Papa Don't Preach

Growing up an Army brat we didn't go to church all of the time. My parents would get on what I'll refer to as a "church kick" once in a while and we'd be off to church. Sunday mornings, Sunday evenings and Wednesday evenings.

While my dad was in Vietnam we lived in a farmhouse in a small town outside of Duluth, Georgia. The actual name of the "town" was Shake Rag. Don't ask me, I don't know why it was called that. So as a kid my mother would get the three of us ready (number four was not here yet) and we would go to church where most of our relatives went. It was a little country Methodist church with a cemetery on the same property. We would go to Sunday School, learn a Bible verse and sing a song or two. This was okay with me. I was having fun. I got to play with my cousins. There was punch and cookies. All was grand.

Over the years I would go to church once in a while. In Hawaii I went to a Pentecostal church with my boyfriend and his family. I also went to Catholic Mass every now and again with one of my girlfriend's on Saturday evenings. Her parents wouldn't let her go to the beach on Sunday unless she attended a Mass. When my girls were little I took them to church for a while. Then I just stopped going. About two years ago I decided I needed to get back to church. Living in the Bible Belt you are expected to attend church.

But you know what happened about 6 months ago? I finally figured out at the ripe age of 45, I don't HAVE to go to church! I don't like going. I don't understand most of what goes on and at this point I really don't know what I believe. One thing I do know, I'm way too liberal in my thinking to go to most churches.

So I'll enjoy my Sunday's going out on a bike ride or getting in a nice run. Enjoying the earth and sky. Glad to be alive and glad I'm not cooped up in church!