Still Small Voices In Your Head
I've never been the traditional Christian.
Growing up I liked my worship loud, out there and in your face. I loved God so much that unless I was singing my little 5 year old vocal cords away or beating the tambourine so hard that my hands turned a lovely shade of red, I didn't feel spiritually connected.
I'd been fortunate to belong to a society where there were so many different congregations and had a pretty open mind when it came to visiting different churches. Growing up with my bible-thumping grandmother meant that these visits were 100% mandatory.I'd be facing the underside of her shoe or sternly talked to if I disobeyed so time after time, I endured more services per week than I could count on one hand.
For the most part I enjoyed it. In my little six year old brain, church meant that there would be refreshments which I could sneak into my Sunday dress pockets and handkerchief to snack on during the short walk home.
As childhood innocence evaporated slowly as I grew, I started to become aware that although many came with hearts striving to serve our Heavenly Father, there was a dark side to my church experience. There were the smart remarks, jealousy, pettiness and contention among the congregation I had been raised with.
Looking back, this really warped the perception I had about God. Church wasn't about competing for a single pastor, turning it into our own fashion parade, throwing petty bombs at other people or about how much you could put into the collection plate.
As I started my church shopping journey, I found it hard to connect with many of the principles which many of the churches had. My desire to still have a smidgen of Christianity in me felt eroded each time I entered a new congregation.
What really broke the camel's back was at the last church I visited being literally thrown out during sacrament (or communion as we call here in the Caribbean) because my mom and I weren't baptized as members.
A few weeks later, I took the opportunity to go up for prayer during altar call in an attempt to receive some form of peace for a disease I didn't understand. As I stood at the front of the church as the preacher prayed over me, I felt like the biggest idiot in the world as my reverence suddenly became what I would liken to a Halftime show.
I felt ashamed.
In the months that followed my baptism as a member of the church, I received many priesthood blessings and for the first time in my life I felt the difference in their prayers. Nobody was trying to cast demons out of my body or pushing me down to entertain the masses. These blessings were about me and my Heavenly Father and no one else. (Well maybe the priesthood holders played a part too but you catch my drift)
I realized I didn't need to be beating a tamborine at 100 mph or singing loudly until I got nodes on my vocal cords. I realized what I needed to be listening for. I realized that I had lost my way spiritually and disconnected from the spiritual voices in my head.
I needed to listen to those still small voices and keep them close as I went through my spiritual life.
Love The Sassy Mormon
Growing up I liked my worship loud, out there and in your face. I loved God so much that unless I was singing my little 5 year old vocal cords away or beating the tambourine so hard that my hands turned a lovely shade of red, I didn't feel spiritually connected.
I'd been fortunate to belong to a society where there were so many different congregations and had a pretty open mind when it came to visiting different churches. Growing up with my bible-thumping grandmother meant that these visits were 100% mandatory.I'd be facing the underside of her shoe or sternly talked to if I disobeyed so time after time, I endured more services per week than I could count on one hand.
For the most part I enjoyed it. In my little six year old brain, church meant that there would be refreshments which I could sneak into my Sunday dress pockets and handkerchief to snack on during the short walk home.
As childhood innocence evaporated slowly as I grew, I started to become aware that although many came with hearts striving to serve our Heavenly Father, there was a dark side to my church experience. There were the smart remarks, jealousy, pettiness and contention among the congregation I had been raised with.
Looking back, this really warped the perception I had about God. Church wasn't about competing for a single pastor, turning it into our own fashion parade, throwing petty bombs at other people or about how much you could put into the collection plate.
As I started my church shopping journey, I found it hard to connect with many of the principles which many of the churches had. My desire to still have a smidgen of Christianity in me felt eroded each time I entered a new congregation.
What really broke the camel's back was at the last church I visited being literally thrown out during sacrament (or communion as we call here in the Caribbean) because my mom and I weren't baptized as members.
A few weeks later, I took the opportunity to go up for prayer during altar call in an attempt to receive some form of peace for a disease I didn't understand. As I stood at the front of the church as the preacher prayed over me, I felt like the biggest idiot in the world as my reverence suddenly became what I would liken to a Halftime show.
I felt ashamed.
In the months that followed my baptism as a member of the church, I received many priesthood blessings and for the first time in my life I felt the difference in their prayers. Nobody was trying to cast demons out of my body or pushing me down to entertain the masses. These blessings were about me and my Heavenly Father and no one else. (Well maybe the priesthood holders played a part too but you catch my drift)
I realized I didn't need to be beating a tamborine at 100 mph or singing loudly until I got nodes on my vocal cords. I realized what I needed to be listening for. I realized that I had lost my way spiritually and disconnected from the spiritual voices in my head.
I needed to listen to those still small voices and keep them close as I went through my spiritual life.
Love The Sassy Mormon
Perfect ending to sassy Mormon blog #1...I can't wait for blog #2!!! As I was reading this post I could just see you as a little girl putting snacks in your dress pockets! ❤❤❤ I love your spiritual insight. Thank you for reminding me that some of the most important promptings often come quietly. We can miss them if we're not listening! Love you momo!❤❤❤
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