(An aside: My husband loves the Monty Python movie "Life of Brian" and his name is Brian. In that vein, and because sometimes my life has felt like a Monty Python routine, I present, Life of Beth=:) Please no lawsuits for copyright defamation....)
I don't ever remember a time when I did not believe in God. That may sound odd, arrogant, or simplistic, but it's the truth, insofar as my memories of my little girl self can process.
My parents started taking me to the Methodist church that they belonged to when I was just a tiny baby. They, and pretty much all of my extended family, believed that going to church was What One Did. Two of my uncles (Uncle William and Uncle Glynn) were ministers. In fact, my Uncle William baptized me in a small ceremony in my parents' living room. I don't remember this, but have been told the story so often. I would have asked him to tell me about it personally, but Uncle William died of cancer when I was about two.
My very early childhood was pleasant and unremarkable. And as an only child of older parents (Mom was 39 and Dad 43 when I was born) it was pretty calm too. I was a happy little girl, if rather shy. I played with friends in my neighborhood, enjoyed school when I started going, loved my parents, and liked just doing normal family things. My folks' quiet, traditional Christian faith infused every part of my early life. I simply accepted that God was. Without thought, as naturally as breathing, there was no question or angst about it - God was Creator; we went to church to worship and learn about Him.
When I was old enough to attend Sunday school (age 6) I enjoyed it. I liked learning the Bible stories, singing the songs, making new friends, and earning my attendance pin (I still have it somewhere).
At that time in my church there were choirs for every age group, from little ones all the way to adults. Shortly after starting Sunday school, our teacher recommended a few of my friends and I join the Cherub choir (that was the littlest ones, ages 6-10 or something like that). It sounded like fun, so I started going to choir practice every Thursday night with my friend, Wendy. Our moms switched off driving us, but we usually went together.
And so went my life from birth to age 7 or 8 - American suburbia is the early 70's - like a Norman Rockwell painting. School, church, choir, friends, family, holidays - the days and seasons of my early childhood passed so gently that most of my early memories are a hazy watercolor wash.
Unbeknown to me , God had things in mind that would shortly change some of the colors with which I painted my little world.
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