The Church I Grew Up In

I was asked to share my ‘faith story’ in small group the other day. It has been awhile since I’ve thought about it and I was very surprised to find out as I talked through it that I have added many new struggles to it since the last time it was told. I realized that I have some grieving to do over one of those new struggles and the subject of this entry: the church of my youth.

My story at one level is so simple. I’ve been a Christian all my life. There isn’t a specific day that I asked Jesus into my heart, he’s always been there. Thanks to my church.

Well, maybe I need to revise that last statement, thanks to the MEMBERS of my church where I grew up. We started going there when we moved to Texas. That was when I started kindergarten. I went there until I graduated and moved away 14 years later. I have so many happy memories there.
– I remember taking Amy to the nursery and picking her up afterwards and how Joann (the nursery lady) would always give me and Lisa cookies.
– I remember the itty-bitty chairs that we would sit on those first few years and the song we sang to give offering – Hear the Pennies Dropping – and how mom would always give us a dollar to put in.
– I remember asking to go to the bathroom during the sermon because I was bored and rummaging through mom’s purse (even though I had it memorized) for a piece of gum.
– I remember writing my favorite hymns on the request board. “I Love to Tell the Story”. And so many others. And how excited I would be when we would sing them.
– I remember racing my sisters down the aisle and weaving between all the people as soon as the last note of the last song ended so we could give the pastor a hug. (We had to sit pretty close to the front so that we would behave.)
– I vaguely remember Amy’s baptism.
– I remember so many Christmas children’s pageants and how I must have been an angel more than once.
– I remember how mom volunteered to be the sunday school superintendent and helping her count the offering. And sponsoring children in Africa with our SS money.
– I remember teaching elementary sunday school during the summer when I got older (which mostly meant picking out a bible story movie from the church library).
– I remember years and years of Vacation Bible School and all the wonderful teachers I had in Sunday School. I remember learning the songs to help you memorize the books of the bible.
– I remember how I got a church scholarship to go to Camp Chrysalis. That was fun.
– I remember confirmation and how Pastor Steve had to kick me out of class on more than one occasion, but I did make it to the end and get confirmed.
– I remember playing my flute for special occasions and how nervous I would be, but everyone would always say I did good after the service.
– I remember high school youth group and ski trips and the big Lutheran Gathering in Saint Louis.
– I remember so much fun playing sardines (kinda like hide and seek) in the church when it was dark and how the sanctuary was pretty scary.
– I remember playing in the bell choir and how we loved to have any reason to go up into the choir loft.
– I remember how all the old men would try to scare off any boy I brought to service (even Nate when I visited from college).
– I remember delivering Christmas poinsettias to shut-ins. I remember making Thanksgiving dinners for truckers.
– I remember getting married there.
– Maybe my memory is tainted, but I mostly remember smiling faces and happy days and lots of great homemade food and desserts.
– I remember what it was like to go somewhere where everyone knew everyone else and checked up on people in the congregation. It was safe and wonderful and so many of those memories has shaped who I am today.

Unfortunately, this IS a story of a struggle in my faith and this is where the story gets sad. The church of my youth no longer exists. Sure, the building is still there, but its not the same. While I was in college, they decided that they didn’t agree with the way their synod was doing things and voted to leave the synod and join/start a new one. I’m not here to say that this wasn’t a good decision, but the ripple effects of it were tremendous. Many people left the congregation, including my parents, which caused much sadness. When I come home, I attend church with my blood family, but not with the Christian family that I grew up with.

I’ve realized recently that I’m not very good at grieving. I stay in the denial stage for far too long. When I told my faith story the other night and tried to explain how this affected me, I cried. I’ve decided that the effects of the decision my church made can be compared to my being married for 14 years and being very happy and content with my groom and getting divorced by him with no prior indication and for no reason. It was very much like dividing a large family into two factions that will never make up or a whole carload of people getting into a wreck and I will never see them again.

I hope that by writing this down I can let go of my sadness and move on. I will choose to remember the good times for what they were and strive to be like all of those people who have left their mark upon my Christian life.