I know much more than I say…

When my parents divorced, my mother was granted custody of my brother and I. Around the age of 13, I told her I was leaving. I needed out and I got out (read ‘He came to kill, steal and destroy..”). I packed all of my belongings and I left the blended family of 6 and went to live with my father and stepmother.

My father had remarried around the same time as my mother had; her name was Christa. I had a very strong attachment to her. She loved me like her own, but this is another story.

It was a completely different atmosphere. I felt like an only child at my father’s house; for they did not have any children at this point.

There was no swearing.

There was no abuse.

There were chocolate chip cookies and homemade bread.

There was a lot of religion.

In the beginning, this house felt like ‘love’.

I was no longer forced to wash dishes for three hours at a time; while they were inspected by Satan and thrown back into the water with force. I was no longer called names.

I felt loved.

I felt welcomed.

I felt noticed.

For a few years I was able to ‘just be a kid’.

Although I was expected to attend church with them on the Sundays’ that I was not visiting my moms’, I never felt like they tried to push their beliefs down my throat. Originally, it was my choice.

Over the years, many people have preached to me; many people have quoted the Bible to me. I always found this ironic because many do not understand that I probably know the Bible better than the ‘preachers’. To this day, I can still quote scripture as well as the quoters themselves. I know much more than I say…

I remember the church family. They were very welcoming. Everyone was so nice and ‘loving’. It made it easier to look past the strange things that I did not understand; the things I questioned within.

I craved love.

I wanted to be accepted.

They welcomed me with open arms, at first.

I remember I desperately wanted to be part of this love. It was unlike anything I had experienced before.

I considered attending the Christian school that was run by their church. I spoke to my dad and stepmom about this. I remember how happy my stepmom was.

Around this time, we also held prayer meetings in our home; every Wednesday night. There was church every Sunday and most Sundays, we attended Sunday night service as well. There was a lot of church. It was a non-denominational church. It was a ‘Full Gospel’ church. It was fundamentally Protestant, or Evangelical, or Pentecostal; I’m not exactly sure. There were some strange things that occurred. There were a lot of strange things that I had never seen and to this day, I still do not understand.

I made the choice to leave my small, public, rural school shortly after the start of 7th grade.

Things were a little different at Christian school from public school; as one could imagine.

Uniforms consisted of skirts or dresses for the girls. I never had an issue with this because I have always embraced my feminity.

There was chapel every morning prior to classes.

We were taught creationism; something that was not taught in public school.

I remember most of the students at this small private school. They were very welcoming. I made friends easily and quickly.

I remember how badly I desired to cheerlead. We only had one sport at our Christian school; soccer. I proposed a cheerleading team for the soccer team. My proposal was evaluated and approved with conditions; the skirts had to be the length of our knees. Modesty was not under negotiation; it was a requirement.

I chose to learn their beliefs.

I wanted to understand their faith. Their faith seemed so steadfast; so rock-like.

I will tell you that there were a lot of rules while living at my father’s house.

I was not allowed to do much. I was very over-protected.

Around the time I turned 15, there was a major shift.

I started wondering. I started questioning. My questions were not answered. My questioning was seen as rebellious. I was considered a ‘strong willed child’. I was told it was a spirit that needed to be broken. I do not agree with everything I was taught, but this is another story.

I was brought up Catholic for many years until Catholicism no longer served my parents beliefs or wants. I was baptized Catholic as a baby. I made my First Holy Communion and I was made to attend all of the classes.

When my father remarried, he adopted my stepmom’s faith. It was a complete 180 from Catholicism in many ways. Over the years, my mother no longer practiced Catholicism and searched other avenues.

I remember my stepmom talking to me about my mother’s beliefs. I remember my confusion and I remember wanting to understand it for myself.

I remember going to the library that was next door to my house. I remember obtaining books to try to understand why they thought my mom was practicing evil. I needed to understand what ‘evil’ meant and I wanted to understand it for myself; not just the explanations I was given.

This was very frowned upon. Questioners are watched very closely.

Rules shifted.

Gavels came down; hard. Lines were drawn.

Everything changed.

I remember I was no longer given choices. Once I said I believed in their faith, the rule bar was brought to an unrealistic expectation. The fundamentals of this religion are often forgotten by those that practice it; perhaps not for themselves, but when it comes to the judgment of others. Love is forgotten. Grace is forgotten.

I was not allowed to question. I was not allowed to listen to secular music. Getting caught listening to secular music meant consequences. Not singing in church meant consequences. Reading books about other religions meant consequences.

I became so confused. Suddenly it felt like everything was being forced on me.

I remember the confusion. I remember being taught about free will and yet there was no longer free will.

I remember my stepmom’s words. She was very angry with me.

“You think you can make it without God? (She laughed) Let me tell you something little girl! I was prettier than you, I was smarter than you, I was more popular than you and I did not make it without God.”

I remember I cried.

I no longer trusted this house.

I no longer trusted this love.

I no longer trusted this faith.

I had no idea what I believed in; I was so confused.

Religion took over at my father’s house.

I was in 9th grade at that Christian school. The ropes were pulled very tight. I tugged back. I was expelled from Christian school two weeks from the end of the school year, but this is another story.

The shit hit the fan. All the love I thought I had and known felt like a lie.

I was given a choice.

“You can stay here and be grounded for two weeks or you can go back and live with your mother.”

I was scared to return to my mom’s house. She had recently left New York State. She had moved to Virginia. She was still married to Satan. I was not a fan of Satan.

There was a lot at stake; I knew this. I cut my losses and told them I was moving.

I knew I was older. I thought I could handle Satan at this point in my life. I packed my bags and moved to Virginia, but this is another story…

© LifeasChristine, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to LifeasChristine with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s