I grew up the opposite of Stacey (Or insert cute blogging pseudonym). My family is extremely religious. My Parents started out as Baptists and swapped over to non-denominational Christians. Don’t confuse non-denominational with non-religious though. We went to church every Sunday and then some. My parents were deacons and treasurers and bulletin writers and other assorted volunteer positions. My parents were Gideons and all that that entails. I went to Sunday School until I taught it. I went on mission trips and prayed and believed with fervor.
As soon as I was away from the influence of my parents I stopped. Cold turkey. When I was allowed to evaluate my own position I rebelled with flair. It’s almost as if I wanted to personally break all the commandments. Fortunately, I got my head out of my rebellion before I did anything too terrible. My parents told me God’s grace protected me. I’m going to agree, now.
I began a long journey of decision. I had to decide which parts of my religion I agreed with and which I felt were unacceptable. I’m still not quite done.
I’ve come to the conclusion that church, while not bad, is not for me. Too many horrible things happened to me under the awning of church. There is too much judgment and not enough love and acceptance. I’ve watched adult friends “find Jesus” and become insufferable. I had one girlfriend tell me that an ATV accident I was in was God telling me I should go back to church. I responded with my reality that I thank God I was in the accident and not my husband. He rides harder and faster. If the cotter pin had broken with him on it, he could have been killed.
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