Keep Your Twigs and Your Verses: A Survival Guide to Unwanted Evangelism

Let me paint you a picture. I’m just out living my life—breathing, walking, trying not to collapse like a flan in a cupboard—when out of nowhere comes this guy. He’s clutching a bunch of twigs like they’re the keys to enlightenment.

“These twigs will change your life,” he says, eyes gleaming with bark-based conviction.

I say no. Politely. Because manners.

But Twig Man? He persists. He’s not just a fan of sticks—he’s the Indiana Jones of shrubbery. He’s studied them. Slept beside them. Probably whispers sweet nothings to them under a full moon.

Eventually, after being followed for a good block and a half with a full TED Talk on twigology, I lose it.

“Dude. Seriously. F*** off. I have a log at home.”

Now, swap “twigs” for scripture and “Twig Man” for an overly eager born-again Christian, and that is what it feels like to be evangelized when you didn’t ask for it.

Let’s get this out of the way before someone clutches their rosary: I was raised Catholic. Hardcore. Twelve years of boys’ school, Holy Ghost Fathers, guilt as a primary language. I’ve been dunked, confirmed, and emotionally steam-cleaned by religion. I still flinch when I smell incense.

So trust me, I’m not new to the Bible. I’ve memorized more verses than I care to count. But when someone comes at me quoting Corinthians like it’s a cure-all? I check out. Because quoting isn’t the same as living your faith.

I’m a deeply spiritual man. I believe in something greater, but I don’t need to dress it up in page numbers and vague threats of damnation. And I certainly don’t need a stranger handing me a pamphlet that looks like it was printed at a gas station and telling me I’m going to hell because I didn’t want to pray with them in the parking lot of Whole Foods.

Here’s what I need: honesty. Heart. Humanity.

If you’ve been saved by something—faith, twigs, tofu—tell me how it helped you. Use your words, not just recycled ones from 2,000 years ago. Don’t quote me Paul. Tell me what you believe, why it saved your sanity, and how it helps you show up in this messy, beautiful, grief-soaked world.

I’ve already been through fire. Chronic illness, heart failure, pain, and the kind of isolation you can’t Bible-verse your way out of. And I came out the other side with a deep connection to spirit—but no interest in religion as performance art.

So keep your twigs. Keep your verses. I’ve got my own log at home. It keeps me warm, grounded, and most importantly—it doesn’t stalk me down the street quoting John 3:16

Ever had someone try to “save” you when you didn’t ask for it? Got your own twig story—or a “verse attack” you’d like to share? Drop a comment below. And if this post made you laugh, cringe, or feel seen, hit that subscribe button. It’s judgment-free, pamphlet-free, and probably has snacks.