I couldn’t help but think of the hundreds of Christians I know who look pious and are, by all accounts, good Christians. Yet, at some point I have heard of the skeletons in their closets: men or women having extra-marital affairs, single Christians having pre-marital sex, compulsive liars, con-people, wife beaters, child abusers, thieves, rapists, and what not?

Christians are going to jump at me here and say that I am looking at the sinners instead of keeping my eyes on Jesus. But I think they’re being too forgiving with a faith that proves again and again its ineffectiveness.

As I’ve stated in the past, what baffles me isn’t so much that their deeds fail to match their profession of faith. What bothers me is how easily they fool their Christians counterparts.

This is too revealing for me.  For instance, many a time I’ve known of crooks who just a week before being found out were praised by the pastor from the pulpit.

And I never tire of saying this: Whatever happened to the holy spirit? Isn’t the spirit supposed to guide Jesus’ followers to all truth? Aren’t pastors of all people supposed to own the gift of discernment?

To me that’s a deal breaker. That Christians can’t even as much as suspect they’re dealing with blatant liars or con-people is unacceptable.

That to me means that THERE IS NO HOLY SPIRIT guiding the saints. And there is where the carefully fabricated bunch of lies devotees are told Sunday after Sunday falls apart, in my opinion.

Why are guided-by-god-himself folks so easy to fool? Why?

I have never been easy to fool. And for pointing out the crooks and liars I was harshly criticized and told off.

This is not too different from what happens to non-Christians. They fall for BS all the time as well, proving that the folks in church have no special anointing, insight, or wisdom.  They are representatives of the local culture as much as everyone else.

Yes, after six years and counting of not going to church, the naïveté of the thousands of Christians I met while a believer still baffles me.

Cain, Perry, Bachmann all claimed God told them to run for President, and all are out of the race. God is hilarious.

This is what gets me about Christians. It’s not just about the presidential campaign. Stuff like that is heard in churches every Sunday: from “god told me to marry her” to “that’s the school the lord told me to send my children.”

I concluded at the end of my Christian life that most ideas churchgoers claim god gave them lead to decisions that a year later turn into prayer requests.

• They have marital problems with or even divorce the person god told them to marry
• The child is having relationship problems at the school the holy spirit led them to send the kid
• The pastor is having issues at the church god led him to
• That oh-so-prayed-for job is a pain in the … neck
• The god-sent friend turned out to be a bitch
• The perfect prayed over house is full of problems

That baffling dichotomy with few overlaps is something I’m unable to live with. They certainly can come up with excuses for every item on that list. But they’re just excuses.

How is saying that god wanted us to learn something from that situation less than a pitiful excuse than saying, “My husband drinks because his job is too demanding?”

What’s more, folks who never pray for anything obtain the same results from their endeavours. As a non-Christian I, too, misjudge people and situations. And when it goes  sour, I don’t have to make excuses for god. Maybe I can explain it to myself, or accept that I was miserably deceived. Then, as most mentally healthy folks do, I turn the lemons into lemonade and learn something from the experience.

In my case, I probably will learn to use more discernment, so I’m not fooled again. I will probably make a mental note or two about character traits or clues that may have hinted the negative result.

But, how do you excuse a so-called know-it-all god for an undesirable outcome? The clear conclusion is that there is no god. Or if there is one, she is too hard to comprehend. I should, therefore, ignore god and base my decisions on my own instincts.

Believing that god said anything to us is a waste of time. It is much more productive to hone our observation skills and our instincts and take control of our own lives.

But more than anything, I feel the need to re-evaluate a lot of things I’ve written on this blog. Five years of writing. Or, is it six whole years? I can’t believe it.  No, I will not change what I wrote, because that goes to “state of mind,” as they say in the courtroom.

I wish, though, I could re-write some stuff. For instance, not too long ago, I wrote about Mayberry, North Carolina, the town portrayed in The Andy Griffith Show.

On my post I wrote quite emphatically that I couldn’t understand why North Americans prefer to lie to save someone’s face, rather that letting others know the truth. I also said that in MY CULTURE, people told the truth.

