Came to Believe In

Growing up I remember hearing GOD was going to punish me for things I did, like talk back to my mom, hit my sibling, etc.  I feared GOD and the idea of GOD.  I wondered if GOD was real then where was he?  As far as I know my father never went to church, ever.  My mother might have but I never saw it.  I remember hearing "GOD this" and "GOD that" when she ranted and raved her frustrated anger in cursing.  "What has He ever done for me?", she screamed.  "F*** GOD."

One day we, the children, were dressed up then transported to Christo Rey Catholic Church because of a funeral.  My Aunt Polly had a baby that died.  It had lived a few days.  A lot of people there were dressed in black and their faces seemed grim, sad, bleak.  Tragic. We were ushered in and seated on a long pew.  What caught my attention was a huge cross where a man was nailed.  There was blood on his head, hands, side and crossed feet.  I felt transfixed but couldn't stand looking at such a terrible thing as this man's obvious pain.  I kept my head bowed and looked sideways to see other people's reactions but no one else appeared to really care as my little heart pounded in grief and fear for him, hoping someone would take him down, but people acted like it was no big deal.  Plus the huge cavernous grandeur of the church seemed so incongruent with  the almost naked, skinny dying man on the cross.  The flickering candles cast light on the rich gleaming gold trimmings of the altar, the long dark maroon shrouded velvet draperies and the echoes of the priest's Latin intermingled with Sanish mystical chanting all mixed with the smells of incense.  This made quite an impression on me and I felt sure I didn't want to come back.  It was a scary place and I didn't feel comfortable.  I didn't fit in.

There was another time when my hillbilly Grandma Smith was invited to go visit a church in Montopolis and I went with her.  The church was packed to the gills with white people.  The friendliness, excitement, and animated hellos were nice until the preacher started his sermon.  He began kind of quiet then before long he was shouting and people reacted.  They started raising their hands, yelling "Praise GOD!"  "Lordy, oh yes, Jeeeeeesus!", "Halleluah!", "Amen!" as tambourines shook in quick rattles like a snake.  Which in turn got that preacher even more fired-up, his face all red and mottled, sweat pouring down his face, his hair wet and clinging to his head as he raised his fist and smashed it down on the podium.  Then the crowd swelled in hysteria as scattered here and there were screams, people talking in tongues, falling out, fainting, melting to the ground or running around.  Chaos.   Pretty scary.  Yep.   I felt extremely uncomfortable and like I didn't fit in.  To be honest, it felt more like when I was at home except without the physical violence.

By the time I left home and became a ward of the state my belief system was pretty shaky.  I did send up a prayer or two once in a while...just in case.

I was initially placed at a ranch in Leander, Texas run by Mr. and Mrs. Hart.  I do believe they were "good", "god-fearing" people and a requirement for all the children staying there was going to the local 1st Baptist church EVERY Sunday.  Wow.  From no church to every Sunday was quite a switch.  So we all piled in the back of the truck which had a wooden plank on each side where we huddled together.  It was breathlessly hot, dusty and uncomfortable during the summer then bone-chilling, teeth-chattering, blue lips cold uncomfortable in the winter as we bumped down those country roads leading to the church.  Quiet, polite decorum.  Organ music.  People dressed in their Sunday best.  The preacher preached not so hysterically but pretty much the same message I'd heard before of GOD's punishing wrath and fury on the unrepentant sinner.  So I repented every Sunday.  Until finally I responded to the invitational  and was "saved".  The following Sunday night I  was baptized at that church.

I really don't know how many times I've been "saved" or baptized or in how many churches.  I church-hopped pretty much how I later bar-hopped in my drinking career.  I went to Catholic, Baptist, Methodist, Unitarian, Pentecostal,  studied with the Jehovah's Witnesses, the Mormans of Latter Day Saints, etc.  I really wanted to "find" GOD and instead just felt odd.  Like I didn't fit in.

Until I arrived in the rooms of the 12 Steps.  This is where I finally found my Higher Power.  Not scripted by all those others who tried to choke GOD down my throat, who used GOD's name in vain to control, dominate or hurt.  Or so it seemed to me.  Until I  came home where I belong with others, like me, who have struggled to make sense of the insanity.  I fit in.  At last.

Prior to my recovery in the 12 Steps I had closed my mind to GOD, churches, religious folk, etc.  I threw out the baby with the bath water.  It says in the book of "Alcoholics Anonymous", page 87, "Be quick to see where religious people are right."  I have learned to keep an open mind...I just might hear and learn something I really need to know.  I've learned to love my Higher Power.  Now I can say, "Thank GOD" and really mean it.  Sincerely, Carol xoxox