Nothing of Love Chapter 2 Part 3 By Elsie Heberling

     It had been a hot and busy day, and Phillip was glad to return home at the regular time. He was tired. "He found Ruth in the kitchen, busy with preparations for dinner, and finding her so, knew that her mother was not there. "Hello," honey, I see you are busy."
     "Oh, hello father, I didn't hear you come in, your dinner will be ready in a few minutes."
     "That's alright, I'll rest till then, and read the evening paper." In the living room, he sat down wearily, and unfolded the newspaper, part of which he dropped to the floor beside his chair. It did not take long before his head dropped back against the chair, and he slept, while the paper he had been holding dropped from his hands. In a few minutes he was rudely awakened by Jennifer, who had entered.
     "Father, why do you make things so untidy-every-where you go you leave a mess, you could read somewhere else, and if you want sleep, go to your room."
     Before he could answer, Ruth appeared in the doorway, hearing her sisters' unkind words. "Because, Jennifer, dinner is ready." Frowning at her sister, Ruth said, "Come father, I'm sorry I kept you waiting."
     "It's alright, Ruth. I'm not that hungry." He had said nothing to Jennifer, but Paul had heard her remark, and caught her by the arm, holding her back, while Ruth and their father passed into the dining room. Then angrily, in a low voice, he warned, "Jen, if I ever hear you speak to father like that again, I'm going to make things very unpleasant for you."
     Pulling herself free from his restraining hand, she said, "Oh, shut up, you are just like he is." Tossing her blond curls, Jennifer walked proudly into the dining room and seat herself at the table. Paul seated himself on the opposite side. At this point, Maggie came in and immediately sat down on the opposite end of the table from Philip, as she said, "You are a good girl, Ruth, to prepare such a fine dinner."
     "It's alright, mother, only I should have been studying, we are having exams next week."
     Jennifer was quick to speak. "Don't forget, Ruth, that mother works very hard, and needs your help."
     "And what about you, Jen," Paul was still angry. "How much help did you contribute?"
     "Mother," Jen pleaded, "make Paul leave me alone, he is always finding fault with me."
     Philip's voice was sharp as he spoke. "Now that will do, children, we have heard quite enough." There was a silence during the remainder of their dinner, and leaving the table, Paul said quietly to Ruth, "You go to your studie's, sis, I'll help mother with the dishes."
     In the course of cleaning the dinner things away, Paul questioned his mother. "Why is Jennifer so mean to father? She has become very disrespectful toward him."
     His mother didn't look at him as she replied, "Just remember, Paul, respect is given to one who has earned it."
     "Oh, mother...." Whatever protest the boy intended to make, was left unsaid. Paul tossed the dish towel impatiently on the table and left the work unfinished.

     In his room, Philip DuFrow had tried reading his evening paper, but somehow nothing came clear. He had finished a whole column, and didn't know what he had read. His mind kept wandering to his children. What had happened to Jennifer? She used to be a cuddling little thing, always looking for someone to love her. And he had loved her, just as he had loved all his children, but recently she had turned to fault finding and unkindness.
     At last, with a sick feeling, he realized that Jennifer had inherited her mothers' nature, only it had developed in her much earlier than in Maggie. What could he do? He didn't know. He had done fore his wife, everything possible. He had been kind and considerate, given her gifts and loved her, yet she had repulsed him. Maggie had become colder each year, growing further away from him. he rested his fade in his hands as he whispered,
     "Oh, God, why must I be so lonely?"

