The church was large enough to seat about 150 people. We attended the first week, and everyone seemed truly happy to welcome us to their church. We settled in to attending the church, for Sunday school, Sunday service and Wednesday evening service.
We arrived one Sunday as usual and went to our assigned Sunday school classes. I couldn’t have been in class for more than about ten minutes when my mother appeared at the door. She held my sister’s hand and my two brothers were standing beside her. She did not acknowledge anyone else in the room, but she looked directly at me and said flatly, “We need to leave.” I could tell by the look on her face that she wasn’t ready to explain why at that moment, so I decided to skip that question and got up from my chair and walked toward the door. We silently walked out of the church and headed towards my mother’s 17 year old car with the faded paint. We drove home without anyone saying a word.
Once we arrived home, we all went to separate rooms to change out of our church clothes. I finished changing and went to the living room to wait for my mother because I was ready for an explanation of why we had to leave the church. Apparently, my grandparents were okay or my mother would have plainly said something on the way home. Soon my brothers appeared and sat down on the couch. My mother, however, did not come out of her bedroom in a timely manner. I felt it best if we left the situation alone until she was ready to talk, and we reluctantly turned the television on to pass the time. After a few hours, my mother finally walked in and sat down in her recliner. After a period of silence, I decided that I would have to be the one to initiate the conversation. “Well, what happened that we had to leave the church?“ My mother began to cry, “I’m not going to tell you what happened, but I’m not going back to that church, and I want you to promise me that you won’t go back there either.’’ I was speechless. I could not image what had taken place at the church that had upset her so much, but I nodded my head in agreement that I wouldn’t go back to the church. Although, I was confused, I could not believe that she would be behaving like this for no reason.
The days passed, and she never offered a reason why we were never returning to the church again. I decided that she, for whatever reason, was not comfortable talking to me about the situation and although I still had the question in the back of my mind, I had accepted that I may never know the reason why. I mentioned to my grandmother several months later that I would like to know why we quit attending church so abruptly. To my surprise, my grandmother had an answer for me.
Like most everyone else in the community in which we lived, my mother didn’t have much money. She usually held jobs with convenience stores, construction, and hotels. I know that she didn’t receive child support from any of the children’s fathers, two of them were incarcerated, and there was only so much help that my grandparents could give her. She tried her best to stretch her money, and she was usually searching thrift stores for nice clothes that she could wear in different situations. Sometimes she would find dresses, sometimes pantsuits, and she would also clothe her children out of the thrift stores. She was proud of the nice clothes that she could find at a bargain, but apparently it was not to church standards. My mother always ensured that her dresses came to her knee, but the church wanted them to hit at least the middle of a woman’s calf, and she was asked not to wear pantsuits again. I understood perfectly well. That’s when I learned that an invitation to visit a church doesn’t necessarily mean that you will be welcomed as you are, changes to you might be expected immediately. I often think about what Jesus would say about how my mother was treated.
My last attempt at trying to attend a church came about seven years later when my first husband announced that he no longer wanted to be married after just two years of marriage. I was crushed, and felt as if I needed help. I chose a different religion once again, and began attending regularly. I enjoyed attending, and before I knew it, I was smiling again. I was holding doors open for people and letting cars merge in front of me. I loved it, but then it happened. I was sitting in the pew, and the reverend asked us to bow our heads for a prayer. Everything was going according to plan, until the reverend singled out a group of people for us to keep in our prayers. He declared this group sinful and stated we should pray for these people to turn away from the dirty sins they continue to commit. Did this guy have any idea of the kind of sins that were sitting in the same church with him? A lot of those sins were probably his own. Therefore, that was more than enough for me. I left another church with no intention of returning. My experiences have given me a desire to suggest a church that we can all build together, in cities, towns and countries near and far. I was sure there were others who have similar stories to tell. The thing we have to remember is that we should never feel as if we are not worthy to study the Lord’s word.
Then the Demons Came
One thing that I have learned through my assorted attempts at trying to find a place where I could feel comfortable and learn about Jesus is that there are unquestionably some things in this world that I’m not going to understand. I am certain that Jesus is the Son of God and He was sent to die for the sins of the ignorant and arrogant.
As I have had experiences in my life, which have brought glimpses of the other side in a positive way, I’ve always known that there is more than this life, but through my searching, I’ve also done things I should not have and messed with objects that resulted in exchanges with some truly terrifying things.
My first contact with something less than pleasant occurred when I was about thirteen. Although, I had moved forty-five miles away from my friend, Laura whom I had met at the Christian school, we remained extremely close. We attended different schools and long distance telephone calls were expensive at that time, so we spent most of our time apart writing letters to each other. We even reached a point where I mailed one to her and received a letter from her every day. Our parents encouraged our friendship and one of us was usually at the other’s house most weekends.
One Friday, I arrived at Laura’s house at about six o’clock in the evening. It was decided between her mother and my grandmother that I would be picked up on Sunday at about four o’clock in the afternoon. We made our way to Laura’s bedroom, and I put my duffle bag on the same beanbag chair that always served as my space when I was visiting. I wasn’t sure what was in store for this weekend. Maybe we would listen to records, or watch movies or listen to records while watching movies. Laura had another idea. She told me her mother had been complaining about how much junk was stored in the garage. She told Laura if she would help organize all the extra stuff, they could have a garage sale and Laura could keep half of the money. While Laura was excited about her potential windfall, I was thinking, too. I had items I wanted to sell, but where I lived was too rural to attract any garage sale customers. I explained my idea to Laura, and her mother agreed. I couldn’t wait to start looking through what had been collected in Laura’s garage through all of the years. We were ready to begin immediately, and Laura’s mother opened the garage door for us. It was cluttered, but there was ample room for us to walk around items and reach boxes in corners. I was excited about every box we opened. We found things from Marilyn Monroe collector plates to wedding dresses, which remained from the clothing store Laura’s mother once owned.
The next morning, we began our treasure hunt in the garage again. After several hours of going through items, we came across another box. Inside were board games of all types, and after looking through a lot of them, we were amazed that most of them had all of the original pieces needed to play the game. Then we came upon one that only contained two pieces. The board, and a plastic piece with legs and a clear lens in the middle. “Hey, have you ever seen one of these?” she asked me without taking her eyes off the box that held the game. “I’ve seen them on television and on the shelves in stores, but that‘s all,” I explained. I knew that they were considered to be a sort of spirit board. It was supposedly used to contact the spirits of the dead. I never thought much about it, and it was always obvious that the participants must take turns moving the disc around to spell something spooky and scare everyone into a good laugh. Apparently, my friend was not planning on being any different. “We’re taking this to my room”, she said. “Do you really