I was not raised in a religious household. My mother sporadically took us to church when I was younger and I occasionally attended Lutheran church with my grandmother or aunt and even occasionally Mormon church with my other grandparents. My father has never been much interested in religion, but wasn't antagonistic toward it, however unless my mother wanted to take us, we just simply didn't go. That's not to say I wasn't taught about who Jesus was. We just didn't attend church and he was in no way part of our daily lives.
I remember my Grandma Marlene (my maternal grandmother who passed away when I was 10. I loved her deeply and Autumn's middle name is given for her) sitting with me at her kitchen table one morning after I'd spent the night at my grandparent's home. She'd discovered I did not know the Lord's Prayer and was appalled. She sat with me at that table and wouldn't let me get up until I memorized it. It's one of my fondest memories of her now. The sunlight coming in through the kitchen window, the gold-flocked design of her 70's decor wallpaper in her dining area, the smell that is burned in my brain as being "Grandma's house smell"...It's funny, my step grandma still lives in that house, even now that my grandfather is since passed, and with all the changes it no longer smells the same. I don't know if the scent was the wallpaper, now long gone in a remodel, or if it was the linoleum or some cleaning product my grandma had used, but I remember it in my mind like I can still smell it. My kitchen in my own home is actually decorated with all my Grandma Marlene's kitchen castoffs that my Grandma Peggie boxed up when she did the long overdue kitchen remodel. I love that my 70's inspired kitchen reminds me of my grandma and also that very special memory. I now have that kitchen table in my dining area and plan to teach Autumn the Lord's Prayer in the same manner. I cherish that memory.
My choir and neighborhood friend, Angela had a cousin named Paul that I very much had a crush on. One afternoon, while thrift shopping with my mom, I ran into Paul outside. He'd just started attending this new church and was really excited about it and invited me to come. He'd have his friend come pick me up and we could all go. I agreed happily, more due to the crush that any desire I had to go to church. Because I wanted to impress this boy so much I started attending regularly. I went to the women's conference with the other "sisters," I went to "discipleship classes" during the week, I had a "discipler" who would call me during the week to make sure I was doing my devotions and confessing all my sins. My mother grew suspicious and attended with me one Sunday. She flipped the hymnal to the page in the back and her suspicions were confirmed. "International Church of Christ, Boston, Mass" otherwise known as "The Boston Movement" - a legalist cult that was being exposed by various mainline Christian spokespeople as being an up and coming problem, especially on college campuses. They were apparently very good at getting kids to commit to their church and if their families weren't on board, they would gradually pry these vulnerable kids away from their families. They dictated who you could date and where you could go and, ultimately, who you could marry. Control was the name of the game. My mother pulled me aside and said, "If you want to go to church, fine. But you're not going here!" Because I was under 18, they didn't persue me when my mother told them she was removing me from the church and putting her foot down. By that point, it was apparent my crush had invited me to impress his crush, so I wasn't all that worked up about leaving anyway.
The following Sunday, my mother took me to Harvest Christian Fellowship, the very large megachurch of Greg Laurie, in Riverside, CA. Though it was really large, my mom felt comfortable there and they had an awesome High School ministry. One Wednesday night, I, along with my best friend and my brother, went forward and gave our lives to Jesus. I began attending there Sunday and Wednesday nights for most of my senior year. Toward the end, I lost focus and stopped going. By the time I graduated, I wasn't going at all.
I graduated High School when I was 16. I turned 17 the following month and began attending Chaffey College. Harvard on the Hill, we called it. My first semester, I took a "Intro to Music Theory" class taught by Ms. Shannon. She was a crotchety lady, probably in her late 70's to early 80's, still dying her whispy, thinning hair a dark brown, which only added to her spinsterly appearance. She was a horrid teacher, long since tired of teaching people who didn't want to be there, and it was evidenced in her teaching. Though I'd been a "choir kid" all 4 years of High School, I was totally lost in this class. It was there that I met one of the best friends of all time, Bryan. He was a musical prodigy of sorts and could explain the stuff so I got it. He was a Godsend...in many ways.
It was Bryan who introduced me to "One over One" the on-campus Christian club. I began attending and making friends and we all went out to lunch frequently. It turned out that many of these folks went to Water of Life, a growing church, who at the time was meeting on Sundays at Ruth Musser Middle School and had a Thursday night college group. It seemed even the ones that didn't attend there on Sunday still went to the Thursday night group. I began attending that as well. I also began attending Sundays with my mom, who thoroughly enjoyed it. I was a part of this group for a few years while I attended Chaffey, finishing the dental assistant program.
My first dental assisting position was in a Christian dentist's office. Christian music was piped through the P.A. and everyone that worked there was Christian. I was allowed to leave work on Thursday 1/2 an hour early, so I wouldn't miss Bible study. It seemed to be a great job. I loved my co-workers, the dentist, and the environment. There was one problem. The boss' wife. She was the office manager, slightly passive agressive and had a chip on her shoulder. Because I was so young, she treated me like one of her children. I resented her for it.
During this time, I learned a friend in my college group was losing a roommate. The price was right, so I approached her about considering letting me rent the room in her condo. She agreed and was excited. I moved in with her and each week we had a Bible study in our living room. Sometimes we'd have so many people, some would be up the staircase, some in the kitchen. I really enjoyed it, until, one evening afterward a group of us went to Spires, a local 24 restaurant, not unlike Denny's but a bit classier. As we walked passed a section of tables, I heard someone call my name. I looked over in the direction where my name was called from and a past co-worker from my time at Montgomery Ward's was seated with a friend in a booth. I excused myself from the group to go over and say hello. My friend Todd has recently separated from his girlfriend and was living with this friend who shared the booth with him and they were eager to catch up and hang out. We exchanged numbers and hugs and I rejoined my friends.
