People assume that I am not faithful. That I am not Christian. That because I dont belong to a Church of God that I dont have spiritual guidance.
Truth is I am very devout in my faith. I pray every moment, when I am stressed when I am happy, when I am fearful, when I cry, I talk to God about my day, about my fears and hopes. Most of all I pray for human kind.
Now that seems excessive, so what if I pray! That doesnt mean I am a Christian. No it doesnt. It means I believe God is with me every moment. That when I falter He pick me up.
I sing. I sing his praise. I read his Word. My heart is His Temple.
Sure, I have a strong sexual personalty, but believe it or not I am conservative. I dress modestly. I am pretty much a wallflower lost in a crowd.
So it annoyed me to no end, the entire day I was preached to by my mother that I should return to their church. “You will go to hell. You are not going to church. You are old enough to know better!” she ranted. “You should at least come to Easter service.”
The truth was something about their church set me off. I couldnt stand being in their church. Their preachings about Revelations, their need to be baptised or go to hell was really off.
It didnt help when we went to visit my dad in the hospital and he started in on my getting baptized. I was going to go to hell. Would I please just go to church?! I sat there, my teeth grinding down on my tongue. I wanted to stay quiet out of respect.
But something reared inside me, I had to defend myself. “I dont want to go to your church!” I bellowed. “I hate it! Your church is depressing! Why would I want to go to a church that teaches about hell!”
They sat in complete silence, stunned by my outburst. “Now Rebecca,” my dad tried to placate me “where do you get that idea? We have a new preacher”
“A new preacher.” my mom agreed.
“He was asked to tone it down abit” my dad went on. “he changed the program around”
I rolled my eyes. Probably was scaring the old people with his happy go lucky sermons
“No” I snapped. “There is nothing wrong with the gospel songs. If you had that in your church you wouldnt be so…”
my parents looked at each other “Rebecca we started singing new songs. There is a young man. He is black.” my mom said. “He leads the youth group!”
My jaw dropped. Wow, that was so racist I was speechless. “Mom, that family always had great singing voices!”
“You know them!”
I face palmed myself. When a mennonite family adopts outside the colony, people notice! Their mother was a wonderful singer. She could belt it out, I loved listening to her when I went to church. They left when the pastors changed, and I never saw them again.
“Yes. whatever I am not going to your church. I am not going to Easter service!”
“you are not going to Heaven, Auntie” K piped up.
“Yeah well neither are you all” I replied.
Well my parents went on a tangent about how Christians would be the first to go. I decided not to debate any further and tuned them out.
Later my mom asked if I wanted to help clean the church. I agreed. I had nothing better to do.
I was in the middle of cleaning the hallway when my eyes were drawn to the bulletin board outside the pastors’ offices.
Pentagram. Blood Rituals. My eyes widen in disbelief. There were pamphlets on Occult right next to a pamphlet on meeting God.
“Rebecca are you done in the Pastor’s office yet?” my mom asked.
The pastor’s office? Hell no!
I opened the door to the Pastor’s office. There were coca cola paraphernalia everywhere. ugh. Ok.
I started to vacuum. I got closer to the bookshelf.
I dropped the vacuum hose in disbelief.
There were two books on Occult.
Normally, such books would be high up, away from prying eyes. This was eye level.
Now I always joke about my parents church being a cult, but this was ridiculous!
I was creeped out, I felt like I was horribly written horror movie.
Any moment I kept thinking the pastor might suddenly appear and ask if I wanted a “coke and a talk”