     Every Sunday morning found him in his usual places in the church, although he had definitely refused to occupy the pulpit another time. He had thought of discussing his marital trouble with Rev. Jarrett, but always had arrived at the same conclusion. He could not. After all, to Philip's nature, there was some things too deeply private for discussion with anyone, and he knew it would never change Maggie. An who would believe him? Outside her home, Maggie was the same patient, suffering martyr.
     The following day, Philip was busy in the mill yard inspecting a new shipment of lumber that had arrived that morning, when he was approached by Jim Barton. After a lengthy discussion on door and window frames for the new building he was working on, Jim asked, "And how is Maggie?"
     These two men had grown up together and had always been friends, always speaking in the most candid way.
     "Maggie is fine, always busy."
     "So I've noticed, but why?"
     " I don't know, Jim, she doesn't need to do it. I guess it is just her passion for helping others, and her redeeming grace that she takes no pay for her services."
     "But you permit her doing it."
     "Oh, Jim, let's forget about Maggie, I beleive you and Bess know her well enough to know that Maggie does what she darn well pleases."
     "Yes, we have recognized that for a long time, but I didn't mind telling you, that if she were my wife, I'd give her a damned good mauling and teach her where her duties were."
     Sadly, Philip answered, "I could never do that, Jim, and you know it."
     "Yes, I know, and that is the cause of it all. The truth is that Maggie does not understand a man like you, you are too much of a gentlemen. She needs a strong hand over her."
     "Alright, Jim, but if it turns me into a wife beater, then count me out."
     "So-it's your life. Now about those frames...when can you have them delivered?"

Nothing of Love Chapter 2 Part 2 By Elsie Heberling

     "Oh, mother says father does all this just to show off to the neighbors."  And Jennifer, to show her disdain, walked away.
     "Paul, did it ever occur to you that Jennifer is receiving the wrong impression of things?"
     "Yes, and it worries me."
     These two were thinking the same thoughts, yet neither one mentioned the possible source of their sister's misdirected ideas.  They loved their mother, in spite of the fact that each day they withdrew a little further from her, and against which, they struggled.  But young as they were, there was an awareness of an unpleasantness between their parents.
     It was at the dinner table that evening when Maggie again brought up the subject of selling the home.  "I know someone who will buy this place."  Without looking up, Philip said matter-of-factly, "I know several people who would be happy to buy it, but it's not for sale."
     "But we could get a very good price for it."
     Philip was finding himself more easily stirred to anger of late.  Now he didn't try to hide it, as he demanded.
     "Maggie, why do we always have to disagree and discuss this subject, and especially at the dinner table!  I've told you it is not going to be sold!"
     Paul excused himself and left the table.  "You didn't finish your dinner, Paul."  "I'm not hungry, father."  The boy went on to to his room and shut himself in.  He stretched himself on the bed as he thought, "Why does mother always bring up these unpleasant subjects, why does she keep nagging father."
     When their dinner was over, Philip decided to walk over to his father's home.  He had not gone there very often recently, and now his parents were glad to see him, as was Susan and her husband, Todd Watson, who were staying a few days here.
     His mother greeted him cheerily.  "Why Philip, I was beginning to think you had forgotten your mother."
     "I've been very busy, mother."
     Todd said, "I guess all this new building keeps your place busy."
     "You're right, Todd, the lumber business is growing."
     Philip's family was aware of the long hours he spent at the yards and in the office, but did not realize that much of his absence from home was to keep away from Maggie's nagging.
     Edward DuFrow now said to his son, "But is it worth risking your health for?"
     "Never mind my health, father, I'm fine."
     Nelda DuFrow looked at her son with tear-filmed eyes, knowing all too well the reason for his fatigue-lined face and thinner body.  Her resentment against Maggie was growing, as she thought, "How could Maggie treat him so?"  Philip was hard-working, and ambitious, he was kind and generous, and loved his wife and family.  That Maggie could be jealous of her husband's success and popularity had never occurred to Nelda.
     The following morning Nelda decided to call on Maggie.  She didn't know what she could accomplish, but she had to try.  The children were all in school, and she wanted to reach her daughter-in-law before she decided to go out on one of her mercy mission, as Maggie herself, called her frequent absences from Home.
     "Well, Maggie, I'm glad I found you at home."
     The younger woman did not look up as she continued her kitchen work.  "And why should that surprise you?"
     "I am not really surprised, Maggie, only you are away from home so often,  I was not sure you would be here this morning.  And that, my dear, is what I want to talk to you about."
     Maggie did not hesitate in her work, but went on with her busy-ness.  Mrs. DuFrow sensed the hostility in the other's voice as she answered.  "All right, now what do you want to talk about?"  Maggie seated herself as she looked at Philip's mother with wide blue eyess, as innocent as a childs.
     But the older woman was not deterred, she had considered this course for some time, and now was determined to carry it through, much as she hated interfering in her children's private affairs.  "It is just this, my dear girl.  Philip's father and I are worried over the state of his health, and wondered if we couldn't do something about it."  As she spoke, Nelda looked steadily at her son's wife
     "What is wrong with his health, I've seen nothing different about him."
     "That is just the trouble, Maggie, you are away from home so much of the time, you are neglecting your family."
     "Oh, now, really mother, aren't you exaggerating?  After all, the girls are old enough now to help, as a matter of fact, Ruth can cook as well as I, and they all get enough to eat, no one goes hungry."
     A little hesitant, Nelda now replied, "Did it ever occur to you that there are other hungers besides the physical one.  There is the spiritual hunger that is just as hurtful as a physical one."
     Maggie's eye's opened wider as she said, "What in the world are you talking about?"
     Slightly shamed at the other's not understanding, she decided to speak it all clear.  "My dear Maggie, there is in man, as in all human beings, a hunger of mind and spirit, for the sustenance of kindness and understanding, free from nagging and quarrels, he needs respect and love.  And yes, he needs the companionship and comfort that only a wife can give him."
     Nelda DuFrow was angered when the only reply from Maggie was a derisive laugh.  Nelda stood up.  She said, "I suppose I am detaining you from one of your 'mercy missions', so I will leave now."
     Reaching the door, she turned, saying, "I hope you will think seriously of what I have said."
    "Of course, how could I neglect such sage advice?"
     Mrs. DuFrow found herself walking rapidly toward her home.  She was agitated and distressed over her son's position, and greatly puzzled over Maggie.  How could her nature change so drastically, or had it always been so, lying dormant in her consciousness until she had lived with reality, to stir it into the ugly thing it had become.