Further to that post, due to a recent trip, I have gotten in touch with many people I knew in the past, in my homeland. That helped me discover that, in my culture, those of lower socio-economic levels are the ones who slam the truth on others’ faces. My family isn’t in that category today, but we have humble origins.

I, however, graduated from university and knew people in “higher places.” They were/are of a higher class, and they care for others’ feelings and are willing to lie to save one’s face.  I didn’t fit in with them in the past, but they, classy and compassionate, loved me as I was. They laugh today telling anecdotes of blunt, rude things I did.

“She used to come to the classroom and throw her books on the desk. Once, one of the guys said to her that they had saved her a seat. She retorted angrily that they could have the damned seat, that she didn’t need any favours. The guys, knowing that she was different, started being sweet with her. Slowly, Lorena warmed up to them. She started to change.”

It would be unfair of me to say that I don’t have friends, that nobody loves me, because that just isn’t true. There have been people in my life who have put up with me, folks who endured my lack of social skills and inability to be “typical”. However, even they are willing to admit that it took some effort and that something wasn’t up to par with my behaviour. They will tell you that, academically, I was brilliant.

Yes, they love me. But, are we close friends? No. They all have their favourite friends. I never got picked as a bridesmaid. I wasn’t even invited to their weddings. I was a charity project to them. I wasn’t the friend they called when they wanted to party or to have a good time. I was the one they called when they wanted (a) help with homework or (b) to do a good deed.

So, I admit I was wrong when I wrote that in my culture people told the truth. That was an unfair generalization. The post however, shows one of my aspie symptoms: I can’t lie, and I hate it when others do. I tell the truth, and I want others to tell me the truth.

But, why do I want others to be straight forward and truthful? Because it is hard for me to pick up clues. In order to pick up subtle hints, I need to make a huge effort. I need to pay close attention. And it is tiring for me to be always on guard watching if others are sending a message. Not only that, having trained myself to observe carefully, I am now able to notice stuff others miss, and I am hurt. I can see for instance, as in slow motion, when others are trying to get rid of me.

The saddest part is that I know how I get on people’s nerves, but as hard as I try, I can’t make myself into a typical person. There is no easy way to change me. All I see is the rejection. All I feel is the awkwardness. And even when people out of kindness force themselves to put up with me, I can tell they’re just being nice, and that they can’t wait to get away from me (or have I become paranoid).

Interestingly enough, as much as I would like to take back a lot of the stuff I wrote, I’m afraid that re-writing wouldn’t change the main issue: I wasn’t treated well in church. Christians scored poorly at mercy. Non-Christians did much better at showing me compassion and love. And that is probably what helped me leave the faith.  It is hard to remain a Christian when you have challenges that are beyond your control, and you’re being judged for them.  Christians tried to cast out demons out of me, put me in all kinds of prayer lists, admonished me constantly, counselled me to read the Bible and pray, but they failed to give me compassion.

As I have stated on this blog before, and long time readers can attest to, I am different, really, seriously different from most people.

Up to today, I blamed my dysfunctional family for my troubles—yes, that was a problem. I blamed it on being a smart woman trying to make it in a male-dominated business world. Yes, that was a problem. I blamed it on having been religious for a large part of my life, and of course, that was a problem.

However, today, I had an aha moment.

After years of having tried to convince my husband that he is an Aspie, I finally realized that—yes, he is an Aspie—but that I’m one too.

I failed to see that before because, unlike my husband, I do care if I am accepted socially. I do notice when I’m rejected. He doesn’t. The lack of friends doesn’t bother him. That no-one ever calls him other than his mom is perfectly fine.

Today, I decided to look up female Asperger’s Syndrome and voila, yes, it describes me. Yes, I’m a little autistic. Yes, I have the symptoms. And while for some that would be awful news, for me is a relief.

All my attempts to fit in socially have failed, because I’m not like the majority of you. In my world things are different. And it takes a huge effort to follow your social rules to try to be accepted by you.

Here is an example. Today, an employee from our timeshare company called. With melodic sweet enthusiasm, the lady confirmed our upcoming weekend get away. I sat  at the other side replying with dry yes’s and no’s while rolling my eyes in annoyance. Then, all of a sudden I realized that I had to pretend some politeness. So, I tried, by upping my voice’s pitch.

