Once Saved, Always Saved

My partner (my Angel) and I were talking about baptism a while back.  She was raised Presbyterian, so she was sprinkled as a baby.  She was shocked that I hadn't been sprinkled as a baby too.  "What about if a baby dies?" she asked because Presbyterians believe that baby baptism is necessary for the baby to be able to go to heaven if it dies tragically before confirmation. 

In answer to her question, I tried to explain that Baptists (and I speak from the perspective of the circles in which I was raised) believe that people should only be baptized if they have been saved.  And they believe that, in order for a person to be saved, she has to first understand her desperate situation as a sinner so she will call on Christ to save her.

What about the babies, then?  Well, Baptists believe that the baby is safe in innocence.  As long as he cannot understand that he has a sin nature, then Jesus will certainly take him to heaven if he dies.  There comes a time, however, when a child reaches the age of accountability, that he becomes able to understand his need of a savior.  After that time, if the child has not gotten saved, then he will go to hell (where all the unsaved will spend eternity separated from God).

The problem is that nobody agrees on when exactly a child reaches the age of accountability.  An especially bright child might see himself as a sinner at the age of four.  Others might not "get it" all the way up to the age of twelve.  And the rare mentally handicapped child could be thought of as protected in innocence through her entire life.

So the parents of average children are left with a quandary.  They don't want any child of theirs to slip through the cracks and die a sinner.  The sooner a child makes a profession of salvation, the better -- but it HAS to be genuine, or it won't count.  Young children are so impressionable, they will often make a profession to make someone they love happy.  Great care has to be taken to ensure that a child expressing interest in getting saved *really* understands before leading him through the sinner's prayer.  One wouldn't want to give him a false sense of security if he didn't really mean it.

Because Baptists believe that once you get saved, you are saved for all of time.  It doesn't matter what you do after that point, you will always be saved and are guaranteed to go to heaven when you die. 
Some Baptists use this teaching to justify "easy believism".  They can speed walk a stranger through the plan of salvation in 30 seconds flat.  If the person prays, she is saved!  Chalk one up for the army of Jesus.  It doesn't matter to them if the woman's life ever changes; she's saved now and that is one more soul for Jesus.

Other Baptists are more careful.  They want to see "fruits worthy of salvation".  They slowly and methodically prepare a prospect to understand every aspect of salvation.  That way, if the person chooses to get saved, it is more likely to "stick" and he will want to devote his life to God (ie, get baptized, go to church, tithe, etc).

Papa Preacher is the easy believism type of Baptist.  One, two, three, bow the knee.  My Dad became the careful type, but that's another story for another time much farther down the road.

When I was a young child, Mom and Dad did their best to help me understand my need for salvation.  Whenever I did something wrong, they told me it was a sin.  From the youngest age (even before a profession of salvation), they taught me to pray for forgiveness for my sins every night.  "Dear God, thank you for this day.  I'm sorry for fighting with Boss today.  Please forgive me.  In Jesus' name, amen."

I had a little picture Bible back then.  I loved looking at the pictures since I had not learned how to read yet.  There was Samson pulling the house down on the Philistines; there was Jonah getting eaten by the whale; there was Daniel in the lions' den; there was Jesus with the little children; and many others.  My favorite picture, though, was the one of Jesus on the cross.  I would squat down against the wall after church with my picture bible on my knees, and I would study and study that picture.
Jesus loves me this I know, for the bible tells me so.  Jesus died for my sins; I knew that, and I loved this suffering Jesus so much. 

One Sunday morning, Dad gave the invitation after the junior church lesson that, if anyone wanted to get saved, they should come forward.  I went forward, so Dad took me to a little side room with shag green carpet and little black child-size metal folding chairs.  He showed me the wordless book, which only had pages of different colors and no words.  Black was the color of my heart because I was a sinner.  Red was the color of Jesus' blood when he died on the cross for me.  White was the color that Jesus would make my heart if I asked Him to save me.  And oh! how I wanted my heart to be white.  Then green was for growing by reading my bible and praying, and gold was for heaven, where I could go when I died.

I said I wanted to be saved, so Dad led me through the sinner's prayer.  And I was saved!  I was so excited, I wanted to get baptized right away.  But Papa Preacher said I was too young.  Even he was skeptical that I might not be able to understand everything yet.  But I was FIVE years old and I knew what I wanted.  I pestered Papa Preacher for a whole year and then he finally let me get baptized.  I was so proud that night looking out over the congregation.  Even my kindergarten teacher came to see me get baptized.