     Grace Benson and Helen Bradley had met in the Wicker's grocery store that morning, and as friends, were discussing the Philip DuFrow family.  Grace was saying, "I simply cannot agree with Rod that Maggie is not sincere with her ministering to others.  Mrs. Johnston think she is an excellent nurse."
     "I agree with you, Grace, but why does she want to do it?"  She has her family to care for, and they are quite comfortably fixed."
     "Oh, Helen, she doesn't do it for pay, and that is the reason I admire her."
     "Well, Phil don't like her doing it, and have you noticed how he looks lately?  If I were Maggie, I'd stay at home and care for my husband, first."
     "Well, let's not judge dear Maggie, but Rod thinks she is a fraud."
     "Oh, men, they always see things in a different light than we women.  You know Rod thinks Phil is worried about Maggie."
     "I don't think he needs to be worried in that direction,"  Grace said.  The two friends walked together into the sun-warmed street.

Nothing of Love-Chapter 2-Part One-By Elsie Heberling

     Nelda DuFrow looked searchingly at her son's unhappy face. "Are you not well, Phillip?"
     "Of course I'm well, what made you think otherwise?"
     "You don't look well. Perhaps you should see the doctor."
     After a moments hesitation, he said, "I'll confess I'm tired. Maggie worries me by wanting to sell our home and move into town in one of those new apartments they are building."
     His mother was astonished. "You mean she wants to give up her lovely house home to go into one of those?"
     "Yes, mother, that is what I mean. She claims it would be less work for her, and she would have more time for her sick people."
     "How utterly ridiculous! I hope, Philip you are not considering it."
     "No, not seriously, but I want Maggie to be happy."
     "And you believe that will make her happy?"
     "I don't know, mother, I really don't know what will make her happy."
     "I would dislike very much to have you sell your home."
     "Don't worry, I shan't." As he walked away, his mother looked after him as he strode down the street. "So that is what worries him. No wonder he looks so tired."  Nelda Dufrow had found her son's wife's  actions very disconcerting on several occasions, but had refrained from criticism or comment, not wishing to interfere in any way with their lives. But now, she was feeling resentment against Maggie for her unreasonable actions. Phillip had worked hard to provide a nice home for his family, and was so proud of it, as most women would be. She didn't believe that talking to Maggie would be of any use. She had found her in the past, to be very stubborn. There would have to be another way.
     As she pondered over a way to help her son, she thought about her daughter-in-law. "How could I have been so mistaken in a person." Yet there were many people who were mistaken about Maggie, who could be so sweet and kind when she wanted to impress someone, and for the most part, that was everyone outside her home. Never having learned the lesson to bear and forbear, she judged Phillip to be a weakling, and accordingly, learned to despise him.

