Church Every Sunday?
At 9 a.m. just about every Sunday morning my parents begin their campaign at my bedroom door to get me to go to church. “I’m going later!” I tell them. (I usually don’t!) My mother makes the second charge at 9:15 a.m. “Are you sure you don’t want to go with us?” comes her almost-pleading voice through the crack in my door. “No…I’ll go later,” I yell at her. At 9:30 a.m. another appeal comes from one or both of them. “Go away!” I say not too pleasantly. Luckily, by 9:45 a.m. they’re gone!
Although I’ve been living at home from more than a year (I came home after graduating from college), my parents have yet to understand that their religion and how they practice it isn’t necessarily my thing. I’m not saying that I’m not religious…I’m just saying that I’m not necessarily the every-Sunday-church-going-type-of person, especially after staying out really late the night before. I’ve told my parents this many times since the first weekend that I returned to the nest. What I’ve learned, however, is that they have selective hearing…or, maybe, they’re just hoping that their persistence will pay off!
Going to church isn’t a bad thing and I do go every once in a while. It compliments my daily prayers. I, however, unlike my parents, don’t feel the need to make this a routine weekly practice. I believe that religion is a personal thing and it shouldn’t be forced upon anyone.
Parents, mine included, feel that it is their responsibility to worry about their offspring’s souls even when their children are adults. (Living under my parents’ roof compounds the problem.) What my parents need to know and understand is that they gave me a firm faith foundation and with this foundation I am making my own choices…and good choices.
I’m glad that my parents took me and my siblings to church every Sunday while we were growing up. This allowed me to form my beliefs and to learn how to live as a Christian. I believe I am succeeding as the latter, even though I don’t go to church every week.
I am a firm believer that you should live each day as a good person and not just make a show of it on Sundays. I guess if I stopped yelling at my parents when they make their Sunday morning church-going appeal to me, I might better be able to convince them that I’m not all bad (which I know they know). Then again, maybe not!