I miss the church music. Hymns sung together in the pews. Voices in unison to an organ playing music bursting with emotion and feeling. Shared music is such a primal joy. Punched up just so when we hit the most touching lyrics. A cheap psychological trick that I loved to be manipulated by.

I miss the youth group meetings. Being with others my age, knowing they dealt with some of the same challenges and trials that I was enduring. The cool-headed youth pastor who understood us teens. The games and events that had nothing to do with religion but helped us to bond. The tacked on spiritual lessons that I accepted without reservation. I miss the carefully massaged dogma and ideology that steered us to the carefully cultivated right way of thinking.

I miss performing in Caraway Street. An Evangelical version of Sesame Street aimed at small children. Memorizing lines, acting out the scenes with other teens, and using the puppets to entertain and teach the younger children. To indoctrinate those who came after me.

I miss the feeling of belonging and being. The brotherly loving looks passed from one congregate to another as we joined together for Bible Study. Combing passages for meaning in our turbulent world filled with sin and evil. Unified in our fears and hates.

One really can find Happiness in Slavery.

•  journal of the fallen