     Phillip Dufrow decided he would bear his discomfiture, his wife's taunts and neglect, and yes, his loneliness, in order to keep his family as contented and happy as possible. Meanwhile, she treated him in quiet contempt, while she always presented to the public a face with the expression of an injured saint.
     The years passed quickly.
     Paul Dufrow was now almost seventeen years of age, a quiet sensitive boy, who was anxious to start his last year of high school, then on to college. He knew there was something strange between his parents, but never commented on the situation. Often, when hearing his mother speak offensively to his father, and seeing his father turn away white faced, he would hurt with pity for the one he adored and worshiped. Paul was often angry with his mother, but never once did he speak out against her.
     It was growing late in the summer and in three weeks they would all be back in school. Paul sat in the shade in the back yard on a garden chair, intent on his book, when Ruth quietly joined him.
     It was several minutes before she spoke, then asked, "Paul do you want father to sell our home and move to Northwood?" The boy laid aside his book and at once replied, " No, I don't, I love this home, and so does father."
     "Why do you suppose mother wants to live in an apartment? I think it would be awful."
     Jennifer now joined them, and hearing their conversation at once said, "I do, I would like to live in a bigger town."
     "You know nothing about it, Jennifer," Ruth reproved. "If we lived in an apartment, we would not have this lovely garden, or flowers, or the lily pond that father worked so hard to build."
     With a toss of her blond head, she answered, "Who needs those things? I can do without them."
     Paul was impatient with his young sister. "You should be ashamed, Jen, not everyone has it as nice as we have."

Courage-By Susan Thomas

No one knows my pain. No one cares. I'm all alone. The pain of breathing knowing no one really cares if you continue to do so. Thoughts of how worthless I am run through my head. People around me are right. I'm ugly, useless, and a waste of space. That's what brings me to where I am.
Everyday for the past few weeks I've pulled out a knife I have had hidden in my room and push the blade against my wrist. Hoping that this time I'll have the courage to push down and end it all. Each time ends the same. I wimp out. After all dying is a permanent choice. Surely if I wait just one more day I'll find a reason to continue breathing. So once again I put the knife away and go to bed instead.
The next day starts out innocent enough. I walk to school in a daze alone. Alone with thoughts of just how worthless I really am. That I'm a coward for not ending it last night.  I arrive at school. I put my stuff in my locker and head to my homeroom class. 
As usual I sit down in the classroom unnoticed. Some girl next to me starts to talk to me. She's nice, but I'm so used to this crap. They pretend to like you and wait till you trust them to stab you in the back.  I just smile and say what I'm expected to say. Nothing I say is how I really feel. It's just what people want to hear. Why tell someone how I feel when no one really cares?
I continue the day in the same manner of fake answers and in a daze. The only class that's more painful than the rest is at the end of the day. That teacher really doesn't hide that he thinks I'm a cheat and a liar. All because I actually love to read and love that class. Books have been the thing that has given me hope all this time, but even that is beginning to fade. His indirect insults hurt but I've come to the point where I've begun to believe them. Insults from another teen is one thing, but if my teachers are thinking the same thing it must be true.
On the way home I begin my ritual of thinking about ending it all. For the first time in thinking about it I'm not afraid. I feel at peace at knowing my pain will end with my death. Death itself seems more my salvation than something that is scary and final. A way to end my needless suffering. 
I get home and race to my bedroom. I write one last diary entry. Peace is mine at last. With that I shut my diary for the last time. Pull the knife from it's hiding place it put the cold blade against my wrist.
I take a deep breath and am astonished that I'm not scared this time. I smile as I push the blade against my wrist slitting myself open. I lay on my bed and let myself grow weaker. Sure there is pain, but this pain is a good pain. It's a pain letting me know peace is mine at last. I whisper a prayer begging forgiveness from God. The one and only one who does care. I then take my last breath and fade away.
As I feel myself fading I hear the scream and cries of my mother. Now that I'm not in my body I see her sorrow at finding her child dead. It's only now that I understand how wrong I was. My parents and family loved me and I was ignorant of it. The nice girl from school genuinely thought of me as a friend but I'd been hurt so many times I was not capable of understanding that.  Worst of all is they are left with nothing to explain why.

