Father's House

A metaphorical short story about growing up in the church from the point of view of a young man.

Growing up, I lived in “Father’s house”. There were many of us living there. Some of us were just children, others were teenagers. In fact, there were many adults as well. Like any house, there were rules. The rules were hard to keep, and if they were broken, we had to admit them to Father, who would then tell us everything was okay. It was an odd thing, but something we all did, because we were told to keep the rules.
The ones who enforced the rules for us were older gentlemen who claimed to be chosen by Father himself. They were the only ones who seemed to talk to him personally every day. Most of us would only really see him once every week or so. These “appointed ones” (as we called them) would tell us what Father had to say, and would constantly be laying down new rules, and telling us how we needed to live inside the house. They would enforce the rules as Father told them to, and as long as we listened to them, we were all happy.
When each of us came into Father’s house, no matter our age, we were given one simple, yet very strange gift. The gift was a tin can. It was sealed, yet appeared to be very easy to open. There didn’t appear to be any label on the can, and none of us were sure of the contents. What we were told was that the less we knew about it, the better. All we knew growing up was that the contents of the can were “bad”, and that they would cause us problems. Our cans were then placed upon our shelves, and never spoken of.
Growing up, none of us in the house ever spoke of the cans we had received. It was a strange thing, but we thought very little of it. Anybody who wasn’t in Father’s house thought we were strange. Thought that all of us living together with our unopened cans were the strangest thing they’d ever heard. Some called us a cult, others avoided us. But we knew better. We weren’t a cult; we were a group of people with enough self-control to keep the cans on the shelves. We were better. And as long as we stayed in the house, we would be happy.
There were a few people in the house who had been said to have opened their cans. They had allegedly gathered all of its contents and had been allowed to return. None of them would speak of what was inside the cans, only that if we didn’t open them, we would be much happier. By the way they looked, with old, sunken eyes and years of wrinkles much ahead of their age, I believed them.
I had a best friend in father’s house, Jimmy We had grown up our whole lives together, swearing we would never open the cans. We had all our adventures together. We lived our lives together, and we bonded together. I had many friends like him, and in the end, each one was the same.
Of course, there came a day when Jimmy never came back to Father’s house. Nobody knew what happened, and if they did, they refused to talk about him. To them, he was just another one who had fallen away. Trying to find out what happened to my best friend, I went into his room, to where he kept his can. Upon arrival, I saw that it was gone.
For reasons unknown, he had left, and taken his can. Perhaps he had opened it, perhaps he had lost it. One thing was certain though, no matter what anybody wanted, he wasn’t coming back. I couldn’t get a hold of him. Naturally, after a few years, he was only a small memory. He wasn’t in Father’s house, so he couldn’t really be that good of a friend. Besides, the only thing we had in common was that we both had the same looking can. This was, in fact, the case with most of my friends. But it was the only thing that mattered.
I did have a friend outside of Father’s house. His name was Nogg. He told me that he had spent some time in a different Father’s house, and in fact still went there sometimes. I knew very little about Nogg, but something made me know that I needed him. There were many times where I wondered why we were friends, and even some days when I wished we never had been. But in the end, we always came out on top.
More often than I wanted, Nogg approached the topic of the sealed can. He made me curious, and some days he even made me want to open it. However, I knew that if I ever opened it, Father would disown me. Everyone in the house knew that. There was just something about the can that was so… tempting.
It would be many years before I finally looked at the can closely. When I finally did, I found it intriguing. There was something about it that made me just know I had to open it. Something made me realize that someday I would. That day was fast approaching.
There were times when I would leave Father’s house. Every once in a while I would go on a trip away from the house I would leave my can with Father so it wouldn’t be damaged. As soon as I got back though, I would check in with Father, and take the can back so I could put it on my shelf.
There was one trip that was just a little bit different, though. When I was 16 or 17, I went on a trip with my band far, far away. I knew it would be a short trip, and by this point I was extremely intrigued by the can. I wanted to know more about it, and maybe even have someone else take a look at it. I knew that nobody else from the house would be with me, so they wouldn’t be there to tell me to keep the can away from everyone else.
Things were different outside of Father’s house. People didn’t act the same. People seemed to be… happier. They were able to do things differently, and nobody would tell them that it was bad. People could just do something and not have to worry about Father’s rules, or getting scorned by anyone else inside the house. Nobody was keeping track of them. They were out of control, and were probably all going to hurt themselves. It was scary, and I was in no way prepared for it. The first night I saw all this, I grabbed my can and held on tight. I thought of Father’s house, and how good everything would be when I got back.
That worked on the first night. The second night, however, while I was holding onto my can, somebody asked me what it was. I tried to explain it, and realized that there was absolutely no way to describe the importance of what I had to an outsider. In fact, while saying it out loud, I realized I couldn’t even explain it to myself. Disgusted, I looked at the can, simply said “it’s nothing”, and threw it behind me. That was the last thing I remembered until morning.
In the morning, I crawled around, hazily trying to find the can. When I finally stumbled upon it, I saw that I had done more damage to it than I had originally thought. It felt lighter than it had the night before, and with a sickening realization, I assumed some of the contents had spilled out. I quickly put tape over any damage and stashed the can in my suitcase until I returned. Even though I had temporarily fixed it, it seemed to be getting lighter anyway. I swore that as soon as I got home, I would permanently fix it, and not tell a soul.
