In the beginning

I don't remember a time when I wasn't aware of religion. Similar to major league sporting events, I knew religion was a big deal in the world but it was mostly just a cultural reference in our home. Except for the interactions with Dad's family, which were all about God. The trappings of God were rules and restrictions, fear and judgment; there wasn't much there to lure me away from the intellect based foundation that our parents gave us. By that perspective, a cautious approach could minimize its influence to nuisance status.

Our vacation trips to Alabama were a great cultural adventure. Despite Dad's personal rejection of the church, he didn't stop us from experiencing it; he just kept a close eye against heavy promotion. He was in favor of exposure, but had no tolerance for proseletyzing. And so I always felt free to visit and examine, with instructions to be respectful, but encouraged to think for myself.

Other than the burden of dressing up (still don't like that) attending church in Alabama was on balance quite fun. It only happened a couple times a year and it seemed to mean a lot to the grandparents. It was a good way to spend time with them, whom we didn't see much, and because of Dad's well-known position on the matter of church, everyone kept a pretty safe distance around the topic of conversion or baptism. So it was a chance to visit a somewhat foreign culture and get a lot of mostly positive, if inquisitive, attention ("y'all must be Farrell's daughters!").

Maybe the church visits were made to seem fun in comparison to the 3 or 4 days of driving that got us there. Long days in the car with no air conditioning, cheap motels, cheaper food, and endless negotiations for back seat territory. These were the days of AM radio and not much was offered through the vast rural areas along the way. The best way to pass the time was with singing and we knew that we sounded exactly like the Julie Andrews, or maybe the Partridge family, or the Jackson Five. How lucky for our parents.

And so it is not surprising that we could be persuaded to attend Granddaddy's Bethany Baptist Church and sing a song for the congregation. Here's a favorite:


"I was sinking deep in sin, far from the peaceful shore.
Very deeply stained within, sinking to rise no more.
But the master of the sea heard my despairing cry.
From the waters lifted me, now safe am I.

Love lifted me.
Love lifted me.
When nothing else would help,
Love lifted me."

Imagine that. "Deeply stained within." I think we were around 6 or 7 years old.