Fatal Rage-By Susan Thomas

That fateful day changed my life. I always remember it as the day I lost everything. You may be thinking that car crashes aren't all that uncommon. You see them on the news everyday. The fact that I'm here to tell you the story might also lead you to assume everything turned out okay. I look back on that day and wish I had lost my life.

It all began on an ordinary work day. I got up at six in the morning and got my five year old daughter ready for school. She was excited to be attending her first day of kindergarten. She was wearing a cute pink dress with her favorite pink sneakers that she wore everywhere. Even to bed. Her blond curly hair was pulled back with a light pink ribbon.

I had my usual cup of coffee and toast while my wife served our daughter a bowl of cheerios and she made herself  some instant oatmeal. She had long day ahead of her. She was loosing her case in court and was more stressed than usual.

When I finished my breakfast I told my sweet daughter to get her back pack and lunch and we headed out the door. My wife called after me.
"Dear are you sure you want to take her? I can drop her off."
"It's fine honey. You have enough on your plate. I can take care of it."
"Well okay, but remember to keep your temper in the car with our daughter there. I don't want her picking up any foul language from you."
"Not a problem. I'm always more relaxed in the morning."
With that I led my daughter to the mini van. I strapped her in her booster seat and got in the car myself. The drive started out peaceful enough. Drivers seemed to be on their best behavior this morning. I took it as a good sign.
Then I turned onto a very busy street that would eventually take me to my daughter's school. One bad driver after another seemed to pop up. First I was stuck behind a driver who decided it was a good idea to drive 20 miles under the speed limit. Then I finally shake that guy to be cut off by another driver who thinks if you aren't driving 80 that you are to slow. I had to slam on my breaks to avoid an accident.
At this point I was trying really hard not to swear in front of my daughter. So all that came out of my mouth was various grunts and random syllables that made no sense. My daughter sensing my frustration asked me if I was okay. I shouted fine a little more sternly than I should have and my daughters eyes began to well up with tears.
Then I lost control as some driver was about to force their way into my lane. I had no where to go. So screaming a whole slew of absenities at the driver who couldn't hear me I pushed the gas pedal to the ground. Speeding up. The vehicle was half in the lane and still moving. I hit the car but the rebound from the hit was awful. My car lost control and the mini van began to roll. The airbags all went off and I could hear screeches from other cars. My daughter's crying was practically a scream now, but then suddenly it stopped before the car stopped.
When the car stopped rolling I tried to move to check on my daughter. But I found moving sent such excruciating body through me that I passed out from the pain.

