Christmas is usually my absolute favorite holiday.  I get an excuse to wear silly sweaters and buy silly and/or thoughtful gifts.  I get to cook for people I love and their families.  Deck the house out in lights, cinnamon scented everything. I just love it.

2018 conspired to change that, apparently. In the lead up between Thanksgiving and Christmas, my spouse and I had a huge fight.  The reason? Their family decided that ‘we’ were doing Christmas at my spouse’s uncle’s house. The misogynist, racist, homophobic, Christian zealot uncle’s house.

Umm... How about nooooooooooo.  I refused to go, because this man has successfully pissed me right the fuck off every holiday for the last 7 years.  I am not letting him ruin my Christmas this year. No.  So, fight ensues, because my family is staying with us, and my spouse currently cannot stand the sight of my mom and wants to spend time with his family.

Eventually, the decision is made that the in-laws are coming to my house for Christmas instead (what on earth did I sign up for?).  I made 2 things abundantly clear:

1) My family does an appetizer-buffet style Christmas, so that’s what I’m making, because I just made an enormous, traditional Thanksgiving dinner a month ago.

2) If Uncle Douchenozzle acts out of line, I’m kicking him out of my house. End of story.  I’m a big believer in forgiveness, but that doesn’t mean I have to let him be rude to me.

Spouse agrees, in laws are coming to my house. Sigh.

Day of Christmas, I’m busting my butt getting food prepared, because my kitchen is too tiny for assistance, really, and everything has to be timed properly, whatnot.  All other family members are sick and can’t make it. Okay, fine, leftovers for days.

Oh, But Uncle Douchenozzle makes it over to my house.  He insists we all stop eating so he can pray over the meal before he eats.  He talks at the top of his lungs and drives literally everyone but my spouse and I out of the room, and I’m squishing a panic attack as hard as I can to avoid being rude.  Finally, time to exchange gifts, which means we can usher him out soon. He hands my spouse a wrapped package, and me a card.  It’s a pretty typical Christmas card, doves and peace and joy and all that.

And a little note:

Go ahead. Look those verses up.  I’ll wait.

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Yeah.  You did not misread those.  This man came into my home, at my reluctance, ate at my table, and gave me Christmas card with a message that says, essentially, that I’m going to Hell.  I’m sure he meant well, in his judgmental way: he has made inferences that my spouse and I don’t know God and he would really like us to get saved, etc, so on, so forth, for several years now.  But the thing is? He has no idea what our leanings on faith/religion are.  He has never bothered to ask, he just assumes we are Atheists or something because we disagree with him a lot of the time.

Well, yeah dude.   You disowned your daughter when she came out to you at 18, and literally said you hope she gets raped as punishment from God for her homosexuality.  I’m gonna disagree with you, hard.

And this is where things get kind of hysterical: I do, actually, believe in God.  I’m saved. Have been for over 20 years.  Then again, I don’t think Uncle Douchenozzle and I believe in the same God necessarily, sooo.... And honestly, I would never say I am Christian, because WBC is ‘Christian’, Uncle Douchenozzle is ‘Christian’, and I agree with half of one fact that I have heard from either of them - Yep, There’s a God.  After that, it’s a lot of ‘nope’.

Where I start to sound madder than a box of frogs:  The reason I don’t believe in any of the same things they do.  It’s because I am, believe it or not, a child of prophecy.

Wait!  Hang on!  I’m not joking!  Just listen a sec, okay?

When I was 14, I was a Church Camp (which is a thing), and the pastor at the camp prophesied over me between lunch and dinner one day (If you have ever spent a lot of time around Fundamental Christians of the Protestant Flavor, this is a really normal thing, I swear).  Nothing flashy, no booming harmonics or funny lights or suspicious fog machines.  But I will never forget what he told me, especially because it came out of pretty much nowhere.

He said that I was called by God to be a Servant (be patient...).  Not to serve and grovel at the foot of man, but help and aide others without hesitation, to love without judgement, and to forgive completely.  And that, while my name would be forgotten, as all servants in the Bible were (even the Angels who opened Jesus’ tomb had no names) my kindness and unwavering support of people would change lives.

He said this.  To a 14 year old girl.  Who was eight years into being abused by her own brother, and only stopped being abused by her grandmother because the grandmother fucking croaked.  I did exactly what you think I did.  I said “oh, fuck this dude, he’s nuts.”  And I spent the next several years avoiding being kind to people, just because no one was there for me when I needed it.

Oh, my, gosh.  I was miserable.  Then, God got a little impatient and a lot less subtle about this shit: My boss asked me to help her organize a food and gift drive for underprivleged teenagers who aged out of Toys For Tots but were still young enough that it sucked not getting Christmas presents.   I had actually been one of those kids before, minus the toy drive, so I attacked this thing with a vengence. My team spoiled those kids rotten, gave them good food that you actually want to eat.... everything for Christmas dinner but the main meat course.  I did God’s work out of spite because no one was there for me like that.

It was the gateway good-deed, my friends.  I was genuinely happy for the first time in years. And it slid from there: Being nice to people, volunteer events and fundraisers once a month, 6 different gift and/or food drives at Christmas, you name it.  And I feed people.  Oh my gosh do I feed people.  It’s like a compulsion: if you are at my house and it gets dark, I assume you are staying for dinner and will cook for you.

But other things have come to mind over the years: I have never in my life judged someone for their religion.  Honestly, I’m pretty sure we all believe in the same higher power, we just use different names (which, technically, Christianity does say there is only one God... And if they’re all the same higher power, then yeah, that’s true).  Being a jerk about it, yeah I judge, but I let them prove they’re assholes before I call them one.  I have always been genuinely nonplussed when people come out to me. Cool, I’m very glad you trust me enough to tell me.  I will literally never tell anyone, because that would not be cool of me. Okay. Good talk. And I am actually that person who sees a challenge when someone decides they don’t like me as a person. Oh, for real fam?  We gon’ be besties.  Just you wait. (One person I did this to actually brags out how ‘insidiously friendly’ I am)

Then we circle back, and that Bible verse is jotted in my Christmas card.  I sobbed for 2 hours, could not calm down.  Like, dude, you don’t even know me.  I am literally doing what God told me to do!