Tag: church

I grew up in church my whole life. I’ve always had some sort of relationship with God. Whether that be lukewarm or on fire for Christ, it’s always been there. I accepted Jesus as my savior when I was just a little girl.

I remember asking my Daddy to save me and he did immediately. Right there at the foot of his bed, in my little purple nightgown on my knees, he led me to the Lord. I don’t remember the prayer itself but I remember the peace of the Holy Spirit filling me. I remember hugging my Dad after and rejoicing with him.

I don’t remember much about my baptism but there are pictures. I remember the white dress shirt my pastor was wearing. Remember how it felt scratchy and strange. I can picture it clearly while he taught me the nose-hand grab situation we would do during the baptism. I remember the clean smell of his office. And I remember the hot tub i’d be baptized in. I saw it often when I would play on the playground there.

But I don’t remember going under.

The rest of my life in this church was full of high’s and lows. I’d learn all the stories we were supposed to learn, see the good and bad of my peers, go through hardships together, and see my church rise and fall. Love God and love the world.

I loved my church then. I loved God. Everyday was awesome. We had a fantastic kids ministry. So many friends, fun competitions for cool prizes, trivia, amazing goofy songs, bible camp, otter pops, veggie tales, potlucks, and so much more. I knew so much about God and how he protected me and kept me safe.

And then our kids class got smaller. In fact our class got so small we got absorbed into main service for Wednesday service. The kids club ministry for Wednesday was ended and we now only had Sundays together. The playground got sold.

I outgrew Sunday school and became apart of the main service permanently. Normal service was ok. The pastor of our church would preach sermons that were decent. But when my Dad would step up to preach it was as if the world stopped to listen. It was as if God was speaking directly through him. Later i’d find out he was. The Holy Spirit was speaking through my Dad, using him as a vessel.

Every service my pastor preached was more of a history lesson. Which I am grateful for as I now have great groundwork for theology. But when my Dad preached, it was like my soul was being filled.

I deeply miss those days. To sit and listen to my Dad preach was such a blessing I unfortunately overlooked at this time.

I began to feel on fire for God. Singing church hymns became another thing that filled me. I read my Bible everyday without fail. I kept a prayer journal with my nightly prayers. Everything was right and I felt so full. I was excited and comforted that Jesus was coming back for me.

And we were losing church members.

My pastor had begun to preach politics from the pulpit. Our rights to discernment were stripped from us as this man wrongfully commanded us to vote a certain way; for certain people. At this time I wasn’t even old enough to vote yet. But it sat wrongfully in my heart.

I knew nothing about politics at this time. I was 14-15. I hadn’t done research into these people he was blindly telling us to follow. But I still knew being told to vote like this was wrong. That it wasn’t necessarily the people or ideals, but that the principle of being forced into something was indeed wrong and controlling. This church would go on to be all about control.

It became a topic my family often discussed. We wished he wouldn’t “preach” politics from the pulpit. It felt wrong to be guilted and forced instead of guided.

I grew deep fear in my heart towards these topics. I couldn’t hear of it; good or bad. I felt deeply sickened. I wouldn’t put my first vote towards anything until I was about 20. I was so lost.

Even though we were tithing it was never enough. Guilt sermons began frequently about how every member of the church needed to tithe. Our church was made up of about 20-25 members at this time. Projects were being started that we were expected to pay for. We were a voting church. We usually voted to start things. But he stripped us of that as well. We were simply told that we were doing these projects and that we had to give the money in certain increments by a certain date.

It felt exhausting. We were being guilted about our tithes more than we held the Lords Table. Even though we all gave as much as we could, myself included once I began working, it was never enough.

And we were still losing members.

I began to see more kids added to our church and was invited to help. I’d be a teachers assistant in hopes that I would take over the class.

This class became my refuge. I diligently followed a long with the lesson plans, learned the cool felt displays, prepared snack for the children, prayed with them & sang songs with them. The very songs I sang when I was their age.

I was quickly given the class as well as my own helper. I was given lesson plans to follow and it was my joy to serve the Lord in this way. To prepare class and clean up afterward felt so rewarding. I felt like I was obeying God, that his was what he called me to do.

The lesson plans stopped coming. So I made my own. Directly teaching from the Bible. Whatever God laid on my heart is what I would teach them. I gave it my all and it felt so fulfilling. Things were looking up.

And then there were no kids to teach.

