by Gillian Taber

Created on: March 13, 2011

Looking back, I've always loved nature. My dad was brought up on a farm, retaining his love of the countryside even after he moved to London and married my mother. For all her myriad faults, she adored animals. The combination of these parents and hundreds of visits to farms, fields, and forests, filled with flora and fauna, instilled in me a lifelong passion for open spaces, greenery and small lives which scuttle along, just under the radar of busy humanity.

I was brought up a Christian, my Dad an active member of the Sally Army, (Salvation Army to the rest of us) and spent my years, 'til the age of thirteen, attending Sunday school without thinking about it. Spring was all about Easter, death and resurrection... and chocolate of course. However, the older I got, the more I realised this Christian gig wasn't doing it for me. There were too many questions it couldn't answer. Why should the run up to Spring be all about giving things up? Lent confused me totally. I could see no sense in denying ourselves all those wonderful goodies, all that glorious renewal, simply because some faceless (or possible old man with a beard) entity in the wild blue yonder told us to. Where was the sense in a god who gave us all that bounty only to tell us we couldn't have it? I would and will never deny anyone the right to worship who and what they wish, but this wasn't for me.

Confusion reigned. Looking back with the knowledge I have now, I can see that I was questioning this god who gave us such a beautiful world and then denied us the ability to truly enjoy it and to be free to choose our own paths. 'Look at what you have. Look at what I gave you. Now don't you touch it!' When I was very small, I think around seven or so, I clearly remember having lessons based around Easter and the story of Christ's death. In all innocence, with the wish to understand, I remember waving my hand around until I was finally asked what I wanted. I replied;

“If Jesus was born at Christmas, how come he died at Easter, but was grown up?”

That four month life-span had me flummoxed for a while. I can understand the indulgent laughter from the Sunday school leader, now, but back then I was deeply injured by this lack of explanation, this dismissal of my genuine concern and thirst for knowledge. Easter was never the same after that. The fact that my, albeit confused, attempt to understand had been dismissed so easily, by the representative of this god on high, didn't bode well for our future

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