The next day, Todd called me and we agreed to meet up at his friend's house where he was staying. We had a nice evening and it was apparent he was into me. By the time we parted company that night, he admitted as much. We agreed to hang out the following night. And the next. And the next. I discovered quickly just how superficial my Christianity had been. It wasn't long before I moved out of the condo, leaving my poor roommate with not much more than unpaid bills and a note. Looking back now, I feel horrible about it.
I moved into the house of the friend where Todd was staying less than a month after we began dating. I skipped work so much I got fired when I really did get very sick and needed to be off, but they no longer believed me. I managed to justify my actions due to my resentment for the dentist's wife. I was constantly borrowing money from my parents because I no longer had steady income. I started smoking, drinking, and now for the first time ever had an active sex life. When I discovered he hadn't exactly totally broken up with his former girlfriend, I let it slide once he officially did a couple weeks into our relationship. He was into occultic practices, specificially The Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, an occultic "high-magic" group, who use a lot of Egyptian diety and Jewish Kabbalistic teaching. He was rather arrogant about his belief system, believing it to be one you had to be exceedingly intelligent to master. He was very disparraging toward Christianity and, not wanting to scare off my new, and first, boyfriend, I left behind anything that would have tied me toward my Christian past. The only thing I kept was my friend Bryan. For whatever reason, Todd liked Bryan and that fact he was a Christian didn't bother him at all. Bryan accepted me for where I was and never made me feel that he was judging me. He would tell me when he didn't agree with me, but he spoke the truth in love, and truly was my anchor during this time.
Since I couldn't be Christian and I didn't feel smart enough to be included in Todd's Golden Dawn stuff (though I tried some of it, which pleased Todd greatly) I settled on Wicca. I liked the nature aspect of it and began buying books and learning. Eventually I erected an altar and was doing full moon rituals regularly and attending an open circle at one of the Wiccan stores in the area each month. I was casting spells and had made my own Book of Shadows and practicing my craft like a good little witch. I remained Wiccan through my separation from Todd, being diagnosed with manic depressive disorder, through a couple more short term boyfriends, and up through the beginning of my relationship with my now husband.
While dating my husband he admitted to a faith in God, but it wasn't defined. He was okay with my being a Wiccan and beyond the initial conversation, we didn't discuss it much. About 8 months into our relationship, around Easter, we decided to watch the Passion of the Christ. We'd both heard it was a good film, even if you weren't a Christian; That it was well done and the effects were amazing. We sat down to watch it as one couple and emerged on the other side as a completely different couple. We sat silent watching it. We wouldn't look at each other but could tell the other was tearing. I openly sobbed during parts of it. The unspeakable torment that this man went through. Even as a non-Christian, watching a fellow human being put through that pulled at my compassion. When we finished the movie, neither of us really talked about it. The atmosphere in the house that evening was somber. It was apparent were both deep in thought but not willing to discuss it with the other yet. However, it wasn't long before I was snatching up Christian apologetics books and reading aloud to Ken parts that I found fascinating. As the Truth revealed itself, re-watching The Passion became almost unbearable. That God would send His Son to come to be put to death in such a way to save me from all the crap I'd done. That I'd done flippantly, not a care in the world. Not just "little" sins here and there. Bold faced sin. Ugly, deep unrepeatable sin. Not too long after that we found ourselves asking our neighbor if she knew of any good churches in the area. She pointed us to Sandals Church in Riverside. We began attending there and I still persued reading as much as I could about Christianity wanting to be really sure before I committed this time. I didn't want this to be a superficial thing. I didn't want to be someone who flip flopped back and forth between this religion and that religion. But when Jesus got a hold of me, there was no uncertainty. His love for me was so deep, so unshakeable. There's no way I could have mistaken it for something superficial. It was completely different this time around. God was doing all the work this time, not me.
One night in the kitchen I asked Ken, point blank, did he believe that Jesus was the Way to God? He looked right into my eyes and said he absolutely did. I felt a huge weight lift off me because I did too, but I was worried that Ken might have an issue with it, since it wasn't exactly what he'd signed up for when he and I started dating. To hear that he was sure too was wonderful. Not long after I called my friend Bryan to come over and hang out. Ken was working nights so it was just Bryan and I and he looked around at my books and my altar, that I had yet to take down. He basically told me it was time and we spent the rest of the night taking down and destroying the altar and those books.
That following Sunday, the Pastor referred to Acts 19:19 "And a number of those who had practiced magic arts brought their books together and burned them in the sight of all. And they counted the value of them and found it came to fifty thousand pieces of silver." I felt it confirmed in me that I'd done the right thing. There was no "Plan B" with Christ.
We've evolved as time has gone on and as I've studied various doctrine and learned new things. We no longer go to Sandals, although I love them with all my heart and know that God is using them to touch a lot of people. Doctrinally, we line up more with the Lutheran view of scripture and now attend a wonderful Lutheran church filled with beautiful people who love God and love us. We finally feel home. I try to read my Bible daily, though that is an area I am still growing in. I pray daily and spend time alone with God each day. I try to be "good" but ultimately I know I'm a wretched sinner incapable of being good outside of Christ. It is by His grace alone that I am called as one of His children. Occasionally, I'm a hypocrite. Occasionally, I screw up big. But, He loves me and forgives me and for that I am eternally grateful.
“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
you will not be burned;
the flames will not set you ablaze."
Isaiah 43:1,2
Your Grandma Marlene would have been proud of you. Well said. I love you Pockets!
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