I grew up the youngest daughter of a Baptist preacher. My dad was not the kind to ever push his religion or his beliefs on others. In his day-to-day life, he was just different. He had a different rhythm to his walk, a different light in his eyes and a different curve to his smile. And I wanted what he had…until I didn’t.
Church was the main focus of my life growing up. Sure, I went to school and had friends like other kids my age, but every Sunday morning, Sunday night, Wednesday night and usually Saturday night, we were in church. And there were the revivals. These would either be at our home church with a guest preacher or my dad would be the guest preacher at another church for the duration of the revival. And just as the name implies, it was meant to revive the church. Services were held every night for at least a week, sometimes two, three or even four weeks! As soon as we got home from school, we ate supper as quickly as possible, changed into church clothes and piled into the car, homework in hand and headed to revival service.
My Dad, who worked in a stove factory by day, poured his heart and soul into the church. He would do anything, go anywhere at any time of the day or night if someone needed him. And he was never bitter about it…ever. He kept his eyes on Jesus. He was focused on a power much greater than himself. His body was just a vessel and one day “I’m gonna lay this old body down and go home to be with Jesus” he would say.
My Dad only had an 8th grade education. He didn’t go to seminary to study to be a preacher, he was called by God. He knew he had to follow the calling and I don’t believe he ever regretted it. He would read the King James version of the Bible every single day without fail. And when church time came around, he would have scripture prepared and thoughts in mind but never anything written down. In his words, he just let the Lord lead him. He would stand in the pulpit and deliver a fire and brimstone message that could make you sweat!
I saw a lot of things transpire during those years. I witnessed people who called themselves Christians and leaders of the church behaving in ways that the most unrighteous people wouldn’t dream of. There were so many rules, black or white, good or bad, heaven or hell. And we were taught to fear God. For if we didn’t obey him, he would send us to hell! And the Jesus that I saw in my dad’s eyes, well that Jesus was often put in a box with all those rules. If that was what following Jesus was all about, I didn’t want any part of it.
As years passed, I only went to church to make my dad happy. All the rules and hypocrisy were almost more than I could stand. Almost. I adored my dad that much. And somewhere deep inside, I still wanted what he had. I just didn’t want the box and the rules and the pressure to be the perfect preacher’s daughter.
In 2008 my dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. He stayed on as pastor at the church as long as he could but again, the people who he had supported and dedicated his life to were not there for him. They not only pushed him out of the pulpit but out of the church completely. Many days in his last years he and my mom sat at home with no one from the church coming to see them or even calling to check on them. Again, I put Jesus in a box, folded the flaps closed, sealed it with packing tape and closed my heart.
My dad passed away in 2012. He went peacefully with all of our family gathered around his bed as he passed into the arms of the Jesus he knew. The one I still wanted to know.
Fast forward to 2019 when I was introduced to yoga. I had tried yoga before as a workout and it just wasn’t for me. But this time I met an instructor who, like my dad, was different. There was a lightness in her movement, in her soul. I wanted what she had. In 2021 I obtained my 200-hour Yoga Teacher Certification by studying under this wonderful teacher. It was an amazing experience and I was starting to find the spiritual side of yoga. But I was still searching.
In 2023, I declared this was the year I would invest in me. Time, money, discovery, release, self-care…all of it. I embarked on a Journey to an Upgraded You. I had no idea how hard or how rewarding this path would be. I saw a lot of things in the mirror I didn’t want to face. Things I had buried for a long time. I uncovered a longing that had always been there. A longing for the loving, kind, amazing grace of Jesus. The Jesus my dad knew. The Jesus my yoga teacher knew.
I kept opening my heart and showing up every day in the fullness of who I am. I kept facing the things that were holding me back. I would like to say in all my searching I found that Jesus, the one my dad knew. But the truth is, he was there all along. All I had to do was open the box.
I haven’t been to church in a building since my dad passed away. Instead, I find my greatest peace and connection to Jesus in the church of GOD aka the Great Out Doors. He is not the Jesus I was taught to fear, who judged and supported hypocrisy. He is the greatest example of love who ever lived. And I am so grateful for the journey that led me back to him.
Keep searching friends. In a world that seems so dark and void of hope, LOVE is still there. Just open the box.
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