I used to admire others who I viewed as having strong belief systems. You may know someone like this. They know exactly what they believe and can articulate the whats, whys and hows ever so succinctly. While I, on the other hand, would struggle to create a list of my top 10 beliefs, unless they were something most people would agree were true.
Don’t get me wrong, I HAVE a lot of beliefs, but they’re mostly opinions about my beliefs. I believe that I struggle with beliefs as an adult because my religious upbringing was inconsistent. The song as old as time, “XYZ is wrong with me and it’s all my parents’ fault. To be fair, I’m sure they were searching for their beliefs too.
My Belief Journey
I was baptized into the Catholic church and attended with my family from birth until age 4. I don’t have any recollection of this, so I rely on my parents’ retelling. From the ages of 4-14, I attended a Jehovah’s Witnesses kingdom hall with my mom. Then from ages 15-18, our family reconvened religiously and joined a United Church of Christ congregation.
As a child, I didn’t think about it too much. I wasn’t making the faith choice; I was just included in the faith choice of my parents. But as an adult, away from my parents’ faith choices, I began to wrestle with what I believed. I didn’t really know.
The Reformation
When asked if I had a religious preference, I just said “Protestant”. That word seems so odd to me now, at this point in my life. But in my late teens, early 20s, it was my point of reference. In the 1980s, in our small Northern New York town, the extent of diversity was whether you were Catholic or Protestant.
The Protestant label continued to serve me well as I ventured out on my own. First stop was Air Force basic training where Sunday mornings could be spent cleaning our dorm or going to church. As you can imagine, that made church sound quite appealing. I mostly went to the Protestant service, although it was very different from the staid, liturgical services I was used to. Lots of energy and clapping involved. I went to the Catholic service once too. That was more cute guy related than faith related though.
Faith and church attendance went on pause for many years of my early 20s, much to my parents’ chagrin. My husband and I would attend my parents’ church when we visited them and would attempt to find a church to attend when they visited us. The most memorable occasion being an Easter Sunday morning that also happened to be Spring Ahead morning. We arrived at the church just in time for the real congregation to come pouring out the doors as the service had ended. We weren’t even exemplary CEO Christians in those days.
A Spark of Belief
My next foray into faith came via an invite to a Baptist church in the suburbs of Detroit. My husband’s boss invited us, and my husband really wanted to make a good impression, so off we went. The service reminded me of the singing, clapping Protestant services at basic training and I felt quite moved by the message.
During the final prayer, all heads bowed, eyes closed, the pastor asked if anyone wanted to accept Christ into our lives, trusting and believing we would be forgiven of our sins. A fresh starting point of faith. Now, to be honest, I had accumulated quite a long list of sins in the 5 or 6 years since I left home, so this sounded like a pretty good idea. Accepting Christ was simple, raise your hand and repeat a prayer to yourself as the pastor spoke it aloud.
I closed my eyes even tighter in that moment, effectively blocking out everything around me but the pastor’s voice. I repeated the words silently as he spoke them aloud. He finished with a resounding amen and I opened my eyes. I felt happier and lighter than I had in years. I honestly had no idea what I was doing, but it felt like a step toward belief.
Spark Extinguished
And then, into my blissful moment came a woman who had been sitting down at the other end of the long pew from me. Suddenly she was sitting right next to me. She said she saw me raise my hand and asked if she could lead me in a prayer of salvation so I could accept Jesus into my heart and be born again.
I was mortified. I didn’t know her, I didn’t know anyone in this church other than my husband, his boss and his boss’s wife. Suddenly, it felt like there were hundreds of pairs of eyes upon me. And how the heck did she even know I raised my hand if we were supposed to have our eyes closed? The whole thing felt like a trick.
“No, I’m not ready to do that right now”, I heard myself say weakly. “I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have raised my hand. But thank you.”
I turned and rushed off; well as much as you can rush walking behind people who are in no hurry to leave. People who belong, feel at home, accepted and welcomed right where they are. I looked straight ahead, terrified to make eye contact with anyone else who would probably see right through me. Into the depths of my muddled and unworthy soul.
After what felt like an hours long trek, I finally emerged into the daylight and took in a deep lung full of fresh air. I had escaped without any further incident or conversion attempts. I don’t remember anything else about that day. I’m pretty sure we went out for lunch, then had a long drive home, but all that is lost.
Belief Hangover
What remained was the remnants of what I can best describe as a belief hangover. I had a glimpse of what it might feel like to believe something and began opening up to the possibility. But by unwittingly making my baby belief public, it suddenly felt like I was out of control again. At the mercy of someone outside of me trying to confirm my belief.
It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know. She was probably just doing something she had done for years and gotten great responses from others before me. For me, it felt like she snuffed out the spark of belief that had been kindled within me just moments before.
I wanted to keep my spark small and hidden as I tended it, allowing the flame to grow. But amidst my panic of the spark being seen, I allowed it to go out. Leaving behind it just the faintest whisper of smoke.
To be continued in Part Two.
Betsy is a certified life coach and blogger who helps midlife women find satisfaction where they are now and inspiration to go after their big goals.
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