I originally came to be a Christian through an emotional time in my young, teenage life. However, as I grew older, my skeptical side took over. In my next blog I’d like to share how I came to continue believing in God through an academic/analytical/thinking manner. But that will have to wait until next time. For now, this is how I got started.
Some of what I will share may seem far-fetched, but it is all real. It’s amazing how many families are “different” in so many ways from what we consider to be “normal.”
Growing up Hilby could be an interesting way to grow up. At least in our household it was. My dad was a chief in the Coast Guard, while mom was a bar maid in a waterfront night club owned by Seattle’s version of the mob. No, they were nothing like the Soprano’s. At least they weren’t as notorious.
Dad was, like several generations of his family before him, an atheist. He really hated “religious” people and had a special hatred of pastors – it didn’t help that I became one. Mom considered herself a Christian because she had never killed anyone, didn’t do drugs, and was neither a Buddhist nor a Catholic. Why she chose those two group to “not be” was always a mystery to me. Like dad, however, she was an alcoholic and serial adulterer. Those did not count as taboos in her Christian ideology. Also, like dad, she had a great disdain for what she called “church Christians.” The lone exception was her friend Nancy, who was the only one who could invite mom to church and get away with it.
Finally, one week, angry at being woken up by myself and my three younger siblings, after a late night of working and drinking, mom decided to take Nancy up on her offer and send us to church. It was meant more as punishment for our being so unruly while she only wanted to sleep it off. But while going there, I found something quite different from anything else I had ever experienced. One radical difference was that I found a group of people who seemed to actually like me, cared about me, and maybe even loved me.
I won’t bore you with the details, but as a young teenager I became a Christian. Of course, dad was mad, and knocked me down before giving me all the reasons that Christianity was a corrupt enterprise. Mom was more subtle than dad. She told me that I had to make a choice between liquor and God. According to family lore, my parents had started me drinking at the tender age of 3. Mom was convinced that alcohol was as important to me now that I was thirteen as it was to her. I decided to stay the course, and for the time gave up drinking. To say it was an eventful day, as well as an incredibly emotional one, is certainly an understatement.
As stated earlier, in my next blog I will explore how I grew from an emotional state to a more analytical understanding of my faith, and share part of my life-long search to ensure that what was an emotional beginning is backed up in an empirical way. Until then, thanks for reading.
Tracy AtHome Church 