Ah, the faith of little children as praised by Jesus in the gospels.  I remember my faith at that age, the purity and certainty of it.  Where is it now when I need it?

When Church Took Over

When I look back at my family history, I remember a time when my family was "normal" and "happy".  Before things got bad.  And I can even pinpoint the event that started it all.  Change often occurs slowly, the scales tilting imperceptibly, balancing until that pivotal Moment which tips the scale to the other side.

For us, the Moment came one Sunday after the morning service.  Us kids didn't know it was different than any other Sunday when we piled into the family car.  We were quite young: Indie would have still been a baby and I would be four years old.

Something was clearly wrong with Mom and Dad, however.  They were arguing about something and Mom was getting very upset. We pulled out of the church parking lot as the argument escalated.  Us kids sat in uncomfortable silence in the back seat. This may have been the first time I heard Mom and Dad argue, but definitely not the last.  Suddenly the car slowed down and Mom got out and marched away down the road. Us kids were distraught, not understanding, when Dad pulled away and drove us home.

I don't remember what happened after that, but my parents often retold the story.  That morning, Papa Preacher had approached Mom and Dad about teaching in junior church (a children's service which took place during the weekly adult worship service).  The key thing in all this is that neither Mom nor Dad wanted to do it, but Dad took Papa Preacher's request like an injunction from God and felt like there wasn't much choice in the matter.

Mom let her feelings be known.  She didn't want the preacher telling us what we had to do.  In the end, she repented of her rebellion (her words).  The rest, as they say, is history.  Their first Sunday running junior church went horribly.  It happened to be during a revival, and the guest speaker preached a loooong time.  Apparently, they sang "Jesus Loves Me" a Lot.

After that, Mom and Dad went to conferences to learn how to run junior church better.  They learned about puppets, ventriloquism, balloon animals, and christian magic tricks.  They learned lots of new songs and review games.  Never again would they be caught unprepared.

Dad quickly came to prefer ventriloquism over puppetry.  He wrote lots of his own skits and invented nearly a dozen different characters.  He only bought one dummy in the very beginning.  After that, he and Mom fabricated them, either from scratch or from over-sized stuffed animals.

Mom filled poster pads with songs to sing, and created their most popular match game on index cards, drawing all the artwork herself.

They worked well as a team.  Pretty soon, Dad's ventriloquism got to be so popular that other churches asked him to come and do skits.  Papa Preacher was so pleased with their creativity and hard work that he made Dad the Director of Children's Ministries.

This is what got my parents involved with Saturday morning visitation.  They started running the church van route, so Saturday mornings were spent visiting the roster of kids to see whether they would be riding the next morning.  Us kids had to come along, of course.  It was boring, but we got to have donuts.

That was the beginning of church taking over.  During all of this, Mom and Dad changed.  At the time, we lived near two of Mom's sisters, and, as I said before, they used to be pretty close.  It was common for a bottle of champagne to be shared at family gatherings.  No more at Mom and Dad's house.

They tell the story that, when they were uncertain how to tell the family about their new abstinence from alcoholic beverages, the bottle of champagne exploded all over the living room.  Cleaning up the mess seemed fortuitous to them, though.  God had asserted his opinion about alcohol, and now they weren't afraid to say so.

Another time, my aunt gave Boss an action figure for his birthday.  Unfortunately for him, it looked demonic to Mom and Dad, so they decided it had to be burned.  I remember watching the scowling little face melt in the flames of our fireplace.

These things, plus the duty my parents now felt to witness to our "unsaved" relatives, drove the once close sisters apart.  It wasn't long before they wouldn't have anything to do with us. 

 

The Good Years

If you watch HGTV, you are familiar with the following scenario: a couple goes on vacation, they fall in love with the destination, and sooner or later decide to move there. This was true of my parents shortly after their conversion experience (described in the previous post). After visiting relatives who lived in the beautiful northwest, they fell in love with the mountains, and quickly decided to relocate.

They left as carefree young adults and first-time parents and returned nearly 25 years later as embittered, disillusioned middle-aged adults with a family whose fabric hung in tatters. Dad voiced the question on all of our minds then - if we had never left, how different would things be? Would he have ever become a minister? Would our family still be happy and loving as it once had been? Would my sister and I still believe?

What if -- useless words to ponder, I know, but irresistible just the same. I think I can speak for all of us by saying that we (at least secretly) think our lives could have been better if mom and dad had stayed in the midwest.

