I was baptized as an infant in a Methodist Church in Topeka, KS. I was full-body dunked in the baptismal font as a teen in a Southern Baptist church in my Grandview, MO neighborhood. I think I recall being baptized again and confirmed as a Catholic while married to my first husband. I even came close to being baptized a fourth time as a Mormon. Today I’m active in a small Presbyterian church that my father’s family attended. No re-baptism required.
It feels just right.
Just call me Goldilocks with brown hair, because I’ve slept in all these denominational beds. And now that I’m in the autumn of my life I’ve learned that it doesn’t matter what church I belong to, or even that I belong to any denomination. What matters most is just being a good person.
My conservative Catholic friends would say I’m a cafeteria Christian. But I think hybrid Christian sounds better. I’ve been grafted from all that’s good in every denomination I’ve ever belonged to. But I’ve also dismissed the tenets of those traditions that I didn’t truly believe. I ditched the hellfire and brimstone of the Baptists and the perpetual guilt of a Catholic. And now I embrace the quiet comfort of a Presbyterian with a female pastor shepherding her small congregation. I sing in the choir and serve as a liturgist, opening Sunday worship once or twice a month.
While practicing my faith in the midst of a mainline Protestant church, I can’t divorce myself from the emotionality of a Baptist singing “Just As I Am” as an altar call. Neither can I dismiss the memory of the sacred act of kneeling in hushed prayer as a Catholic priest leads his flock on a symbolic trip to the foot of the cross. And I still long to have the transcendent glow of revelation that I’ve seen on the faces of my Mormon friends.
At heart, I’m just a seeker like everyone else. I’ve studied the Bible; read it all the way through a few times and attended large group classes to study specific books. I’ve listened to the Book of Mormon on a cassette tape. I’ve also read every spiritual book I could buy or borrow. Some were written by saints, others by mystics. And while I can’t recite all the parts of those books I highlighted, I’ve absorbed enough of the meaning that it is all now part of my spirit, infused into my bone marrow.
Why am I confessing all of this? You need to know the writer of this blog is a mess…a great big human mess…like everyone else in the world who strives to learn and do and be the best possible version of ourselves. A Course in Miracles would explain that the voice of the Spirit is weak in us and that is why I have to share it. I need to share the Holy Spirit so that it can increase in strength in me and in anyone else who hears it or reads it and recognizes this universal voice of love.
This blog is me talking to myself, trying to explain what I believe is true spiritually. As I write, I seek and share my truths. I share my gratitude for creation and for my multiple blessings. I share scriptures and quotations that resonate with me and stories that illustrate our divinity and our role as co-creators with God.
My hope is that in opening my heart to anyone who happens by this blog that we can share some holy moments and expand and increase the love on this planet we call home.