When He first spoke... then I wished He hadn't

Here's my little opening statement: 

I had a beautiful childhood. My parents were high school sweethearts, a homecoming queen and wrestling state champion. My sister was and is my best friend. My brother letting his two little sisters into his world. There is probably no better town to live in than San Clemente. Days at the beach long into the evening. River trips, close to extended family, never wondering if we were loved or would be cared for.

Here's the heart stuff:

When I was young I viewed God as my creator and saw Him as being removed from my everyday life. A judge in the sky giving the thumbs up or down, clearing a path with goodness and blessing if I were to earn His approval. I believed He loved me but that His approval was something I had to earn. I approached him with reverence and it was stressed in my home that obedience to God was non negotiable. I never questioned God’s existence as my creator. The things I did question,  how to please Him and how to meet my own needs, were what dictated all my actions. Pleasing myself and meeting my own needs usually did not correlate.

Both of my parents were very religious and devout to the traditions of their faith. My older sister and brother and I were raised in both religions. My Father was a Jehovah’s witness and my Mother a non denominational Christian.  With my Father  my siblings and I attended two weekly bible studies and a two hour Sunday service. We counted our hours of door to door preaching on weekends. We did our weekly required bible reading and whatever ever other books we were required to study. We had a family bible study usually on a Sunday evening. We performed bible studies in front of the church as practice and were critiqued on the performance. A few times a year we attended weekend long assemblies. Those were pretty boring for everyone. We did learn how to sit still for long hours at a time and mostly behave. The Jehovah’s witnesses are worldwide and they are organized and like minded in their beliefs. They care for one another as well as devoting their lives to preaching what they believe as absolute truth.

We did not celebrate Holidays and weren’t allowed to participate in any school activities that did either. We were not allowed to attend or have Birthday parties, although I think my mom got away with a few for us. Religion was a hot topic in our house hold and there didn’t seem to be much respect for the differences.

I was usually the only child who didn’t complain about the weekly study, reading and meetings. I received praise for this and for completing  all that was required of me. This praise made me feel accepted and valued. The measurable success of bible reading, hours in service and meetings made me feel worthy of love and secure in my family, God and the church. My Father and I shared a special bond in things we did together with the other Jehovah’s witnesses. We both enjoyed hard work and desired to please God with our lives.

With my mother I attended a small, sandy foot friendly neighborhood church. One Sunday service, a week of Vacation Bible School in the Summer and any non Holiday musicals the church put on. I enjoyed attending there and never felt like it was wrong, no matter how many times I was told I should feel that way. I loved singing in the children’s choir and going to Summer day camps. It was a place I felt free and it was fun.

When each of us kids were ending our elementary years our parents told us we would be able to choose where we wanted to continue to attend church. We had to choose between our Mother’s church or our Father’s. Then we would only have to attend one church and it's functions. I was sure I wanted to be a Jehovah’s witness. With the Christians not having as many rules, requirements and meetings as the Jehovah’s witnesses  it didn’t make sense how they could earn God’s love or approval. It kind of seemed like they didn’t care. At the same time they were one hundred percent sure of their salvation. The witnesses had such a rock solid answer for everything and it seemed impossible to deny they held the truth.

In spite of my plans to ditch the Christians and follow my Father into something sure, God showed up out of my control. My Mother’s church met in our elementary schools multi purpose room. All I had been doing in God’s name had not had any effect on any part of my heart, but that was about to change. One Sunday service I sat piously in my multi purpose room chair listening to the curly haired, overly joyful pastor strum his guitar to the worship music. I always found his exuberance a bit offense, I mean we were supposed to be in church here. I struggle now in  finding words to speak to what happened in the moments that followed that would capture the depth of my experience. The spiritual, physical and emotional experience was extravagant in every part of me. The first encounter of many with God that would turn my world upside down. Everything seemed to slow down and then completely pause. My heart fell open and I felt God speak words directly to my spirit. Every sinew of my being felt Him, heard Him.  He told me there was freedom here. But above the actual words there was a truth in the word freedom that i could just feel. I was staring at the bible tucked under the chair in front in me as the words kept swirling, beautifully,  throughout my body, mind, heart and soul.  Freedom. 

Slipping back to reality I knew I had experienced God and heard His words. I kept the experience to myself. I didn't even know enough about this God to think to ask Him what this meant.

Anxiety built inside me as the time quickly approached for me to decide where I wanted to attend church. I couldn’t choose to be a Jehovah’s witness now. I was terrified of telling everyone, partly because of pride. All I had was an experience to rest the decision on and I knew that wasn’t going to fly. There was fear in the idea of freedom and I don't think I even wanted it. 
My security was in knowing exactly what I had to do, scheduled for me every day. My chains were my comfort. My earning was my pride and comfort. Jehovah’s witnesses had all the answers for my life and security.  Now, all I had were questions. I kept asking my Mom how she knew she was serving the right God. She just said she knew because she could feel it, with every fiber of her being. I couldn't argue it away anymore or scoff at such an idea because now I had experienced it. My Mother prayed fervently for me to find truth, freedom. I kept searching for a good enough reason to justify my choice to my family.

I don’t remember the words I spoke the moment I told my Dad but I know the disappointment I saw in his face. I felt his frustration every time I tried to explain why I chose the way I did. I could feel so clearly all the emotions that caused me to make this decision and yet I couldn’t find the proper words to put to it. Nothing I said seemed to touch the spiritual experience of that day. The Elders from the Jehovah’s witnesses came over one day so I could give an answer to their questions as to why I chose to leave. Walking into the living room where they were waiting I saw my Mother sitting on her bed, she whispered she was praying for me.  

I tried so hard to  appear emotionless because I believed if I seemed sure and strong they would trust my decision.  I had once been so sure of their truth now I couldn't seem to put a single word to what I had experienced that made them understand.

I can remember the desperation and disappointment on my Father’s face watching me stumble over my words. Having children of my own now I can only imagine the concern and confusion he must have been feeling.

My Father eventually told me he was convinced I had chosen this so that I could date like the other kids at my mom’s church were. I was determined to prove him wrong in this assumption. He just kept saying he knew I knew the real truth in my heart. I believe he felt this with all of himself.  How could I even expect him to understand what I had felt and experienced when I once sat in the place he did. Trying to reason with all the right points and all the right scriptures. I remember feeling so frustrated with people trying to explain how simple it was. Yet here I was, the very thing I had always viewed as foolish. The disappointment he seemed to have in me was unbearable and I tried hard to hide my sadness and prove my choice was the right one. I was convinced I had lost my Father’s approval and acceptance. I thought the bond so special to me had been broken. We grew apart in our mutual hurt and frustration trying to convince the other that we were right. Somewhere inside of me I felt I could earn my place back into that relationship.  I didn’t feel special anymore, I lost my security, part of my self worth and identity. I knew without any doubt I had made the right decision but I was ashamed of it.