Personal Narrative †Atheist Essay -- Personal Narrative Writing

personalized Narrative AtheistI didnt ask for the pastor to come everyplace. I would have much rather been left al cardinal to watch sidereal day TV. True, I was beginning to tint I little isolated, but around sissy-voiced holy man I hardly knew wasnt going to make me feel any better. But it was standard policy to notify the church when one of its f doddery has been hospitalized, for prayer requests and all that mush, and when the pastor heard that I was already home, he felt obligated to visit, as if seeing my swollen, drooling face was somehow doing me a favor.If only I could have had the surgery a course ago, when I still believed in matinee idol, but the surgeon made me intermit these braces first, buying me plenty of period to attend my freshman course of instruction of college. The first class I took was a religion course, Literature of the gray and New Testament. Although Id always considered myself a Christian, I had never taken time to read the Bible, partly out of apathy and partly out of fear, until that class. During the semester, with my mirth of ignorance lifted, I discovered how barbaric the Christian faith was. I intentional of the scores of men sent to die by Davids hand so he could learn a lesson about lechery, of the Egyptian corpses floating in the Red Sea. There was also the famous sacrifice Issac prank God pulled on Abraham, and the office pool between God and His Accuser to see how enormous Job could be toyed with before he snapped. Worst of all, a drawing tour of Revelations revealed that the Devil might have been the product of a febrility dream taken too seriously and that the only real corruptive in the world sprang from the hands of an arrogant, pissy God.Mom was busy tidying up the room, dusting this and that so the church didnt think we were total slobs. She s... ...drens Motrin. God may have low Jacobs nuts, but a warrior God was still the only god deserving praying to.The prayer began with a brief request fo r the Lord to watch over me, which turned my thoughts once again to the little brass rescuer in the recovery room. I had secretly missed the little rescuer since the day I checked out, but as the pastor was praying the same old Christian rhetoric, I realized that I didnt need him anyto a greater extent. The real Jesus was watching over me. Dont ask me how I knew, but I knew. Jesus was watching over the entire world, protecting it as if it were His younger brother. protect it from an abusive Father.As the pastor left I flicked on the TV, more to have something to stare at than something to watch, and to the low, lulling drone of newscasters covering a governmental scandal, I silently wondered about the last time I go to church.