Journeys of Faith

It's always difficult to write about things as personal as religion and faith because they are so...well...personal. My own religious journey has been checkered, at best, but I think it helps define who I am, if that's even possible. (One of the reasons I never registered for online dating sites during my years as a single woman is that they ask me to describe myself--what I want and what I like--and I find myself to be too diverse to wrap up succinctly, so I don't even try. So it is with matters of faith.)

I don't know where religion came from for me. It was just there. My parents were not church-goers, although they were Christian. My father declared that he was a Methodist. My mother had been one of those kids who was a weekly attendee (forced, I'm sure) at the Ancona Church of Christ in Ancona, Illinois--a little church that her great-grandparents helped to found. "Brother Armstrong" was frequently asked to give a blessing, at which point Mom and her siblings would stand first on one foot and then the other because they knew the prayer would be long. Ancona, at that time, was nothing more than the church, Gade Carpenter's general store, and a few houses near some railroad tracks. (Still is, minus the store.) In any case, as adults, my parents just didn't do the church thing, although my beloved grandparents did. When we were visiting at their farm, saying grace before meals was a given. So was going to church, especially on Easter. I think, perhaps, my first religious experiences came from that.

My family was stationed in Danville, IL, for the longest we had ever been anywhere (three-and-a-half years). (My dad was an officer in the USNR.) I had a friend--a rarity for me because we moved so much--and I started going to church with Susie and her family at the First Christian Church of Danville. I was baptized there, by immersion, somewhere along about third grade. I didn't particularly like Sunday School because I was a well-behaved kid trapped in an SS class with kids who behaved like heathens. I went because it was the thing to do in preparation for baptism. My heart was really just in the worship services.

At the end of fourth grade, my family was sent to Japan. At that time, the only Christian churches in Japan were Catholic. No chances there. But when we returned to the States as civilians and moved to the suburbs of Chicago, I started going to the First Methodist Church there with a neighbor friend. I was a 6th grader. I still didn't go to Sunday School but became active in the youth choir there. We sang at the early worship service every Sunday, and we were good! I also became active with the youth group. I went to church each week all by myself, for the most part--walking, because the church wasn't far. It was in these years that my faith became a part of my every day life.

Oh, what a pious child I was! The Bible tells us to "pray without ceasing"...and I did. Whenever I was alone, I had a running conversation with God. If any "unclean" thoughts came into my mind, I prayed for forgiveness. I lived a pure (and boring) life. I was intensely interested in doing something for the Lord in my future life. I had no idea what that would be! Truly, for a very long time, things came easy for me. I considered myself blessed by God.

In junior high and high school, my best friend was a devout Christian Scientist. Being around her and her family sparked an interest about religions in me. I didn't doubt my own faith, but I began looking into other faiths by way of finding out what separates us all in our beliefs (or lack of). I did a lot of reading in those days. Having lived in a foreign country (Japan) also taught me tolerance. I was not a Bible-thumper. My faith was strong, but I also recognized that others had faith that was just as strong, if different than mine.

My first husband was Catholic, the second generation child of Belgian immigrants. Although Tom never asked me to, I studied the Baltimore Catechism in order to determine if I could convert to Catholicism for him. I was fascinated by the holy and ancient nature of Catholic beliefs and traditions, but it turned out that Tom wasn't as happy in his faith as I was in mine. He ended up joining the Methodist Church in Normal, IL, with me! For the most part, we attended church together, but our marriage didn't last long. (That's a whole other post!)

For a few years after I met my second husband and we were married, I didn't attend church. (That is ALSO another post.) Our daughter was born. Soon, I felt isolated and alone, realizing that something was missing in my life. I went back to church. This was the First United Methodist Church of Pontiac, IL. I felt that I'd come home. I was active in the church, but I couldn't get my husband, Joe, to attend, even though he was a principal in the school district there, and one of the influential School Board members was also a mover-and-shaker in the church.