Subsequently, I thought my husband could use the info she was providing and gave him the phone. I requested she start with him from the beginning. She heard almost exactly the same borderline-rude, dry responses from him. We failed to match her enthusiasm. That’s the way we are: incredibly factual, no-bullshit, to-the-point people.

That’s when I realized why we have no friends. We just can’t get ourselves to live up to the social conventions that others think necessary. We are annoyed by steady noises and bright lights. We have trouble with sarcasm and figures of speech. We dislike change. We tackle tasks obsessively and research the smallest details. People don’t like being around us. Even our friends and relatives dislike our topics of conversation and think that we’re odd.

To be honest, right now, I just want to cry. But not because I know that I’m an Aspie. I want to cry because it took me this long to learn.

Why did I want to know that I am an Aspie? Because I keep trying to change myself, to be like other people, and I keep failing.

I know I’ve said many times that I accept myself the way I am. But it still hurts to live in a world that is expecting us to act a certain way, and it rejects us when we don’t.

When I look back at my entire life and notice all the times that I have been put down and humiliated for being different, I feel so sorry for myself. I want to cry for me. Just the way I would cry if I watched a movie about any other autistic person who tried to make it in the “normal” world and failed.

I can see how church wasn’t the place for me. And I can see why a career in technology WAS and IS the only place I was going to succeed. After all, I found many folks like me in that field. That’s why the office was the only place I could make friends.

A person with “special needs” like me was never going to be embraced by a family of psychopaths like the one I grew up in. They’re rude, cruel, and ignorant. They’re also into keeping up appearances. Imagine all the times I embarrassed them with my disregard for social conventions. No wonder they keep trying to change me, and think I’m such a horrible person. The one thing they value is where I fail at most miserably.

Tears are flowing and the pit of my stomach hurts. But I believe knowing this will make my life easier. After all, I am who I am, and I’m not going to try to dramatically change anymore. Attempting to make myself into a socially adequate individual is akin to making a wheelchair-bound person walk. It is destructive and futile. My efforts should be aimed at surviving with my disability, not at trying to make me who I’m not.

For those interested, here is a very good description of female Asperger’s Syndrome.

Here is a question to my readers (are there any left out there?): Is this a shock to you? Did you suspect?

This year the play was particularly annoying. It was about a reporter whose three cell phones kept ringing. That was silly.

The wanna-be-hot-shot journalist gets sent to a small town on Christmas Eve, to emcee the town’s celebration. Once there, he meets two children. One of them wonders off, and people blame him for the disappearance.

It was a rainy night and the town was flooding. But the little girl ends up finding a rock on high ground where to rest, and angels come to comfort her and keep her safe. The journalist finds the lost child and then gives his life to Jesus.

What’s so annoying about that? Well, where are the angels every time thousands of children—in real life—wonder off or are stolen and subsequently sexually abused and/or murdered?

No, there aren’t any angels protecting children out there. That’s abundantly clear if we read the news.

Personally, I never saw angels when I was being trampled and abused by God-following adults as a kid. In fact, the same God fearing people are still trying to convince me that I’m ugly, worthless, and despicable. And, again, I haven’t seen angels.

What we see of most folks is a fabrication of the image they want to portray.

Let me explain. When people come to visit, if I can help it, the house will be spotless. What’s suppose to shine will, the whites will be sparkly, and woods will be dustless.

But that’s not how I live. Most times there are dishes in the sink. The white kitchen floor shows messy spots. The white cupboards can use some whipping. The stuff atop the bathrooms’ counters is in some disarray.

At one level or another, we are all working hard at keeping up the image we’ve created. And we’re largely successful. Most acquaintances buy our charade.   After all, they’re too busy building up their own fabrication to care about what portions of my story are true or false.

Yes, we tend to live as if On Display.

The syndrome becomes even more pronounced when it comes to dignitaries, CEO’s ,  politicians, movie stars, and just about anybody whose line of work puts then in the public eye, such as a pastor.

There is nothing particularly grand about a pastor. They’re just people like everybody else, with matrimonial problems and children issues. But they must pretend perfection, as nobody wants to hire a flawed pastor. Portraying a spotless image is a large part of his or her job.

