Keep on the watch

Dearest Selma, I remember the day you met Steve. We were at Chad's Christmas party and he was wearing that silly sweater. The one with Rudolf holding a machine gun and you were wearing that skirt you called the "sure thing." It was so inappropriate, but so you. You never let anyone or anything stop you from speaking your mind. I always wished I could be as strong or as free as you were. I knew that you two had some serious chemistry. You were both doing that thing where you talk through the person right in front you. You were talking with your hands like you never do. Steve was trying his best to play it cool, he was funnier than I'd ever heard. It was a beautiful dance and when you both finally came together, you instantly began talking over each other and flubbing every endearment. I think I remember you telling him that you "loved sweaters" and him telling you that he "once researched the history of high heels." We all just sat back and laug...

"Today is dawning, a new today! A new sun and a new blue sky Bluer than all the days I've seen. Yes, this one is the most vivid ever My vision is crisp and my joints are open. I can hear the wind whistle through the rolling landscapes My hair is thick and my skin is smooth. My hips are taught and my back is sturdy. My God has delivered the world to me. I am the meek, I have inherited the earth." These are the words I once heard spoken in a dream for someone else. I think they were all I could remember from a prayer given by a District Overseer on the closing day of a convention. It's rare to remember a prayer; most of them were boring and pretentious. This one was different. It waxed Poetic. I remember hearing noses sniffle as he relayed this tale of a woman waking up to her first day of life in the "New System." The last day of a convention was always a melancholy affair. During the intermission on the final day of the convention, it was common to...

The following letter was written by my good friend Stephanie Logan. Stephanie wrote this letter 3 months after her awakening and 2 months before she was able to formally leave the Watchtower organization.  It is a letter she wrote to future herself. As I read through this letter, I realized that it could have been written to any of us who have left or are hoping to leave. So to any who may be struggling, please let this letter serve as a shield that we may carry as we walk into the blinding winds of the rest of our lives. To My Weakest Self: I know. My dear sweet girl, I know. I know how afraid you are. I know the height and breadth of your fear. I understand it’s gravity. I know the shape of its shadow on the pavement when you walk on the road. I know how it follows you. I know how its demon claws puppet your features so that any look of serenity is morphed into a look of agony. I know that you cling to a raft of sanity, weathering a seemingly endless ocean of gr...

This week I'm going to do a review of the new watchtower publication "Pure worship of Jehovah restored at last." This publication is billed as a deep dive on the bible book of Ezekiel and the visions he reportedly experienced. The first thing you'll notice when you start in on this book is the stunning artwork. The painter of the images is obviously talented and devoted to presenting vivid and high-quality illustrations. The next thing you'll find is a letter from the governing body. This is a common occurrence for Watchtower publications however, it begs a closer look in relation to this particular book and the prophecies therein. The letter begins by attempting to reframe past failed bible interpretations. Dear Lovers of Jehovah: The year was 1971. Those who attended the “Divine Name” District Assembly held that year were thrilled to receive several new publications. The publications were described as “just beyond anyone’s imagination.” C...

I have some great memories from my childhood of congregation picnics, gatherings, and camping trips. The food was always so good and the camaraderie was pure and unquestionably genuine. I can still see the stark generational contrasts through my youthful eyes. Every child was a child of the same age and every adult was old. I can hear the laughter of my father and the other elders as joked in their ancient colloquy. I can still smell the BBQ. All of the cooking and seating was coordinated peacefully and without a single grumbling of discord. I absorbed this symphony of cohesion without ever actually listening to the notes being played. After all, this was my tribe and my community whom I trusted them. These pristine images are the underpinnings of my indoctrination and they were lies. My parents and the parents of my friends were engaging in a ruse. They were play acting unity, all the while suffering silently. Many of the wives and children were being abused. If not...