It used to confuse me, that people would burn things as a type of therapy. Why not keep the memories? Even bad memories, to remind yourself of what you’ve been through and how you’ve changed since?
But OH MY WORD, I GET IT NOW.
I just spent two hours burning a Bible and two prayer journals.
Mind you, I have over 20 prayer journals, ranging from high school, through 2 years of college, to Japan as a missionary (2 more years), and another 2 years of college.
Despite being prayer journals, I wanted to keep them so I could read them when I am 80 years old and remember what it was like as a teenager and young 20-something.
I finally pulled one out today and skimmed through it. It dated from my second year in Japan. Several things I learned:
- I was a really good kid. I had a really good heart. I sincerely wanted the best for everyone around me.
- But I thoroughly believed I was awful, sinful, imperfect, and hopeless. And those were on good days.
- I put myself over hot coals believing perfectly natural parts of being human were sins, ones I should repent heavily of and abstain from.
- Since it was always my policy to be entirely honest and upfront in my journals, I did not hide my doubts and questions. And I had many. I wrote them down, and prayed that god would answer them. He never did, of course.
- I truly hated being female. The male missionaries all around me shat sunshine and their words were honored, while I was considered a lying whore.
Since becoming an atheist, I wondered how many of my memories were genuine, and how many I had “revisioned” to fit my new worldview. I felt like I had had doubts my whole life, but did I really? This journal confirmed it– I hadn’t revisioned anything.
Holding that Bible though, with its worn pages, underlining, highlighting, notes in the margins, I felt both sickened and awed. I regretted so many years spent so earnestly searching and trying to mold myself into what others thought I should be. But I felt so impressed that I had dedicated so much time, energy, and study into something I genuinely wanted and believed. That showed a strength, dedication and perseverance I never knew I had. Misdirected, yes, but real all the same.
I ripped out and crumpled those crispy little pages, tossing them into the fire. And I was smiling. With each page burned, I felt released, free, happier. The hate and anger I’ve felt toward religion, Christianity in general, SDAs in particular, and specific religious assholes– a certain level of badly needed revenge was taking place, and I relished it.
I feel about 5 pounds lighter.
And I still have over 20 journals left. They DO take forever to burn though, so perhaps every time we have a fire, I’ll drag out another. Hah, I’ll be a sky fairy myself by the time I’m done!
I won’t keep them til I’m 80. There’s too much pain, too much wasted time recorded in there. Why relive it later? I know all I need to about those years– I was a wonderful person, and religion made me feel like shit. I don’t need the details to hang around, haunting me til I’m 80. Besides, it’s so freeing to watch them burn now. Besides, now I am an awesome person. And I finally know it.