It obviously is necessary for them to work hard at keeping up appearances; after all when they fall, it is all over the newspapers, as is currently the case with Bishop Eddie Long,

According to the CNN article, Mr. Long has been previously accused of pressuring young men for sexual encounters. And now his wife is divorcing him. Ooops!

I strongly believe that, like most human beings, the majority of pastors have skeletons—big and small—in their closets.  But their followers are too busy going about their own lives to think about that. It is much more convenient to be start stricken by the so-called good shepherds, believe whatever they say, and then go back to work on one’s public image.

I inherited from my mother the ability to be start stricken by just about anyone.  She, herself, derived such ability from the low-self-esteem inner voice that tells her she is worthless, thus everyone else is her superior (except for her own children).

So here is the conundrum teasing my brain this very second: what makes people an easy pray for fake holy ones like Eddie Long?

Is it their low self esteem? Is it the comfort of believing that a higher-up is faultless and speaks perfection? Is it a combination of both syndromes?

If you were a fundamentalist, when did you realize that pastors where people just like you and not worthy of blind faith?

As for Eddie Long, I just hope his wife truly divorces him.  Sometimes I think that most pastors’ wives wish they could leave them. It is hard to keep up appearances. The stress must be huge, especially when they’re crooked and promiscuous. That’s no way to live.

Really?

Dream on.

Car salespeople are nice, too, but that’s not the reason why I buy their vehicles. Actually, the more they kiss ass, the wearier of them I become.  I dislike extreme attention for two reasons. One, their constant hollering annoys me, at a time when I have a critical decision to make, and I need all the brain power I can muster. Two, I think they are trying to make me feel obligated to buy, by being so nice.

I make decisions on the basis of facts. There is no place for becoming emotional when it comes to hard-earned money, or to the way I live my precious life.

Your being nice to me—or not—has nothing to do with whether I accept your god.  The facts of your religion are what matters. And, to this day, I haven’t found any worshipping group with strong, verifiable doctrines.

I do realize, however, that niceness does work, both for selling cars and for increasing church attendance. I just wish they would stop applying the technique to me. It’s never going to work.

The particular aspect of my person we were discussing was the “in public view” mindset. Let me explain. Did you ever hear this sermon preached?

“The world is watching us. They are checking to see if we really are loyal to our Lord. That’s why we need to represent Jesus at all times, to let him live through us, so the world can see him through us. “

I was telling him how much thinking that I was on display stressed me out.  I also mentioned that in my family folks imagine that others are paying attention to their every move. So they live to perform. They figure others are paying attention to their clothes, car, house or whatever. “What will people say?” is my mother’s favourite saying.

The church sermons together with my upbringing encouraged me to live as if on stage. So, I was nervous and afraid, not to mention under great stress.

After I left the faith, however, with the help of a counsellor, I have concluded that it is irrelevant whether I’m being watched or not. I live to do as I find suitable, and if others notice, that’s their problem, not mine. They shouldn’t be so nosy :-)

Living as if on display was veritable torture. I do realize that not all Christians develop such fears, as not everyone takes the faith to task as I did. So, I am not saying that all believers feel the way I did. But I’m sure a subset of them does, and my heart goes out to them. Not only do they think that others are watching, they think god is, and that’s even more depressing, since it’s said he watches even the deep recesses of our minds.

Now, folks, let’s agree. That’s no way to live. There cannot possibly be “joy” in that. Hell no. Can’t a person have a private moment?

As it turns out, I owe my wonderful husband to my mother. Yeah. To her.

Why? She prayed about it, she claims.

Never mind that it was me who asked him out. That it was me who chose him among others. That it was me who pursued him. No, she prayed about it, and I owe him to her.

Why should a woman, then, bother swifting through the  riffraff to find a good man, if the decision doesn’t belong to her?

What my pious mother seems to forget is that my sisters married less than awesome guys. What happened there? She only prayed for me?

Also interesting is that I know non-religious women from non-religious families who are married to great guys. Nobody prayed for their prospective husbands, yet they, through good sense and discernment, met and wed excellent partners. My sisters, however, were devoted, dedicated-to-god girls who were naive enough to marry, well, losers.

Single women out there, whatever you do, keep your head screwed on when looking for a life partner.