I understand, Scooby. To me, the Memorial was always a sacred occasion, probably because my dad partook of the emblems and treated it as a very important day. He wasn't weird about it, just really, really believed. And so did I! I would look at the moon each Memorial night and think how the same moon hung over Jerusalem the night of Jesus' death. I saw that moon all over the world: St. Croix, Australia, Texas, and it was special every year.
Then, as the hypocrisy began to tear down this nice little faith I had, I saw how pretentious the Memorial was, or rather the people who attended. I really hated it when, because of all the congregations, it was decided to have it at a local Holiday Inn, and then at the Plano Convention Center. Seemed kind of cheap then. I still liked hearing Dad give the talk, and perhaps that was all I really liked about it.
I don't miss it at all now; in fact, the thought of attending one makes me kind of nauseous. It would remind me too much of Dad, how he was treated, how he died a couple of weeks before Memorial two years ago. There are no people who would genuinely welcome me, at least not in this area! And just as sincerely as I believed back then, I am equally certain now that this is NOT where God wants me to be. I have "prove[n] to myself the good and acceptable and perfect will of God" and it ain't the JW's!
So on Thursday night I'll look at the moon and wonder if it really happened as the Bible said, because now I have the freedom to think that maybe it's all just a story. And I will remember the good times, cry a little for my dad, and enjoy my memories. But I will be very very happy to be who I am now.
I am free.
Nina