I'm Just Saying

Dr. Paul Perkins

Join The Adventure!

For an author writing is as necessary as breathing. They don't write for money or to court literary fame, but because they believe they have something to say. It matters not that anyone will read or listen, the words must be written, and if in the process someone is blessed -- all the more wonderful

Dr. Perkins has written for a long time, but only recently has sought to publish his work and venture into new genres. He believes in education, finally earning his doctorate at the age of 55. He believes that learning never ends, giving fodder to the imagination and breathing life into the characters on his page. His hope is to continue telling stories for a new generation of readers and aspiring authors.

Dr. Perkins' first novel is "Centurion: From glory to glory", but is not his first book. He has written "Legacy to my sons", "The Lost Shepherd", "The prayer of a transformed life", "The Cost", and a verity of Christian Youth Devotionals. 

Why I Hate Church: Part Three


Why would anyone want to go to church?  The week is busy enough; if Sunday morning is taken away that only leaves Saturday to sleep in and revive the body’s energy depleted cells.  What would possess a 9th grade boy to answer in the positive his mother’s question, “Does anyone want to go to church with me?”  It wasn’t as if we had been going, and what was my mom’s sudden interest?  Whatever the reason we went and not just one Sunday, but for three Sundays in a row.

My mother grew up in the Methodist church, but she didn’t want to limit the possibilities of finding a church were she could be happy.  So, off to the Presbyterian Church the first week, the Methodist Church the next, and finally the Southern Baptist Church.  There wasn’t much difference that I could see, though the pastors in the first two wore robes and the songs more somber.  The Baptist church was a little livelier, but all in all they were…well, church, singing, preaching, and an offering plate.

Yet, out of the three churches only the Baptist church sent someone to visit us in our home.  The Pastor was a nice man with a broad smile.  I don’t recall what he talked about but he was warm and inviting.  He left some literature, which I never read, and encouraged us to attend his church again.  Not more than a day later another pastor from the Baptist Church called and wanted to stop by, this time to visit me.  All this attention seemed a little pushy.  They were like salesmen hocking their religious wares.  Pastor Larry Pritchett had the dubious honor of being responsible for the teenagers of the church, and probably dreaded visiting me as much I did his coming.  He too was friendly, and to my delight, didn’t stay long.  Like the pastor before him he invited me to attend a Wednesday night bible study.  Like that was ever going to happen.

It was bad enough I had given up my Sunday morning to attend their church, and now they were asking me to give up a Wednesday evening; and for what, to listen to another sermon?   Two Sundays went by and church became a distant memory.  I was back to enjoying a leisurely day with my horse.

Conspiracy is the word that comes to mind.  A friend of the family was visiting one evening, and in the course of conversation my mother’s and mine’s foray into the world of church came up.  They attended the Baptist Church and their teen went to the Wednesday night bible study.  They invited me to go, and what was I to say, no?  I felt trapped, and not wanting to be impolite I assented.

Interestingly enough, no one who invited me ever pressured me once the invitation was made.  I was drawn by a promise and pricket by curiosity.  No one picked me up; I simply got into my car and drove the 10 miles to the church, and the bible study was in an adjacent house.  There were a smattering of students gathered in groups outside.  They acknowledged me as I walked by, and hesitantly I opened and stepped through the door.  There was nothing in the house.  Students sat on the floor in a circle.  They sang a song at the beginning and Pastor Pritchett talked about the bible.  I sat and listened.  The simplicity of his presentation, his genuine faith, and the honesty of his convictions were captivating. 

Jesus said a curious thing, “No one can come to me unless the father who sent me draws him.”  This didn’t preclude the invitation of Jesus to James, John, and Peter, and Philip’s invitation to Nathanael.  But no one comes to truly follow Jesus unless the Father reveals its importance and enlightens the mind to its truth.

Interestingly enough I never saw the family who invited me attend the church, and my mother never attended again.  What seemed to be the duplicity of God was the sovereign working of his will.  But this isn’t why I Hate Church.  I’m just saying… (Continued).