuff I wrote have led me in a couple of directions. One of these is pondering at tattoos again, but that's probably a matter for private conversation with involved parties.
The other sent me wandering off through Google to see if the pastor from the church I attended is still around. He seems to be at the Potomac United Methodist Church now.
I'm debating writing him a letter. Though I don't know what to say. "I was a child at First United Methodist Church of Hyattsville while you were there. I no longer consider myself Christian, but your sermons meant a lot to me, and I remember them, and wanted to thank you for them." I don't know, it seems odd. I don't know how to say things right. Don't know how to say that his voice is one of the things I remember from my childhood; that I paid attention during his sermons and the booklets they gave the children to fiddle with so they wouldn't be disruptive during the sermon didn't last very long; don't know how to say that he is one of the reasons I didn't want my break with Christianity to be a bitter one. Don't know how to say that I remember the palm fronds, the robes in the choir room hung up in rows, the huge stained glass window and the magnificent pipe organ.
The Bible he gave me when I was eight years old is sitting next to me right now.
I do think I want to write to him, somehow. If I can figure out what to say.
