We went back to church after we moved to the farm. My parents had left the Catholic Church in disgust. Dad would put a bumper sticker that said 'I survived Catholic School' on his van. When Dad asked his priest to marry him and Mom in their church, the priest complained that Dad hadn't been to church in a long time. Dad said 'Then treat it like a mixed marriage. She's Catholic.' Dad didn't tell the father that Mom hadn't been to church in a long time either.
As I mentioned before, Mom had started back to church some. We started back in earnest after we moved to the farm. I don't know how we ended up at Grace United Methodist Church in Tiffin. Maybe it's because my folks were friends with the Colonys, Chad's family, who went there. Of course, Dad probably knew most everyone who attended there, anyway.
Mom and Dad quickly fell under the spell of the pastor, Hal Green. They loved him. Of course, with the Methodist itinerant system, it wasn't too many years before he left. Mom cried when she found out.
I loved church. I don't know why I was so drawn to it. I was interested in everything. I was interested in the children's message. I was interested in the music. I was interested in Sunday School. When we got around to the summer, I was interested in Vacation Bible School.
I was interested in the prayers. Suzy Swenka was a girl in our class who attended that church. And she could recite the Lord's Prayer along with the rest of the congregation! I thought that was so amazing. I wanted to be able to recite the Lord's Prayer, too. (Ironically, Suzy and her husband are now the youth leaders at GUMC in Tiffin.)
The Methodist church there in Tiffin (I don't remember ever calling it Grace) was your totally typical small, rural church. We had Sunday School in the basement, which was made of cinder blocks and painted green. The art on the walls was the pictures that came in the Sunday School curriculum. I don't precisely remember whether flannel-graphs were part of the pedagogy, but they certainly would have fit in.
Still, I always found it hard to sit still in church. I think I left the service at least once to go to the bathroom every time I ever attended. And it wasn't just me, it was my brothers and sisters, too. I can't believe my parents, the other members, and the pastor didn't go stark, raving mad. I can't believe someone didn't tell us to stay put. As we got older we were allowed to be the acolytes who lit the candles, sat at the back of the church, took up the offering, and put the candles out. This was great because we weren't quite so scrutinized. We could move around a little. We could whisper. We could write notes on our bulletin. Sometimes I lit candles with Kyle, but other times with Chad, Suzy, Mary, Kathryn, or someone else. It felt very free.
I especially had trouble keeping my eyes closed during prayer. Any amount of time praying seemed like an eternity to keep my six year old eyes closed. I was especially impressed with one member, Nona Walker, who sat in the back pew on the right side (we always sat toward the front on the left side). Nona could keep her eyes closed through the whole sermon! That was absolutely amazing to me. Now that I'm a little older, I find it easier to keep my eyes closed through the sermon.