Still, now there was another life to consider. My grandmother had told me once that it is up to the parents to provide religious education to the children. I took that admonition seriously. I tried to get my daughter to go to Sunday School, but she resisted. (It was a little hard for me to convince her to go when her father wouldn't.) Thus, I spent quite a few years singing in the choir and being Youth Director for that church, alone. I didn't need them to go but always felt that it would be so nice to have them there to share that with me. I realized that one can't force these things... Still, I was torn. I wanted my daughter to be able to make future decisions of faith based on what she wanted or needed, but I didn't know how she could do that without some foundation by which to choose. I talked to Joe about having Megan baptized. He was really ambiguous about it, so I took the bull by the horns and made the arrangement.

On Palm Sunday of 1987, we presented our beautiful daughter to Rev. Swantner to be baptized. She was wearing an $80 dress (quite expensive for those days) purchased by Grandpa Covill, and had a crown of baby's breath in her hair. My family, God bless them, came from hours away to be in attendance. (Our mother had died the previous November. We were still grieving but saw this as a moment of hope.) When Rev. Swantner sprinkled her head, Megan brushed the water off her shoulders. (I think Robin would have done the same!) After the occasion, we had a family dinner, complete with a lamb cake. Easter was right around the corner. It was all good.

Joe and I and Megan moved to Cloverdale, IN, so he could take a principalship there. Things had been quite stressful for us for months. (Long story.) After staying at his parents' in Greencastle for a week, he insulted me, and I decided that Megan and I would start staying in the rented house in Cloverdale, even though it wasn't really ready for us to inhabit. I used the excuse that we needed to get established at the Cloverdale United Methodist Church. It worked. For a couple of years, I was active in that church--served as choir director (!) and led the Long-Term Committee to help determine the future direction of the church. And then the bottom fell out of my marriage.

Joe and I were divorced in 1991. Megan and I moved to Plainfield, IN, right across from the Plainfield United Methodist Church. I joined immediately and started singing in the choir. Then my father got sick in Illinois, and I was spending so many weekends there that I dropped out. One thing came to another, and I was 15 years absent. No one seemed to notice.

When my daughter married and had children, I was worried that my grandchildren wouldn't get any religious education. How wrong I was! Megan and her husband joined the Unitarian Universalist Church in Muncie, IN, and the kids were there every week. Then, after they divorced and Nathan remarried a Catholic (and got custody of the children), they were sent to Catholic school and attended mass every week. When they visit here, they attend church and Sunday School with me and their other grandparents. Whew! The kids know more about Bible stories than I do!

Recently, I spent a couple of weeks in California with Megan and Denis. We watched the movie Ben-Hur and a Russian equivalent. Thereafter, Megan confessed to me that she didn't know any "Jesus stories". I told her that I guess I had neglected her Christian education. She said she had simply resisted it. She seemed to want to know more, so I just directed her to start reading the New Testament--Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. She has actually been reading it! I knew she would find things that are "hard to swallow", but she has also found some verses that give her comfort. If all she wants to do is learn about Jesus stories, she is doing it on her own and undirected. Today, she and Denis sought out a church to go to. Ya know, I am not a missionary. I believe that it is possible to live a good life without a church, but I also believe in the Community of the Faithful. If you surround yourself with people of faith, your own faith--whatever it is--is strengthened.

Scantly just over a year ago, I was so devoid of hope and life that I didn't want to live anymore. I spent weeks in bed, not caring about anything. Everything I had worked so hard for was gone, with no regard for what I needed or felt, and I was told that I was playing the "victim". I reached out in every direction, looking for help. The only help I got came from above. Little by little, I chose to deliver myself to people who scarcely knew me (a Sunday School class) and just wept my way through every single worship service at church. Some of the hurts will never go away, but I have learned to forgive and move on, by God's grace. I am now in my "golden years" (what a joke!) and at the point of asking God daily not to take me until I get this thing or that thing done. I pray that my daughter can find something that calms her and gives her peace. We all seek that. Faith is a journey that never ends!