Surprising as it may seem, I grew up in church. I believe one of the many policies of becoming a member at my childhood church was that members (ha, I said member) were to be present any and all times that the church doors were open. In a Baptist church, that is every Sunday morning for Sunday School and church, Sunday evenings for worship, and Wednesday nights for Prayer Meetings. Yes, there were other times as well when one is expected to be there, but these three were considered the most essential.
When one grows up in this environment, and is also subject to church school where Bible class is during first period, and chapel is every Wednesday, needless to say, by the time I was 18, I was kinda burnt out on God. Forgive me if you find that to be sacreligious; let me re-phrase. I was burnt out on God in the way He was presented to me. I believe it was the very first Sunday after I had moved out of my parents and gotten my own place that I suspended my church attendance. For the next seven years.
Let me be clear, God has always been with me. He was in every person who showed me noticeable kindness throughout those years, and He understood that my maniac father had just shoved to much “religion” down my throat. Patient as He is known to be, God was just waiting until I wasn’t sick of the idea of Him anymore.
Then one day, I was looking in the local newspaper, and saw an ad : Pianist Wanted. I was ecstatic at the thought that I might actually be able to get paid to do something that I loved. I called the number and discovered the church in need was that of my Grammy and Gramps and most of my Aunties. “What good luck!” I thought. “I shall be able to get paid and also to visit my dearest family members at the same time!” Upon my stellar audition, I was of course immediately offered the job.
At the time, I was just newly married. Though he said he wanted to start going to church, for the next 3 1/2 years, my hubby only attended church with me once; when I gave a fund-raising Nutcracker concert. This didn’t really bother me too much, until I was working 80 hours a week and Sundays were my only day off. Then I began to get the mindset that if he wanted to spend time with me, the least he could do was spend an hour sitting next to me while learning about God. He stated that there were always better things to do on Sunday mornings. Like sleep.
Once I had left my heathenous marriage, I vowed that I would never again marry someone who wasn’t at least willing to attend church with me, even if only sometimes. To my surprise, only two weeks after the announcement that I had left my husband, my Rockstar decided he wanted to go with me. (To impress me). While it was an interesting time trying to explain a new man two weeks after I had left the man I’d been with for 12 years, I was greatly pleased anyway.
Since then, my Rockstar has decided my church is old and boring and completely on the way to death. He attends sometimes still, but only to amuse me. It’s true, I have moved further away from the church than when I started playing, but it also is the only time that I get to see my fam, so I continue. I’ve tried explaining this to my Rockstar, but you understand how obtuse men can be at times.
I fully understand the allure of football and NASCAR on Sunday mornings, so I respect my Rockstar’s decision to opt out of church frequently. However, I do NOT respect the fact that he is ok with having a disrespectful 10 year old who has no spiritual guidance. The first Sunday after I had moved in with them, the Child begged to go to church with me, but he wouldn’t let her. Now, she whines if they come with, because it has not been instilled in her that it’s good for her.
I’m not saying I want her to grow to become a Bible-thumping wife of a preacher and to bear offspring to become spiritual minions, no. But I find nothing wrong with raising a child to “Do unto others” and all that bullshit. He’s not teaching her at home, so I think perhaps civil people at a church would be a good influence.
I don’t know if because of the way I was raised, I now find comfort in being in church on Sunday, or if it’s the fact that every person there is thrilled that I bring to them my musical talent and fashion flair- which feeds my Histrionic Monster that’s deep inside. Either way, it’s my thing, so when my Rockstar shot me a text yesterday what a beautiful day it was to not be in church, I told him to shut the fuck up and stop pissin’ me off. I guess it really is true what they teach you in Sunday school- Raise a child up in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it. They just forgot to mention what that child might do on Saturday night.