I always love reading Sandy’s Facebook posts. She’s bright and witty and full of encouragement. It was an easy choice to include her in our month-long Queen Bee Series. We are so glad she said “yes”! The thankful bee is proud to share Sandy’s warmth and humor with YOU this weekend, too. Come join her tale about that time she got conned in church. It’s a good one!
That Time I Got Conned In Church
by Sandy Thornton
Once upon a time, I lived in the great state of Texas. I moved down there after grad school because when you’re twenty-five, the world is an adventure. And since I didn’t yet have the constraints and responsibilities of other adults – adultier adults – I figured what the heck. I lovingly refer to these years as my “YOLO years”, and this was my “southern exposure tour”.
You see, I grew up in New York.
Oh, no-no… not the Big Apple.
Syracuse. The Salt City.
Known for frigid winters, snow, college basketball and, well, salt mining. I cut my teeth on icicles and spent the only three weeks of actual summer weather swatting mosquitoes. My childhood was about as un-exotic as you could imagine.
Leaving New York for Texas
All was said and done with my formal college education. So, I decided to bite the bullet and move some place completely different. Enter the Lone Star State! But, the bible belt wasn’t unfamiliar to me. I’d been going down to the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex every summer of my childhood to visit my dad and that side of the family. Each time I’d go to visit, I’d inevitably end up going to church with my grandmother. Because, that is just what you do in the South.
And that’s not to say that I didn’t go to church in Syracuse. We certainly did. But my teeny little quiet church in Solvay, New York was worlds away from the evangelistic behemoths that lined the streets of those Texas towns that I frequented during Summer vacation.
Church back home
Church in New York for me went like this: Wake up too early. Get dressed. Go to Sunday school. Eat a bunch of the cookies that are supposed to be for the fellowship time after church. Then go to the service in a too-cold sanctuary. Sit – pray – stand – sing – repeat. Done.
Church in Texas with Grandma
Church with Grandma was nothing like that. I mean, I’d still have to wake up too early for my taste, but we had to “dress”. Like, IN a dress. The preacher always wore a very well tailored suit, and smelled like Stetson Original. He shook hands, and referred to all of the guys as “Brother” first name and the women as “Miss” so-and-so. And then he’d get on the pulpit and unleash a solid amount of fire and brimstone.
Basically, he preached that we were all sinners and, unless we repented, we were totally going to Hell. Then there would always be an altar call. Like, without fail.
If you don’t know what that is, an altar call is when the preacher urges you to go up to the front of the congregation and let Jesus live in your heart. Not like a squatter of course, but allow Jesus to be a part of your life and forgive you of the multitudes of your sins. Some folks in Christian circles refer to this as being “saved”.
Too smart to get conned
So, by the time I moved down to Texas, I was used to this. I knew the drill. I could smell an altar call from five miles away – much like Stetson cologne. So, it blew my ever-loving mind when, as a twenty five year old street-savvy young woman with two college degrees, it was MY time to get conned in church. In other words, it was my turn to “get saved”.
To this day, I don’t quite know how it happened. I had traveled to visit my dad and we ended up going to the church where my uncle was the pastor. Of course, my clean-cut, impeccably dressed uncle wore a beautiful suit and leather loafers (minus the Stetson). His message wasn’t quite as fire and brimstone-y, but it was compelling enough, with lots of “Yes, Brother” and “Amens” thrown in from the congregation for dramatic effect.
Mind you, not by me. I’m as WASP-y as the day is long. (WASP = White AngloSaxon Protestant). And public affirmation – really any type of public display of anything – is completely out of my comfort zone. Nevertheless, it was still a fine service.
And then it snuck up on me
Just when I figured we were about ready to wrap it up, my uncle asked the congregation to bow their heads and close their eyes in prayer. Awesome. No problem. I’d done this a bajillion times before. So I closed my eyes.
My uncle did all the usual prayer-y types of things and at one point, he started talking about how broken the world is. I had to agree. Even in 2007 the world seemed to be in a sad state in it’s own way. Not “global pandemic-people are dying-we still don’t have a vaccine” sad, but it did have it’s fair share of low points.
The burdens we carry
He then asked everyone to take a moment and think about the burdens that we were each carrying. Well, I had burdens. A bunch. I was working in a new school job thousands of miles away from the home I grew up in and the people I knew. My fiancé was in another state. I suddenly had a lot more grown-up person bills to pay. I pulled crazy long hours at my job, and I worried all the time that I wasn’t a good teacher. That I wasn’t measuring up. And I wanted so badly to do well, both for myself and for my students. After a while, that stuff starts to weigh on you. And the weight is heavy.
