Is there a creator that cares about you?
A nice lady popped round last weekend as I was building the boys climbing frame (of which more in a future post) clutching a bible.
Now, I have no argument with folks who like a bit of whatever gets them through their day, but why must they insist on trying to convert me?
It's like when I was at primary school (as it used to be called, JMI as it is now) and I used to watch endless arm-linked chains of children parading round the playground chanting "Who.... Wants to play.... " followed by the name of the game. They spend the whole lunchtime chanting, and only five minutes actually playing the game. What's the point of that?
Unsurprisingly the longest chain was always for "kiiiiiiiiss chase", the unwritten rule being that the chain had to keep up this monotonous drone until such time as the girls who had originally started the chain were happy that at least one boy who was deemed worthy of chase had joined.
It always used to make me laugh, 5 girls and 15 boys in chain.
Game starts, 5 girls run after 1 boy.
Other 14 boys shrug shoulders and begin a game of 7 aside football with a pebble.
Anyway, back to "Who.... Wants to read.... Waaaaaatchtower"
No thanks, I have a life to enjoy until one day when the sun rises but I don't.
I don't try to convert them, or explain my views in order to change their outlook. I'm happy with my life, whilst they seem dreadfully needy and miserable.
I remained polite, of course, continuing to use my new cordless drill where necessary. She offered to leave me with a little book called "Is there a creator that cares about you?", but realised she didn't have any copies with her.
Yesterday (a week later) the book appears on my doormat. I read the first 20 pages, but there's no plot and the writing style is obvious and patronising, and so it's now best friends with yesterdays Evening Standard in my recycling box.
Good day.
Now, I have no argument with folks who like a bit of whatever gets them through their day, but why must they insist on trying to convert me?
It's like when I was at primary school (as it used to be called, JMI as it is now) and I used to watch endless arm-linked chains of children parading round the playground chanting "Who.... Wants to play.... " followed by the name of the game. They spend the whole lunchtime chanting, and only five minutes actually playing the game. What's the point of that?
Unsurprisingly the longest chain was always for "kiiiiiiiiss chase", the unwritten rule being that the chain had to keep up this monotonous drone until such time as the girls who had originally started the chain were happy that at least one boy who was deemed worthy of chase had joined.
It always used to make me laugh, 5 girls and 15 boys in chain.
Game starts, 5 girls run after 1 boy.
Other 14 boys shrug shoulders and begin a game of 7 aside football with a pebble.
Anyway, back to "Who.... Wants to read.... Waaaaaatchtower"
No thanks, I have a life to enjoy until one day when the sun rises but I don't.
I don't try to convert them, or explain my views in order to change their outlook. I'm happy with my life, whilst they seem dreadfully needy and miserable.
I remained polite, of course, continuing to use my new cordless drill where necessary. She offered to leave me with a little book called "Is there a creator that cares about you?", but realised she didn't have any copies with her.
Yesterday (a week later) the book appears on my doormat. I read the first 20 pages, but there's no plot and the writing style is obvious and patronising, and so it's now best friends with yesterdays Evening Standard in my recycling box.
Good day.
posted by Furry at 10:21 am
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