I woke up the next day at the hospital. My wife was in a chair in the corner. Her eyes were swollen and red and she had passed out from exhaustion. I looked around and a nurse came in.
"Oh my you are awake. Let me get the doctor," she said rushing out of the room.
My wife began to stir and opened her eyes. She saw me awake and quickly turned away. After moment she got up and walked up to me.
"Jacob, are you alright?" she asked softly.
"In some pain,but okay I guess.," I said wondering where my daughter was.
"It makes me so angry you get out with only a few scratches. I told you I would've taken her!"
"Honey, where is our daughter."
"YOU! YOU AND YOUR DAMN TEMPER KILLED HER. SHE DIED ON IMPACT. YOU SON OF A BITCH. YOU KILLED MY CHILD! ROT IN HELL," she screamed.
At this point the doctor and a couple nurses came in. They saw the commotion and had my wife escorted from the room. I listened as they told that I it was a miracle I got out of the crash with only a sprained wrist and a fractured rib. They couldn't explain it. They told me that my daughter was indeed dead and the other driver had a few cuts from broken glass. Then they went on to tell me that I was being charged with vehicular homicide and was found responsible for the crash.

My head began to spin as I realized that I was about to be charged with my own daughter's death. The rest of the events seem to all blur. I was found guilty and sentenced to a few years in jail. While in prison my wife filed for divorce. She never forgave me and continues to blame me for our child's death. She also had our second child while I was in prison. Apparently she had found out she was pregnant the day of the accident and had to planned to surprise me, but now she made sure that I would never have the chance to meet our child. I lost my job and reputation amongst friends. No one wanted to be friends with a someone responsible for their own child's death.

My parents visited but we didn't talk like we used to. The visits felt like my parents were only coming to fulfill some duty they felt they had. I could tell they were also angry at me and I couldn't blame them. I spend day after day in my cell. Wondering what would have happened if I had told my wife to go ahead and take our daughter. Would we still be together? Would the accident have happened? Would my daughter be alive?

I've chosen to live to try and save people from making the same horrible decision I made. Try and tell people road rage isn't harmless. I may be physically alive, but Jacob died in that car crash and a shell emerged. I honestly don't know how to move on and don't think I ever will.  I dread the day I leave this prison and am forced to deal with all the people I've angered out there. Worst is knowing that there is another child of mine I could redeem myself through, but not being able to be near me kills me all over again. I just pray that with time that some part of my old self somehow revives.

Buried Alive by Susan Thomas

It was a beautiful day to hang out with my good friend. I was in a wonderful mood because lately everything had been going my way. At this moment in time I felt untouchable. Like nothing bad could happen to me. I thought to myself as I took a deep breath of the open air and sat down on a park bench to wait for my friend. I let my mind wonder as I sat there and waited. I began to think of the latest movie I watched, that funny kid in class I kind of had a crush on, and the mountain of homework that waited for me at home.
My friend startled me when they tapped me on the shoulder. I nearly jumped five feet out of my seat. My friend decided this was funny and laughed at me. I got up and we began to wander around the park. My friend seemed excited  but this was nothing new. We were having a great time hanging out. Then quite suddenly my friend stopped smiling and got a very serious but eerie look on their face. I being a concerned friend asked what was wrong. My friend just looked at me and before I knew what hit me I felt something cold and hard hit me on the head.
Before I passed out I looked up at my friend and saw that they were holding a lead pipe and that there was a bit of my blood on it. I gave my friend a confused look as I passed out.
The next thing I knew I was standing in a very deep hole in the ground. It was dark and damp. The hole appeared to be an old unused well. I looked around at the old bricks that had moss growing on them and then looked up. It was a long way up and I wasn't looking forward to the climb back up.
Foolishly I thought my friend will help me out of this hole. I cried out for help and in response my friend and two others I had seen around school looked down the hole. I pleaded for their help, but they just laughed. They took great amusement at my situation  They didn't even seem to concerned about my welfare. Were they not concerned to find out if I was injured after thrown in this hole. Their laughter and taunts were echoing in my mind and the hole only seemed to grow deeper. Then I began to feel sand come down the hole.
My so called friends were poring fifty pound bags of sand down the hole. Where they trying to bury me alive? In what world was this funny or amusing? How was watching the suffering of another amusing?
I felt the anger inside me begin to boil. My anger gave me a determination to keep them from achieving their sick goal. I began to climb. Looking for things to hold on to wasn't easy. Their wasn't much to grab on to.
This only added amusement to my so called friends above. Each time I fell the hole would echo with their laughter.
Their laughter only increased my determination to reach the top. With each passing inch of the hole I climbed I could feel my hate for these people begin to grow. This soon began to expand to all people. If a good friend could do this to me then anyone I knew was capable of this evil. I decided while climbing out of that cursed hole to never trust another person again.
My friends were now pouring the sand directly on me hoping I would fall from the pressure of the  sand falling on my head. When I neared the top their laughter stopped and things grew quite. When I emerged from the hole I saw them standing a mere ten feet away.
My ex-friend skipped up to me and began to talk to me like we were still friends. I stood in silence. I was dumb founded. How could my friend start talking to me like nothing had ever happened? In a rage I shouted and yelled at her. I called my friend every foul name I could think of and didn't stop until my friend ran away crying. As my friend joined the other two waiting for her they gave me an evil look. One that I returned in kind and began to walk away.
In my rush I ran into a park ranger. Who just looked down at me and asked why I hadn't used the ladder he had provided. Again dumbfounded I looked back at the hole and sure enough there was a silver gleaming ladder. How could I have missed it?
The park ranger giving up on an answer began to mutter to himself about he would never understand why young kids always insisted on doing everything the hard way. I brushed off his words figuring he wouldn't have seen the ladder if our positions had been swapped.

