I Don’t Wanna Go to Church

Growing up, everything in my household consisted of church. When we ate, we prayed. Seven nights a week, we prayed. Four nights a week, we went to church — choir practice, meetings, Bible study, hula practice, etc. My father was the reverend.

I just didn’t understand why I had to participate in any church dealings. I wasn’t an important member. I was only seven years old. I couldn’t sing, and I kept my eyes open throughout prayer. It didn’t matter who was preaching, whether it was my daddy or my uncle, I’d fall asleep during every sermon because it was of no importance to me. Things couldn’t continue being this torturous.

My church had a total of three families who attended faithfully. My family and my two uncles’ families, each family consisting of 10-12 members. So yes, I went to church with my cousins. During one of those church nights, my cousins and I conjured up a plan on how to make church fun. We created the best escape route: prayer time! All of those times I kept my eyes open during prayer, so did my cousins.

We all lurked, waiting for the moment to escape the church house. One, two, three… to the bathroom we go! Of course, it was me, the risk taker, who had to go first. One by one, the other 25 kids made it out during prayer as well.

Those long, dreadful prayers became exciting moments in our lives because we didn’t find church boring anymore. Prayer time gave us enough time to escape, go play, fight, makeup, and get back into our pews — all dirty — in time for the “Amen.” And we made it through another day in church.

I share this story because all those dreadful nights of church and prayer time became my savior moments in my adulthood. I didn’t even realize how strongly prayer was embedded in me until someone asked me, “Do you pray every time you eat?”

“What?” I responded. “Duh, that’s what you’re supposed to do.”

My Higher Power has a great sense of humor. During most of my incarceration, I didn’t trust anyone. I felt like I could handle any and everything life threw my way on my own. It wasn’t until I hit rock bottom and needed a lifeline to make sense of all the mess in my life that I turned back to church. There, I found I was once again surrounded by my “cousins.” Like me, all of them had hit rock bottom. But they had found their way out, holding services, prayers, self-help groups, and more.

The clarity I received that day was what forged my path toward rehabilitation. Realizing I couldn’t do it on my own was a difficult pill to swallow, but it became my daily medicine. I learned how to reframe my mind and heart with humility and receptiveness. I replaced my mistrust in others with forgiveness. I grew willing to trust myself as well.

Finding out that so many of my peers in CCWF are spiritually guided by a Higher Power or positively driven by something greater than themselves was a beautiful experience. Learning how deeply rooted my spiritual beliefs are was unexpected and humbling.

By the way, all those times I thought I escaped church and prayer as a child was just my imagination.