I've been thinking back to my j-dub childhood with a sort of sad fondness...
My great-grandfather was the first Witness in the valley where he lived and ranched. He became one after listening to Rutherford's radio programs. I have no idea why and am a bit curious.
I never knew him but my grandparents had all the old lit: a rainbow of books I loved looking through, stacks of Golden age Magazines, the recorded albums used door to door, cloth magazine bags that were printed w/something like "Watchtower and Awake 5 cents." And the walls of the stairwell were covered with WTS calendar "art."
I was filled with such a sense of awe at being part of something of such divine importance. I was going to live forever in paradise and I was going to help everyone else live forever too 'cause neither God nor I desired any to be destroyed.
Then I grew up and the beautiful bubble burst and my magnificent Biblical God of love and light and his beloved wifely organization, knowledge of which had been passed down to me as a treasured inheritance, had their masks stripped away one layer at a time, their lies and their strange forms of violence made plain. So strange to finally see what a dysfunctional family model we were given.
This no longer has the power to deceive me and yet still holds much of the rest of my family enthralled. I have no idea why and am a bit curious. How did I see through it all? Why haven't they? I just have to write and ask at least one of them.
How long can they justify all the wrongs and explain all inconsistencies away? As long as they feel they must to protect "the family" and their eternally distant eternal futures I suppose. How sad...
~Merry
( touching her dusty parenthesi button fondly, thinking of the "good ol' days" and unwilling to completely "give up the ghost" ;-)