- Joined
- May 25, 2018
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- Lebanon Oregon
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My mother was raised Baptist (a fairly conservative and traditional brand), and during her teens and early twenties, attended church consistently. She married a nonbeliever, became a nurse, and produced 4 boys before chronic kidney failure, orthostatic hypotension, and depression took hold. Back then kidney disease was basically a long term terminal diagnosis. She stopped going to church once us kids came, because she was too busy, too exhausted and church time did not fit well with nursing schedules, but she did insist that we be baptized and tried keep us attending for a little while.
I don't recall her discussing her faith much. She certainly did not 'proselytize' or quote the Bible at us. We basically learned more about her faith from Dad talking about it, than from her own lips - at least until I was in my late teens. She was a very quiet Christian. She told me about her struggle with the teachings about people like her husband being unwelcome in Heaven. " How could God not want such a fine decent and good man anywhere else?" She did pray but we never heard her prayers, and we were never pushed to pray . It was a family tradition that each of us would take our turn saying grace. Until Brother Mark announced he did not want to anymore. He simply was not asked anymore.
Once when I was a small boy I decided secretly to 'test' prayer. I would pray really earnestly for 'snow days' and promise to be good and see if God would grant them. Well, it did not work, but it was really only a preliminary round. I quickly moved to praying for my mother to get well. She was weak, she was unable to walk distances, vomiting constantly, and disappeared for days or weeks periodically during hospital stays. I would pray and pray and nothing got better. She was sitting in a hospital bed 80 miles away and all I got was a weekly visit. I got really angry. So every day that my prayers for my mother's health and return went unanswered, I would punish God by ripping one page out of my Bible. Eventually my Dad found that Bible with those pages ripped out and he (the nonbeliever) was outraged! Of course he asked me why, but I lied and only told him about the snow prayers. I did not want him to know that I was upset about Mother's illness. It seemed selfish and wrong. My mother definitely would have been consulted by Dad, but she never brought it up to me.
She was far more forgiving of human frailties than Dad, for less judgmental. There was virtually no ego or pride, no room for pettiness, and what we would now call 'micro-aggression or 'shade'. she rarely raised her voice. She was a very patient woman.
I mostly forgot about her faith as the years went by and she got on dialysis, then a transplant. There simply weren't that many reminders. I would have had to ask questions about her beliefs, but I did not think to. Frankly, I stopped thinking much about her at all for about three years. I went through my rebellious teens belatedly and became a total self centered jerk. I did not have time in my busy life to talk to her, spend time with her. I was tutoring students, and a part time job, and then I fell in love with a straight man and he was everything and cherry on top.
End of Part 1.
I don't recall her discussing her faith much. She certainly did not 'proselytize' or quote the Bible at us. We basically learned more about her faith from Dad talking about it, than from her own lips - at least until I was in my late teens. She was a very quiet Christian. She told me about her struggle with the teachings about people like her husband being unwelcome in Heaven. " How could God not want such a fine decent and good man anywhere else?" She did pray but we never heard her prayers, and we were never pushed to pray . It was a family tradition that each of us would take our turn saying grace. Until Brother Mark announced he did not want to anymore. He simply was not asked anymore.
Once when I was a small boy I decided secretly to 'test' prayer. I would pray really earnestly for 'snow days' and promise to be good and see if God would grant them. Well, it did not work, but it was really only a preliminary round. I quickly moved to praying for my mother to get well. She was weak, she was unable to walk distances, vomiting constantly, and disappeared for days or weeks periodically during hospital stays. I would pray and pray and nothing got better. She was sitting in a hospital bed 80 miles away and all I got was a weekly visit. I got really angry. So every day that my prayers for my mother's health and return went unanswered, I would punish God by ripping one page out of my Bible. Eventually my Dad found that Bible with those pages ripped out and he (the nonbeliever) was outraged! Of course he asked me why, but I lied and only told him about the snow prayers. I did not want him to know that I was upset about Mother's illness. It seemed selfish and wrong. My mother definitely would have been consulted by Dad, but she never brought it up to me.
She was far more forgiving of human frailties than Dad, for less judgmental. There was virtually no ego or pride, no room for pettiness, and what we would now call 'micro-aggression or 'shade'. she rarely raised her voice. She was a very patient woman.
I mostly forgot about her faith as the years went by and she got on dialysis, then a transplant. There simply weren't that many reminders. I would have had to ask questions about her beliefs, but I did not think to. Frankly, I stopped thinking much about her at all for about three years. I went through my rebellious teens belatedly and became a total self centered jerk. I did not have time in my busy life to talk to her, spend time with her. I was tutoring students, and a part time job, and then I fell in love with a straight man and he was everything and cherry on top.
End of Part 1.