Okay, friends. Reader friends. I’m going to share something with you, recommend something to you.

Now, I’m fairly certain that the majority of people, especially, but not limited to, young people, don’t read a newspaper. I get that. Plus, those of us who do read the paper, many, perhaps most, don’t read my scribblings. My weekly words are certainly no competition for social media.

So, Old Timer, where are you going with this? Get to the point.

Alright, I will. Just let me start first with a question: Have you ever heard of Megan-Phelps Roper? No? Well, neither had I.

Now, however, I know that she is a remarkable human being, and knowing her story makes it almost impossible for me not to suggest, recommend, that you know her story too. Not because I say you should, but because you will find it interesting, enlightening, challenging far beyond anything I might write or say about her. That’s not hyperbole, friends.

About her story, “Unfollow — A Memoir of Loving and Leaving the Westboro Baptist Church.”

Hold on, now. Don’t immediately form an opinion. You might, perhaps probably, miss the mark.

Here’s who I think would find her story interesting, enlightening, challenging far beyond anything I might write or say about her:

Born-again Christians. Very conservative “Bible believing” Christians. Those who are on the far right politically. Those who are more traditional, moderate in their Christian predilections. Those who are believers, with moderate political views.

Those who are left-leaning politically, with great respect for the constitutionally established principle of separation of church and state.

Those who are deists, or agnostics, or atheists, or followers of religions other than Christianity.

That is, anyone, wherever he or she might find themselves on the religious beliefs or un-beliefs spectrum. Anyone. More succinctly put, this book is for Protestants, Catholics, non-believers and those who hold other major religions beliefs.

Enough of this, though. Just let me lift one little piece of insightfulness she offered near the end of her story, even though it’s difficult to convey to you the context in which it was expressed.

“Coming up against their wall of certainty (her former church and its members) was often a frustrating and painful exercise, and not just because of the callousness and condescension that so often filled their rhetoric … any admission that we (they) might be wrong about any doctrine was accompanied by intense shame and fear. If we reversed course on any issue, we did so quietly, never admitting publicly our mistakes. From our point (when she was a part of the church) of view, acknowledging error and ignorance was anathema, because doing so would cast doubt on our message …

“Certainty is the opposite: it hampers inquiry and hinders growth. It teaches us to ignore evidence that contradicts our ideas, and encourages us to defend our position at all costs, even as it reveals itself as indefensible. Certainty sees compromise as weak, hypocritical, evil, suppressing empathy and allowing us to justify and inflict horrible pain on others.”

And also this “ … an unwavering certainty in their righteousness and a categorical disdain for any ideas that did not fit with their own.”

The book, however, is mainly a chronicle of her growing up in a family and church community almost totally intertwined in ways most of us can only imagine, if that. If you choose to read it, you’ll find it hard to put down.

The book was published in 2019. Our local library has a copy and, of course, there’s Barnes & Noble and the internet.

Wrote one reviewer, in part: “This book gives us incomparable insight into a world we all, and yet none of us, know. It will leave you holding your heart.”

And it will make you think.

Are you up to it?