My heart felt truly broken as I closed up the classroom for the last time. I returned to the main service full of fear and sadness. I felt bitter. The pastor would preach nothing but how to tithe, politics, and the end of the world.

He was afraid deeply and as a result scared us to try to bring anyone to church. Just one more person for Christ. He guided us into deep fear that we weren’t doing enough. Told us proudly that we had only one baptism that year and that it was our fault for not bearing fruit.

Everyone I knew I brought to church. I was always met with the same response. “Your pastor makes me uncomfortable. I don’t like him.” I preached to my friends who would listen but they didn’t turn their hearts to God. I felt like the biggest failure, I was indeed bearing no fruit.

The only thing keeping me filled enough to keep hope was singing hymns. I loved it so much. It made my scalp prickle, it felt like God was listening. My voice sounded beautiful to my ears because I was singing to God.

I was asked to sing specials before the congregation with my old Sunday school teacher. I gladly did. No matter how scared I was or how much we messed up I went time and time again. It felt like the only thing I could do to serve. I wasn’t feeling like myself anymore. But it was ok. I had this one thing I could do to serve God. It was enough.

I stopped being asked to sing for God.

My voice became quite in the church. I wasn’t in my word anymore. I was afraid. Nothing mattered to me. I began drawing instead of listening to the fear mongering on Sundays. And on Wednesday, when there was no filter because the was the true people of the church, and he would preach more of his fear and demands. I would put my hoodie on, earbuds in, and sleep in the back row.

I stopped coming to Wednesday service. We had such few members I could count them on my hands. My dad was asked to step up as pastor. I saw ugly, bad sides of that church that was hidden. My heart hardened towards them. I stopped tithing.

The pastor of the church was still pastor even though my Dad was now pastor. He tried to control my Dad. Tried to feed him lies. My Dad found himself having to defend himself and the attacks became personal.

We left the church.

At this point I had isolated myself deeply. I was praying but I was living for the world, not for God. I cut off my friends and leaned into depressions and believed the lies the world was telling me. I leaned into fear and I was controlled by it.

The only person who mattered to me was my boyfriends. I was this sad and anxious person that I had never really been before. The consequences of my sins were catching up to me and I felt like I was drowning.

The shame and guilt finally brought me to my knees. I prayed for deliverance and finally opened my Bible. For the first time that hope was back. I felt deeply moved to reach back out to my two best friends again. To apologize. They immediately accepted me with open arms. I felt more full than ever.

We got close again so fast. Picnics, sleepovers, working on college work together, confiding in each other again, and sharing meals together. My life was so full of light again. I found myself in need of a job and I got the opportunity to work with one of my best friends. We grew close through this terrible job, but she started asking questions about Jesus.

I was sleeping over at her house and we were talking late at night about all the supernatural terrors she has been experiencing. How things tormenter her at night. Grabbed her and disturbed her peaces of mind.

Her twin sister, my other lovely & amazing best friend, was a witch. She was inviting demons into the house. I knew this and still slept in the house. For God would protect me.

The house did indeed feel heavy. It always had. That night I dreamed a dark entity was fighting to get into the room. Black claws ripped at the edged of the door. Desperate to get in. And then a glowing golden light gently shut the door.

I awoke, violently throwing myself forward. At the foot of the door across from me, her cat sat calmly against the door licking it’s paws.

She came to God shortly after. I cried deeply at her baptism in a church I was new to. I was unsure of the church at first, but I kept finding myself back in service. Back with her, worshiping and being filled with God’s light.

The sons weren’t hymns. They were loved and beaten deep into my soul. The pastor preached such hope into me. I was alive again.

but her sister was still a witch. How could we go to the Kingdom of God without her?

We invited her to our Bible study sessions, listened to & and sang worship music in her presence.She seemed upset and closed off but her sister fought battles I didn’t see and won her to Christ.

I feel so blessed to have witnessed her baptism. (I cried real hard) My two best friends were coming to the Kingdom with me. The very two friends I couldn’t previously turn years ago, now shown with the light of Jesus.

Church can hurt you. But God doesn’t. Being in a church that encourages your relationship with Christ is what’s right. Not a church that simply tries to control you.

I didn’t really properly know God until I was 21. Before I just did my duties, prayer whenever, and still lived how my flesh wanted. Now that I know God, he communicates with me often.

Build and grow your relationship with God. He’s quite funny once you get to know him.

-Kiki