After Sunday School, Momma would either take me home, or we would have to spend, what seemed like an eternity in church. If you ever had to spend any time at all in church, you know how boring it can be for a kid. I spent church time drawing all over the Kids Bulletin, drawing mustaches on faces and playing tic-tac-toe. I tried to slump down in the pew so nobody would notice if I wasn't kneeling for confession, or standing to sing. Gramma wouldn't let me get away with that though.
Usually every-other Sunday we went for Communion. Everyone lined up to get the "Body of Christ" and "The Blood of Christ". I was to young for communion then, but I went up to kneel like everyone else. The pastor would touch my head and say something like, "Linnea the Lord Blesses you and Keeps you," then he would go on down the line, "Bobby, the Lord Blesses you and Keeps you,". Then momma would get the wine she said tasted just like cough syrup, and the bread that tasted kinda like a vanilla wafer without the vanilla. I always asked about some church thing about every time I went.
"Why do you have to get the bread and wine?"
"What does 'Hosanna in the highest' mean?"
But nothing really ever made that much sense to me.
All the worship, the blessings, the reminders of God's grace were completely lost on me.
As I grew up, I really could have benefited from a better understanding of faith, or an understanding of reality. There was no helping this, there is no way that anyone could have explained these things in a way I could understand. Like Christian beliefs, I had some pretty confusing realities flung at me.
When I was about 8 years old, my dad went on vacation for a year. I had to go live at my Gramma and Grampa's house for a while because Mom was always working late. It was a very comfortable and loving environment. Gramma and Grampa took good care of my brother and sister and I.
But I was a very depressed kid. I didn't know it then of course. I felt sick and tired every day.
I missed being home and all of my familiar things, I missed having friends, and I missed my Mom.
I didn't know why things had to happen this way. I knew how they had happened, which was not an easy burden for a kid like that to bear. But, I didn't know why the Lord would choose to punish me by having me born into this family that was being torn apart. Why did I have to know so much sadness and not my brother or sister, or my friends at school?
I felt so anxious, and sad, and nauseous and restless. I didn't know what was happening to me.
My Grampa used to watch the Buffalo news every night, and there was always a story about AIDS or Cancer killing children. I didn't know how you could catch these things, but I knew that they could kill you, I could catch something.
Because I felt so bad all of the time, I thought that I might have one thing or another. I became convinced that I was going to die. I didn't see any connection between all the stress I was under and the pain I felt. My heart would skip a beat or I would feel like I stopped breathing in my sleep. I would think about My Little Pony, to distract myself with good thoughts. But when I felt like I was at the end of my rope I would pray to the Lord.
I remembered,
"Linnea, the Lord Blesses and Keeps you."
I remembered The Lord's Prayer, and to pray for our sins to be forgiven, for the ultimate goal of being taken to heaven.
I would beg the Lord to please spare my life. I would pray that if I had to die, that I would please go to Heaven, and if there were no other option than death, that he would please not let my Mom and my Gramma be sad forever. I was more upset with the thought of Mom being sad and alone, than I was with the thought of losing my life. If I wasn't already crying at this point I would be when I thought of everyone having to go to my funeral.
I never told anyone how I felt, not back then, not now. I felt this way for a year, and was haunted by the feelings for so much longer. Eventually the feeling lifted. I can't quite remember how. It makes me feel really ungrateful that I would take the feeling of relief for granted. Obviously, I realized that either the Lord had come through for me, or there was nothing really wrong in the first place. It was kind of a combination I suppose. I would feel like I would have to pray sometimes in exchange for keeping me well. But as time went on and I felt confident that I was okay, I stopped praying.