However, I didn’t need to tell Nogg. He already knew. He told me not to be ashamed of what happened, and that maybe it was a good thing. Maybe it was opening up the door to see something other than the inside of Father’s house. I couldn’t believe what he was saying, there was no way that it could be good! It would be years until I realized that maybe he could be right…
For an entire year, I wouldn’t touch the can. I wouldn’t even look at it. I tried to continue my life as if nothing happened, but knowing that the can would never be the same as it was when I first got it was making me lose sleep. I couldn’t keep it off my mind. I started talking to Nogg more and more about it. Slowly, I started looking at the can again. I began to wonder what mysteries it held. I wondered what was so important about it. And finally, I began to wonder what was inside.
Once I got my first job, I started spending less time in Father’s house. I would go there when I had time, but usually it was only to get some sleep. I started spending more and more time at the office where I worked, which left less time for me to be at home. I started sleeping at the office, rather than Father’s house, simply because I didn’t have time to get there. Once I started sleeping at my friend’s houses, I realized that Father’s house didn’t feel like home anymore.
Finally, on the eve of my 19th birthday, after waking up in a place I had never been before that I decided I would no longer be staying at Father’s house. I decided that I could sleep at the office, a friend’s house, and, occasionally, the house of somebody I didn’t even know.
I didn’t know how to tell Father that I didn’t want to be in his house anymore. Nobody ever walked out on Father, because he loved us, and we all loved him. In fact, the only reason anybody walked out was because somebody else at the house made us feel like we weren’t welcome anymore. Father always said anybody was welcome all the time.
I knew I couldn’t just walk out on Father, but I couldn’t keep calling his house my home if I didn’t ever visit. As thoughts of returning floated through my head, my eyes glazed over a strange-looking cylinder on my floor. It was a tin can. Not just any can, though. This was the can that had caused me countless hours of insomnia and stress. All of a sudden, I was furious; I blamed all my problems on the can, thinking how happy I would have been without it. In a blind rage, picked up the canister and threw it against a wall. It exploded instantly, with its contents spilling all over the floor. Suddenly calm, I raced over to see what had mysteriously been inside all these years.
Inside the can, which had taunted me for over 19 years, were worms.
Hundreds upon hundreds of worms.
I now understood why everyone told us not to open the cans. It would be nigh impossible to gather up these worms. Especially if I had lost some along the way. I would spend my whole life trying to gather them up.
Just like the ones who had returned. I would end up with years or tiredness in my eyes. I would appear older, and for what? So I could return to a house where the only thing they care about is if you have all your worms in a can.
Disgusted, I stomped on all the worms, vowing that I would never pick them up, so I could never return to Father’s house. I grabbed my now-empty can, and took it all the way to Father’s house. I hadn’t been there in what seemed like years now. Everything was exactly as I remembered. One thing about Father’s house was that it never seemed to change. What was once such a good quality was something I now despised about it.
I stormed in through the doors, and, once I showed all my old friends what I had done to my can and its contents, I proceeded to go straight to Father. He was alone, and naturally, he knew I was coming. Once he told me to shut the door and we were alone, he asked me to show him what I had done.
Still furious, I threw the can on the ground at his feet, looked Him dead in the eyes, and told Him that I was leaving. I spun on my heels, and stormed towards the door. Just as I reached it however, he began to speak.
Father told me I was welcome in His house anytime.
I froze instantly, one hand on the door knob and the other clenched in a fist by my side. I didn’t think I had heard him correctly. Father should have been furious at me. He should be throwing me out: not watching me leave!
He continued, explaining that breaking a few rules didn’t make me unwelcome here by his standards. Just because the appointed ones told me I was unwelcome didn’t mean I couldn’t come back, it only meant I wouldn’t be accepted. Someday things would be different, and when they were, I would be back, he told me.
“Besides, it’s only a can of worms.” He said to me with that wise voice He always spoke in. “In the end, it wasn’t about what was in the can, or even the can itself. The only thing that’s important is what you choose to fill the can with. That’s something that the appointed ones never told you.”
After a warm hug, I headed towards the exit. On my way out, I saw a face I never thought I would see again.
Jimmy.
He looked older, like he had been chasing something that he couldn’t catch; and once he had finally caught up to it all his life’s energy had drained at once. The boy I once called my best friend now looked old enough to be my father.
On my way out the door, no words were spoken. I nodded at him with a knowing look, and he nodded back, with a look of pleading in his aged eyes. It was as if he was telling me “Don’t chase the worms. You can’t catch them all.”
To this day, I still don’t know if he chased the worms, or found something else to fill his tin with. One thing I do know, however, is that as long as I’m helping the people me keep their cans full, mine will always be overflowing.
When I finally do return to Father’s house, I know the place will look the same, but there will be new faces. They will be the faces of adults with a child-like look in their eyes. And when I return, I will help everyone not only open their current cans, but to fill them up again, to hopefully show them how much better things are when you know that life outside Father’s house is a blessing, rather than a curse.
There’s nothing harder than rejecting something you’ve been raised believing your whole life. There will never be anything harder than accepting that you can make your own decisions, and fill your can with whatever makes you happiest. It’s something that you need to teach yourself. And learning things by yourself is so personal, that not even Nogg can teach you how to do it.

Author's Note

My first piece ever on here. It was written a few years ago. Please ignore the name "Nogg" it's intentionally a nonsensical name so the reader does not associate that character with anything familiar.