I’m Not Going Back


I got a text message from my mother this morning. The few times she actually decides to send me a message, I can’t help but remember how seldom it happens.

This is what it said (I’ve translated it from Spanish):

“I love you. If you wish to come back someday and you need our help, we will be here.”

I waited about two hours to send a reply. I didn’t know how to say everything that I felt inside. The only message I really needed to convey was simple: “I’m not going back.”

Somehow, though, I couldn’t say it just like that. I read my mom’s text over and over, each time hearing her kind voice speaking. She has always meant the best for me, whether most people think it’s right or not. I know my mother better than anyone else. She means well. She loves me, and I know that. I’m sure of it.

But, before I could realize her good intentions, I wrote a draft. This is what I wrote:

I love you too and I appreciate your follow up, but I believe it would cause you more pain and unrest if I lead you to believe I will be returning to the congregation in the near future.
My knowledge of the congregation remains unforgotten and I will always cherish the education you set before me, but I have learnt over the last few years that my mentality and point of view seem to no longer conform to that of the Christian Congregation.
I dedicated my heart and soul to the congregation in an attempt to clear my sins, but it did not do. I saw as I fell deeper and deeper into sin until I simply could not be a Witness anymore. I will never forget how abandoned and rejected I felt even while I was in the congregation doing what is wrong according to the Bible. I remember very well the injury of the judgement on the part of those who thought they were better than me. I did nothing but think about others and whether they were pleased, including my parents. I spent my entire youth trying to redeem a stepfather that didn’t want redemption. I built a religious refuge for myself while my family was not there for me, because the pain of unresponsive and uncaring parents was too unbearable. In the end, however, I failed to live by the norms and standards which I had sworn to abide. I was the only one devoted when no one else cared. My innocence and kindness allowed me to forgive what no one else could, and when things seemed to get worse instead of getting better, I put hope before my own interests and opinions. That was a long time ago.
I swore I would never become the monster that reeked havoc in my family all those years, but I failed. Now, in this day and age, I get a phone call that I should not contact or even attempt to contact my parents unless I am bedridden and in the hospital. Just like when I wrote all those letters pleading Emilio to come back and make a change of heart, right? Just like all those times I knew very well he would cause us pain again and yet I was the first to give him another chance.
In conclusion, if you both made the decision of calling me to let me know that you would not speak with me unless I was bedridden, it would be best to set the record straight in regards to whether I will return to the congregation.
I know that you are both trying very hard to sanctify yourselves and live lives of discipline and devotion, because that is what people of guilty minds set forth to do. I wish you both the best and hope that you continue to live the life I can no longer follow. Do not cause yourselves anymore pain, because in the end it just pains me in the process.

With love
–always here if you decide to accept him–
Your son,

L.D. Davis

I sat and read it a few times and realized how unfair it would be to send all those words to my mother. She doesn’t care what I do with my life or if I want to go back, although in her mind she knows that’s the right thing to do. All she said in her message was that she loves me and if I do so happen to go back one day, they will be waiting for me. She will be waiting for me. I suppose I forgot her kindness because it’s been such a long time since I’ve spoken with my mother in person.

You see, I don’t judge Jehovah’s Witnesses, because that is who I was once. It still makes me who I am, whether I like it or not. So, to criticize them simply because it just didn’t work out for me, well, it’s just ludicrous.

So, what did I send to her?

Thank you, mom. I love you too, but I can’t lead you to believe that I’m returning to the congregation. I don’t want to cause you any more pain, so I must be honest.

I’m Not Going Back



Last year 76% of Facebook users (approximately 957,600,000) logged in at least once a day. The average Facebook user liked 40 posts each day and a total of 110 million songs were shared, while only 1,470,000 million books were shared.

A lot of our time is spent on Facebook. Most of that time is used absorbing unproductive media.

I’m not saying the information I share is of any use, but it seems we sometimes have to scavenge for useful bits of information among the clutter of today’s media that plagues our News Feed.

What is my point? Artists and writers like myself struggle each day to get their work across. If you truly appreciate literature, you can help me out. You have no idea how much impact a LIKE could have–or even better yet, SHARE my work with your friends and encourage them to share it with their friends. Who knows, you could be helping me publish my first book.

P.S. Feel free to visit my blog: lorenddavis.wordpress.com

Thank you!



walmart greeter

Good morning to all.  I have been waiting anxiously to post today’s blog post since last night.  First of all, I’d like to say that I have decided to structure my blog in a way that would allow me to use various styles and write about a broad array of subjects each week.  Each day will be unique.  I’m still using 642 Things To Write About as an exercise book of sorts, but I want to be diverse, so I’ll do that once a week or so and share it on here.

Anyhow, last night, as we finished gathering our groceries and approached the cashier that we thought was less occupied, we experienced an enlightening moment of sorts.  There was a man in front of us, with his groceries already laid out on the conveyor.  We watched as the cashier slowly scanned the items for him.  It took a while, needless to say, but we finally got our turn.

I greeted Rick, the cashier.  Now, this man was bashful in a way.  He seldom directed his eyesight toward us to make eye-contact.  He was soft-spoken enough that his voice was barely comprehensible, yet there was a weight to his voice that told a story; it added background and depth.

I looked over the display that showed the soaring total of our transaction and caught a glimpse of his name badge, which I now saw labelled him as a People Greeter.  So I thought…  I was thinking about how annoyingly slow this man is scanning these items, sorting them and reaching for items out of the order they’re in on the conveyor, loosening the plastic grocery bags each time he was done packing the bags…  I hadn’t realized, however, the circumstances, his background, his story.  I was too concerned about my priorities and my rush to get back home.

This man was so precise and patient.  Time meant nothing to him.  All that mattered was that he wanted to do his very best for the customers, even if that meant taking a while in the process.

Perhaps when one has lived just as long, time becomes one’s companion.  Time no longer controls Rick the People Greeter.  He is the master of his own time.

Very few people, if any, are like this anymore.  We let time dictate our every action and thought.  It tells us where to go and when to do things.  The truth, however, is that we only live once–why rush right through it?  It could make the difference between dying of old age after a fruitful life or dying at 21 just because we wanted to rush, because we were in a hurry.

“Patience is a virtue” that many lack nowadays, that’s why I am resolved to make patience my virtue.

–L. D. Davis