Lesson One: Rules

Let's start with just a little history.

I guess my spiritual legacy is not much different than a lot of people.  But, here in the small southern town I currently live, my background causes people to look at me like I have two heads or something.

My paternal grandparents came from founding families of what would become one of the largest baptist churches in my dad's hometown.  However, due to a burnout in leadership responsibilities and the church's unwillingness to let them set down, my grandparents walked out of the church.  They never returned except for the occasional wedding or funereal.  Until the day they died; however, they sent a tithe check.  My father would not have a church influence until he met my mom.

My maternal grandparents have a little mixed legacy.  My grandmother was the product of German Jewish immigrants.  My grandfather was a christian.  They meet on a Friday and were married that Sunday.  My grandmother was disowned for a time.  She converted to Christianity.  My mom went to church with whichever neighborhood family would give her a ride.  Eventually she would gravitate toward the Episcopalian church as would my grandparents.

When my parents married, my dad didn't have a problem giving my mom's church a try.  He didn't like the politics in the baptist church.  I don't think my parents attended church with any regularity.  At two months I was baptized in the Episcopal Church.  At age five, we moved back to my dad's hometown.  My mom always said that my dad had wanderlust so we moved a lot.  I remember going to church once or twice.  My sister was baptized at six months at that church.

I don't remember a lot about church until I was put into a local Catholic school....we had moved again.  It was here at this small Catholic school that I learned my first lessons in Christianity and the church.

I learned the prayers that still guide me today:  Our Father and Hail Mary.  The Rosary is scared to me still.  I HATE to see people wearing it was jewelry!!!!
I learned all the parables in the Gospels.
I learned that "When the Saints Go Marching In" is NOT talking about being football players.

But mostly I learned that Church has rules.  Those rules don't also make sense to an 8-year-old girl.  And they make even less sense to a 40-year-old woman.  The rules of the Church often go beyond the rules of God.  After attending this school for three years (and thereby attending mass every Thursday morning), it was time for us to celebrate our First Communion.  There was a sense of excitement among the second graders.  This was our first step toward becoming fully active participants in the Church.  One step closer to gaining entrance in Heaven.  There were 23 of us.  There have been roughly the same students altogether since kindergarten.  I was heartbroken when I was informed that I would not be partaking in First Communion because I was not truly Catholic.  We did not attend Mass on Sunday morning as a family.  My parents never converted.  I just attended the school.  Here was my first lesson:  There are rules that one must follow if one wants to be a part of a church.  And often, those rules are much more exclusive than the ones found in the Bible.  I was not truly like my classmates.  I was good enough to be in the Christmas programs, and help raise money.  But I was not good enough to truly be a part of the church.  Rules must be followed.  We must exclude everyone who is not like us from our Churches.

It would take me many years to learn about forgiveness.

This early lesson in the rules clouded my judgement regarding the church for many years, but it was not the only lesson.

Just a Broken Christian

I am just a broken Christian trying my best to live life to the best of my abilities.  And it's not easy.  It was never promised to be easy.  It was just promised to be worth it.  I am just now figuring out this Christian stuff; although, I have proclaimed to be one all my life.  I have spent most of my life staying as far away as possible from "those Christian" people who are weak.  I was tired of getting let down by the people who were supposed to be lifting me up.  I gave up on organized religion for most of my adult life; preferring to have a one or one relationship with God.  A lot less drama.  But it wasn't working.  I wasn't the person I needed to be.  I am still not the person I am suppose to be.

I have wanted to tell my story for awhile now, but I am not a writer.  I am not a storyteller.  I just couldn't get the idea out of my idea, but I kept pushing it back...claiming I had no time for such things.  After many subtle and a few not so subtle remainders that some times we just have to take a leap of faith or a single small step to begin, I decided to give this a try.

My story is not remarkable.  In fact it is very ordinary.  There is nothing special about me or my journey except my life and my journey belong to God.  They always have.  Through all the detours and rest stops.  That is the remarkable part.  God is a patient driver.  He allows his to make pit stops without punishment.  He allows detours without complaint.

I still struggle to stay on the path.  I am by no means perfect.  I am still broken.  But I am less broken than I was three years ago.

And here's how I got here.  The whole story.