In among the bags and boxes of keepsakes that my mother gave to me from my grandmother's belongings, something of an emotional nuclear bomb was hiding on me. Or more like a landmine; because I didn't realize the damage it could do until it was too late to do anything about it.
Mom had given me first choice of most of Grandma's things, knowing how close we were, and I had wanted the box of ancient K-mart brand cassette tapes, now 30 years old, which had recordings of her voice, and mine, when I was tiny. One of the tapes, though, was quite different.
The label had my grandfather's name on it, and it said "Singing, district convention 1975." I remember where it was, I was there, just a child of four at the time.
I put the tape in, and I wasn't prepared for the emotions that the sounds stirred in me.
Above the muffled sound of bad-quality Watchtower orchestrations, two voices ring out clearly, each word sung with whole hearts if not with the most operatic of voices. The recording begins in the middle of the song, and the first thing I heard was :
"...we hear your command, making our choice, with Jehovah we stand;
"Jehovah, our Rock, our strength, and our might, Your name we make known, both day and night; Glorious Jehovah, Almighty in Pow'r, you are our hiding place, you are our tow'r." (what is up with them omitting vowels, anyway? They did that a lot in those things.)
The depth of my grandfather's singing voice surprised me a little, I had forgotten it was so deep. Of course he's been gone more than 20 years now so it's no surprise that the intracate tones were dull in my memory. I ached hearing him; it was a deep, bone level hurt, like the way an old injury hurts on a rainy day. Much fresher and raw like a knife, the pain I felt hearing my grandmother's voice singing right with him: just like I remember hearing it yesterday, it seems. I still mark the time she's been gone in days passing, not months or years.
I immediately felt tears falling down my face, I was incapable of stopping them. You could hear the absolute dedication and sincerity in every word, in every note they sang. The next verse really got to me, and it amazed me how I remembered the words so clearly after all these years of not allowing these songs to enter my concious thoughts.
"Help us, oh God, to keep doing your will;
Tho' Satan slaps us, we're trusting you still;
Though he may slay us, oh help us to be,
Witnesses holding fast integrity..."
My grandmother died, if truth be told and stripped to the bare bones of complicated circumstance, for her faith.
If she had not refused the possibility of a blood transfusion, she would have had surgery as soon as she was injured and likely would still be alive. Even though I know, in her heart, that she gave up on life years ago. My grandfather was her life, the two of them were interconnected in every way; and after he died she wished over and over, aloud, that she could join him and wait for the New System so they could be together. As vehemently as she defended, and fought to live up to the tenents of her faith, it seemed that the idea of death still held more appeal and comfort for her than living as a JW. How can that be? What good is faith if it brings no comfort to you in the darkest times of your life?
The song went on through another chorus and verse. I played the tape for my husband, telling him the words to each stanza before it was sung because if you didn't know them they could be hard to make out on the ancient recording. His eyes teared up and he said "The sincerity in their voices is just as heartbreaking as the hypocrisy, scandals and child abuse in the organization. These people truly believed and gave their lives to this without question. Without a second thought." He was really disturbed by it. He'd never met my grandfather, but he could feel the determination in his being all these years after the song was sung.
For one brief moment, hearing the voices of these two people who meant more to me as a child than any other people on Earth, I wished that what they believed was true because I wanted them back so badly. I wanted to think, Watchtower Org. be damned, please tell me that they will be alive again, somewhere that I can hug them and kiss them and tell them how dearly they have been missed. Tell me that they will get to see that I did okay for myself despite family opinion to the contrary. Let them know that they raised me right, and that the best lessons they taught me, giving and loving, are still in me and are the best parts of me that I try to pass on to my own child.
I want to think that they are together now; I have to believe that somewhere, somehow they are or my heart just can't take it. They were both such forces for good in this world, they never waited for God to act in cases of need that they were aware of, they just filled the need, thinking of Jesus' words that if you fed or clothed those that were his, that you had done it for him, too. They were of humble means, both worked hard and didn't make much, but they gave so much more than I can fathom even now as an adult. Honestly, I don't know how they did it, but I know it was at great personal sacrifice, which they never complained or resented. It was just who they were.
My grandfather was a man of action and a man of conviction; "It's the principle of the thing," was one of his most commonly used expressions. Getting facts straight was a sticking point with him, as was doing what you knew was right even if it wasn't popular.
I have to think that if he knew what I know now about how the organization has misled people that he would have been deeply troubled. I don't know if he ever would have stopped believing that Jehovah was the Way and the truth and the light; but I hope that he would have understood my reasons for leaving the org. His faith in God saw him through a world war even though he didn't know the 'truth' then; I don't think he ever would have stopped believing in god regardless.
If nothing else, maybe he understands my reasons now...wherever he is. I can only hope.
I can also only hope that in the final moments of their lives, that their faith that the name of Jehovah was a strong tower into which the righteous run and are protected gave them strength and comfort. They both suffered terribly before their deaths; and I wish I could tell them that the thought gave me some comfort...but it doesn't.
I don't know if God exists. But I do know that the "Watchtower" is a place into which the liars and predators run and are given protection, and I just can't live with that. If I continued living the lie, I would be as guilty as those who do the wrong because I'd be helping to cover it up.
Grandma and Grandpa, forgive me, please. I just can't go back. If God is out there, the WTS will bear a great responsibility for the souls they have misled and enslaved...yours included.
~essie