A Child of God

I was born a Christian Fundamentalist, not disimilar to the ones you see outside abortion clinics in America. From the moment that I gasped my first breath, blinded by the flourescent tubes of the delivery room, I was a Christian; my eyes were open, I had seen the light. The first voice that spoke to me was Jesus. He told me what my life meant and what my purpose was: To speak the message and promote the greater glory of his father, Jehovah.

As a 5 minute old baby, the task could seem daunting but my fresh perspective on life was what he was looking for. I know...because he told me. Even as the umbilical was being cut, my beliefs were being formulated and organised in my head. As I lay at my mother's breast feeding, I was distracted, I didn't need this triviality, I had God's work to do. What was my message going to be, what should I prioritise? I was keen to get started.

Admittedly, my early ministry was modest, at best. It is quite difficult for a cooing infant to convey the evil that is intrinsic in a blood transfusion, especially when there is a dummy in your mouth. I understood how Jesus must have felt as an infant in the temple. At a gathering of mothers and my peers, I tried to warn, as Jesus did on the Mount of Olives, of the presence of false prophets but was constantly frustrated by interruption. I was reduced to a tactic used by many evangelists - creating a spectacle. Trapped in my own mind, without the power of speech, reason or toileting, I resorted to making a scene. Style over substance I know, but until I was able to articulate to my disciples, defecating and screaming would have to suffice.

An inauspicious start but until my speech and language skills developed, this would have to be my message...

(to be continued)