But if that were the case, I wouldn't have nearly as interesting a tale to tell.

Life in the northwest started out idyllic, though even the early days held portent of the coming change. Dad found employment at an auto-body shop, and he settled the family temporarily in a small apartment.

I surprised mom and dad by arriving 18 months after my brother (I'll call him Boss). I was born with fuzzy red hair, like Boss had been. According to an agreement my parents had, the red hair meant dad got to name me; however, mom begged and pleaded, so I ended up with her pick for a name. Later, my hair fell out and grew back blond, so she says I was meant to have that name. For this blog, I will refer to my earlier self as Song.

An important part of settling into their new home in the northwest was finding a "good" church to attend. By good I mean one that taught the correct biblical doctrines as my parents understood them. The first baptist church they tried did not measure up because it was not evangelical enough (it did not emphasize door-to-door witnessing).

Before long, mom and dad found an ifb church that was just starting up. The preacher fit their ideal, so they moved their membership to his church. Papa Preacher's style of leadership had two approaches. He could be gregarious, persuading compliance through personal charisma. If that didn't work, then he laid down the law. The person could take it or leave. And they did leave sometimes. As a young child, of course, I only saw Papa Preacher's friendly side. He and his wife were like grandparents to us kids, and we loved them fiercely.

In this time period, dad experienced trouble at work. This was in the days before safety procedures became mandated in the workplace. Imagine working in an auto-body repair shop where wearing even rudimentary masks met with derision, where proper ventilation and air conditioning did not exist, and where workers would only be dismissed if the outside temperature reached 100 degrees. Many employees came down with mysterious illnesses, my dad included.

He became plagued by severe headaches, mental confusion, body aches and weakness. One day he lost time, driving for two hours and arriving at home with no idea how he had gotten there and no memory of where he had been. These symptoms drove him to quit his auto-body career and find other employment. Gradually, the symptoms disappeared and his health seemed to return to normal.

A few years passed, during which, our family moved from the apartment into a little house with rough wood siding. Mom's mother made the move to the northwest and married again. Then my sister, the last of us kids, was born. I'll call her Indie (short for Independent) since she's always had her own way of doing things and she never bought into what we were raised to believe (the way I did).

Sadly for her, she doesn't remember when our family was beautiful and happy and the smiles on family portraits were genuine. Back then, we went to the park and fed the ducks. Boss and I got to go swimming in the public pool. We often rode bikes to the nearest playground and spun on the tire swing. And we stopped at the salt licks to see the mountain goats every time we went to visit Grandma and her new husband.

Something else she doesn't remember is an older sister that was wild and crazy, who loved to run and laugh and play tricks on people. Who used to get scolded for belly sliding down the stairs at Grandma's house and scaring everyone with the thump she made at the bottom. Who got in trouble for being too rowdy in the house with best friend "Sammy". And who was a daring tomboy who liked to climb trees and hang upside down on the monkey bars.

Backstory: Before Me

Most stories require a little background, and mine is no different. My parents made choices based on how they were raised, and I, in turn, am making decisions based on how their choices affected me.

Both mom and dad were born in the same mid-western town. Dad was the child born of a one-night stand whose mother was sent away to have her baby to preserve the family reputation. He was placed up for adoption at birth.

A young military man and his wife became his adopted parents. The two would also adopt a baby girl. Sadly, the man was killed on deployment while dad was fairly young, so the man's wife became a single mother. Later, she remarried a kindly gentleman who lived next door.

As far as I know, dad's childhood was pretty normal. His family went on weekend camping trips, often spending hours hunting for arrowheads. He hated camping as an adult, however. I think it had something to do with how his sister reportedly disliked camping and would make things difficult.

I do know, however, that grandpa is a perfectionist who expects others to live up to his standards.  Dad and his sister responded to this upbringing differently.  While dad became a perfectionist himself, imposing his own standards on others, my aunt refused to conform.  She chose to live her own life, earning a reputation as the black sheep of the family.

When he got to be a young adult, dad was pretty normal.  Because of his love of cars, he chose to become an auto-body mechanic. On one occasion he got in trouble for drinking. He grew a moustache and tended to have longish hair. And he might have smoked at one time, but I'm not sure on that point. Now, dad looks back at his younger self and wishes he had done things better.

Mom was born a few years after dad as the youngest daughter of a local farmer. Her first few years were spent on a farmstead in a neighboring town. Her family would later move across the state border to a large house with beautiful wood floors.

