There are lots of outrageous things that have happened to each of us in our longer or shorter association with the Jay-Dubs. But it's amazing sometimes what teeny things have been the final straw.
Being raised as a JW, I swallowed most stuff whole my entire life. Then, as a teen began to question some things, but waited patiently for Jehovah to straightened things out. I listened to grand debates about sisters wearing pants suits or not, brothers wearing wide ties, narrow ties, bow ties, or anyone wearing steel rim glasses, or rimless glasses, or bell-bottem pants, boots instead of shoes, and other spiritually vital absurdities.
Went off to college (how 'bout that!), and after graduation decided to grow a beard. Had always wanted one, so I did it. I was so naive, I wasn't aware there would be a problem. Well.
I had my platform privileges revoked.
"Why?" I wanted to know. "What is the scriptural basis of this action where you attempt to override my conscience with your platform regulations?"
"This restriction is organizational," they said, "not scriptural."
"Organizational? What scripture allows you the authority to override my conscience in this matter with your platform requirements?"
Couldn't come up with an answer to that one. So I began to question more and more things. And when pressed for answers, the elders could come up with no scriptural basis for what they were doing. But with a straight face claimed they had the right to replace my conscience with their conscience. Not so fast, I said, this kind of passive acceptance of the violation of my conscience is exactly what you give rank and file Catholics all that hell for, asking them how come they don't tell the priests to go pound sand.
"We're different," they said, "we speak for Jehovah."
"Right," I said, "and I'm the virgin mary. Be seein' ya."
They sneaked around, peekin' in my windows for three years after I stopped going to the Kingdom Hall, and finally someone saw me smoking and I got a ride on the "ship." Doesn't that just take the cake? What incredible small-mindedness. It was exactly like being fired three years after you quit your job.
But there it is: the straw that broke the camel's back for me. The wholly innocent desire to grow a beard. Oh, by the way, two of the elders who came to my house to conduct their little inquisition had moustaches, and one of them was drunker than a priest, and one of the ones with the moustache had a cleaning business and as a part of that had an electric meter he used to steal electricity with when he showed up at an apartment to clean where there was no electricity. How 'bout them apples?
What's your straw??????
Best,
Francoise