My uncle started asking everyone wouldn’t it be good to just let go of those burdens? Lord, yes. I found myself slightly nodding my head in agreement. Who wouldn’t want that? He then said that God could take all of those many burdens away if we just allowed Him the space to do it in and it just sounded so good. So… just, easy.
Just so easy
At that moment, I wanted to feel like I didn’t have to control every waking second of my day. Of my life. I wanted that sweet release of letting something bigger than myself take care of it. Didn’t everyone? So, when my uncle said that if we wanted God to walk with us – to take on the mantle of our heavy lives – all we had to do was lift our hand into the air. And eyes still closed tight, I raised my hand. Of course I assumed everyone in the sanctuary was also doing the exact same thing at that very moment.
Except, as I opened my eyes to look around, I saw that absolutely NO ONE else in that entire building but me and a couple Hispanic guys a couple pews over were raising our hands. And then it dawned on me…
HOLY CRAPCRACKERS!
I AM BEING SAVED!
RIGHT…
NOW.
I was witness to and involved in my very own altar call, and I hadn’t even realized it was happening!
It was my time to get conned in church! Served up the Kool-Aid! Duped!
I felt like I was being kicked in the face by a donkey, and my fight-or-flight mechanism kicked in. Hardcore! My heart literally dropped into my stomach as I looked around at everyone staring back at me. All of them smiling like I’d won the biggest cash drawing of the lottery.
I had two obvious choices at that moment. First, I could bolt out of that church right then and there, Runaway Bride style, probably to my own future family disownment. Or, second, I could brave it out with everyone in the sanctuary staring me down. It felt like time stopped in a weird “Twilight Zone” kind of way.
My moment of truth
And in that moment, it hit me. All of those things that my uncle said and all of those things I had been feeling while he was saying them were true. I was burdened. I was tired of my life the way that it was currently going. And I did need help because I was tired of shouldering it on my own. And if walking up on that altar like a freaking grownup was a way to let go of these things and let a big, huge God carry them for me, then I was going to do it.
I remember very clearly thinking “it’s now or never”. So, I picked one lead weighted foot up. And then the other. And I moved forward towards my uncle with a tunnel vision I had never experienced before or since. I let him pray with me and for me. And I released all of it. To God. To the universe.
No unicorns or puppies.
That was thirteen years ago. And I can’t say to you that because of this moment, my life has since been a rosy dream full of magical unicorns, puppy parties, and calorie-less ice cream. It hasn’t. In fact, my hardest years have hit me since this experience. But in my darkest times, the only thing that I’ve been able to cling to is this fact: God is bigger than any possible thing that I could ever go through.
Likewise, it doesn’t mean that I’ve made it easy either. I have not been the ideal God-follower. I’m still headstrong with a very high desire to control all of the comings and goings of my life. But God knows that already and I’m still a worthwhile soul that He invests in daily.
Over the years, and this year in particular, I have said things to God that I would never in a million years say to another living soul, mainly because the words are so dark and so hurtful that I would never be able to recover from uttering them out loud.
But I have to believe that this Source of Blessing is bigger than my words and my anger.
That God is vast enough to hold the stardust of the universe in His hands, and yet personal enough to carry all of the heavy things that I hold.
If I just raise my hand.
About Sandy
Sandy is a nearly forty-year-old mom of three, driving her own struggle bus through the ins and outs of marriage, child rearing, and music making. She currently works in music at a Methodist church and with the Cincinnati Youth Choir. She also enjoys camping with her family, copious amounts of coffee, writing, trolling Facebook, and wine.
If you enjoyed reading about the time she got conned in church, then check out more of her writing on her blog, The Book of Thornton – a collection of “musing from a not-so perfect person”.
We hope you are having as much fun reading our guest authors this month as we are bringing them to you. Look for the fourth installment of our Queen Bee Series coming to you next weekend. In the meantime, here is a look back at weeks one and two!
Life Lessons Learned From The Minefield Of Breast Cancer – by Holly Wintrip.
How To Live The Real You: Undisputed Origin – by Kristen Borchgrevink.
See you next weekend, friends.
Be encouraged!
xoxo, Melissa