She also grew up the daughter of a drunk. From the stories I heard, her family life was hard. There was a lot of fighting and yelling when grandpa was drinking. He was mentally and emotionally abusive. I don't know if he was ever physically abusive.

Additionally, grandma being a stern practical woman carried on her family’s legacy of performance based acceptance.  She loved her children the best way she could, but felt she could not express that love unless the child behaved properly. So, my own mother often did the same to us kids growing up.

Through it all, mom and her sisters and grandma were a tight-knit group. They stuck by each other through the hard times. When mom was in high school, it became public that grandpa had been cheating on grandma. She filed for divorce, and then she took mom, the only daughter still living at home, back to live in the town where mom had been born. During this time, mom was a bit of a rebel. She got her own apartment, cut her hair short and wore overalls constantly.

Mom and dad met for the first time at a bowling alley where mom worked as a waitress. She was 17 and he was 21. His age and long hair caused my grandma some consternation when mom brought him home, but grandma couldn't say much when mom pointed out that he had been willing to come meet her.

As a kid, I loved hearing about how they became each other’s best friend and spent all their time together. I decided when I grew up that I wouldn't marry unless I could have that same love and close friendship.

They married a few days before my mom's 18th birthday. Like a typical couple back then, they bought a house and prepared to build a family. A few years later, my brother came along: born breach two weeks late in an April blizzard on my dad's birthday.

Mom and dad say it was starting a family that got them thinking. As a young married couple, they did not attend church because they both had been raised protestant, although in different denominations, and had observed hypocrisy and insincerity among the other church members. They wanted a better life for the family they were starting.

Meanwhile, grandma happily remarried.  Her new husband was a fine man, a dentist, who liked to dance. Circumstances led them to visit a local independent fundamental baptist (ifb) church. They came to be baptized there and to give up dancing. A short time later, grandma's new husband was tragically killed in a car accident after falling asleep at the wheel. His funeral was held at the ifb church, and that was my parent's first contact.

Mom and dad were impressed with the members of the ifb church. Grandma, who then lived in an apartment connected with her late-husband's dental practice, had to move. The church folks and even the pastor showed up ready to work and helped her get situated in a new apartment. This act of kindness made my parents more open to the pastor when he came by on a visitation night.

Pretty soon, they decided to visit the church one Sunday and liked it well enough to return the Sunday after that. That's all it took. That second Sunday, they both went forward during the invitation time after the sermon and got saved. They were baptized that same evening. Dad's parents eventually came too and got saved. They still attend the same ifb church to this day.

Why blog?

My name is Shaye. At least, that's how my friends know me. A couple years back, I went through a dramatic life change; after that, this is how I prefer to be known.

The purpose of this blog is to share my story.  I hope it will bring healing to myself and to you.

In my thirty years of life, I have:

 - Been raised independent fundamental baptist (ifb)

- Been a preacher's kid

- Graduated from seminary with a missions degree

- Interned for 6 weeks with missionaries in africa

- Visited an orphanage in africa with the intent of working there

- Returned to seminary for a 2nd degree and ended up working there on staff

- Been diagnosed with food allergies to milk and seafood

- Gone through depressive periods bordering on suicide

- Lost my faith and turned atheist

- Resigned at the seminary and started a new life in a new city with a new name

- Found sanctuary in a liberal unitarian universalist (uu) church

- Came out as a lesbian

- Met and become hand-fasted with my life partner

- Become heartbreakingly estranged from my parents

- Sought psychic help for what I understand is emotional empathy

- Regained my faith in spirit, if not in god entirely

- And embarked on the experiement of a lifetime to see where spirit takes me

Finding support for my particular background and situation is difficult. For instance, there are support groups for former ifb's who remained christian. There are support groups for former christians turned atheist. There are support groups for allergies and depression and homosexuality. And, somewhere offline, there are support circles for individuals just opening to psychic experiences.

If you have similar difficulties, or you don't know where to find a support group that fits you, I hope that you can connect to experiences that we share.

Feel free to comment or contact me to share how a particular post has connected with you. If you find that you disagree or have had a different experience, I respect that. You too are welcome to comment or contact me; however, please remain kind and respectful. I will delete any comment or email that is hurtful or disrespectful.

The stories shared in this blog are merely my point of view on my life experiences and should not be taken as general statements regarding the ifb, christianity, homosexuality, or any other group or subject.  Names of people and places have been changed to protect privacy.