I grew up in the ’70s and ’80s in Southern California with a mother who was trying to figure out single-parenting. She was a hard worker, always working 2-3 jobs and never took a handout from welfare. She was stressed most of the time and honestly, she could be short-tempered, impatient and plain mean. But when she smoked her weed she became a mom I could talk to, a woman who had dreams for the future and someone who became creative when she smoked.
Obviously, with marijuana being illegal it wasn’t something that we could ever really talk about. I’ve known that for most of her life she has smoked weed, but I always liked WHO she was when she smoked it. She was responsible with it, never operated a vehicle or used it when she had other obligations–it was her “down time” chill-pill so to speak. She is going to be 74 this year and guess what? She still smokes her weed and honestly— it’s the only time I can communicate with her and have a pleasant experience.
Why do we as Christians have no problem calling a doctor for synthetic drugs when we are anxious (give me a Xanax), depressed (Zoloft please), can’t sleep (valium or Lunesta to the rescue)… the list goes on, but yet if we turn to cannabis, which is from the earth, a plant God created for us… there’s a problem. A big stinky stigma?
Assinine if you ask me.