Dear 2012

#christmas (Photo credit: Isselmuden)

English: Hanukkah menorah, known also as Hanukiah. Česky: Chanukový svícen chanukija (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Dear 2012,

Hopefully this letter reaches you in December. I write to you from the future. A future that is not as bright as you might imagine. No the future being dim doesn't have any issue with the current problems you face with the economy. No it stems from another problem. 
I my friends from the past am a Christian. To you this may not be a big deal, but where I am from it's huge. In fact I risk my very freedom writing this letter. There is no guarantee that it will reach you. You see it started innocently enough with things like "Say Happy Holidays. It's not offensive." We didn't even think to much when they started taking prayer out of schools. We could still pray how would they know if we had or not.
I now live in a place where celebrating Christmas is illegal. One could serve up to five years in prison for just mentioning the holiday in December. It's not just Christmas, but Hanukkah and kwanza to. We of different religions were so busy fighting each other we barely noticed our freedom of religion slowly being taken away. We were blinded by our hatred for others and didn't notice just how restricted we were becoming.
Banning Christmas wasn't difficult for the government. They needed a scapegoat for all that had gone wrong. They needed someone to blame for all the violence and all their plans gone wrong. They even made our hatred for other religions a weapon by saying a particular group was responsible for something.
They made it sound like Muslims as a whole decided to attack on 9/11 but the truth it was a few individuals who were brainwashed into thinking they were doing the right thing. Many Muslims were victims as well and cried along with us. They blamed Christians for the holocaust. Saying that we as a group had something to do with Hitler's sheer hatred for select members of humanity, but they fail to see the Christians that risked their lives to help those who desperately needed somewhere to hide. They used the harsh parts of the old testament as a reason to hate the Jews  Failing to see the beauty in what they believe and the beauty of their culture.
I write to you know begging for all to open their eyes. Celebrate the season without fear. Fight for your right to wish some one a happy Christmas or Hanukkah or whatever holiday you celebrate this month. Say no to the restrictions and stand up for what you believe.
So many didn't realize what the loss of religious freedom would mean. Their are those who never believed in any God in jail just because they said God in a casual conversation. That didn't really have anything to do with belief. 
Take the upcoming holiday and think on the future. For everyone's sake don't let them take your right to believe or not believe away. If they do than it's only a matter of time before unfair laws are passed or even a law were you are forced to worship your president like a God. Stand up and say no. I believe and will continue to believe. Your oppinons and what may offend you will not stop me from believing or doing what I think to be right.

Sincerely,
A desperate friend from the future.