Religious Switching Patterns

 

I have a lot of topics on my mind but this article by the Pew Research Center caught my eye and I read it.  From everything I know about the Pew Research Center, they are pretty reliable.  I could be wrong.  The article focused on how religious affiliation might look by 2070, noting that Christians won’t be the majority anymore.  I’m not surprised but I’m sure the white supremacists and white right wing “Christian” nationalist and evangelists are freaking out.

I was really interested in their findings about who switched religious beliefs and when they did.

As for me, I started out going with my family to the Islip Presbyterian Church.  My extended family lived all around my parents, brother and me.  Half the family went to that church, and there was a cozy, “family” feel to it. 

We moved to Baltimore when I was 10.  No more church filled with family members and friends.  My parents attempted to get my brother and me into Sunday school at a local Presbyterian church while they went visiting friends but that didn’t last long.  My brother and I felt awkward, out of place, and we just didn’t feel welcome.  We told my parents we didn’t want to go there anymore, and that was the end of Sunday School.

I’m not sure where to place myself.  I sort of grew up with a Christian faith but it ended before I was 11.  We just didn’t go to any church, didn’t watch any evangels on TV nor read the Bible.  I had vague memories of what I’d learned in Sunday School but that was it.  I believed in God but He was remote and distant.  I didn’t think much about religion.

When I was 16, I joined Weight Watchers and discovered a group met at the Christ Church for the Deaf.  My parents, who were profoundly Deaf from birth, were aware of it all along but chose not to go because they didn’t want to give up drinking and gambling at the Deaf club.  Even though I hadn’t learned to sign fluently yet, I felt a connection to this church and congregants.  The minister was inspiring, he himself the adult child of Deaf parents.

My parents were bemused but didn’t try to stop me from going to that church.  They offered classes on American Sign Language to hearing people who wanted to communicate.  It was there I became fluent and worked my way up through the interpreter classes.  I sometimes interpreted church services both in Maryland and then in New York.

Church felt good through my first marriage and the births of my three children.  Rich and I moved from New York back to Maryland and attended the local Presbyterian Church.  Our kids went to Sunday School as I did when I was little.  I enjoyed volunteering on outreach committees.  Two controversial issues began to sour me on congregations, boiling down to Not In My Backyard (NIMBY-ism) and prejudice.  We are to love each other and lend a helping hand or provide support, yet people objected to a shelter in the church for homeless families and to welcome openly gay members.  Several of our deacons felt compelled to hide in “the closet”.

In my early 40s, I stopped going to church.

I tried to go again with my second husband but I couldn’t reconcile myself to that church’s dogma and could see there was a lot of the usual back-stabbing and hypocrisy here too.  I haven’t been to a church service since and it’s been almost 10 years.

What about my kids?  They are in their 30s now, and I am not sure what they believe.  All three seem to be non-affiliated.  Will they seek out a connection to a particular religion, a church?  I don’t know.  I have shared what I believe with them and they change the subject.  I don’t pursue it or push it.

This is what I believe: yes, I think there is God.  There must be a higher intelligence to have created this universe and beyond.  I have faith in Jesus and feel the Holy Spirit.  But do I need to go to church?  The Bible says I should but I don’t.  I don’t like the drama, the back-stabbing, and the complaining.  I can commune with God out in nature or here in my room or anywhere, really.  I can pray and I am heard.  When my spirit leaves my body, it leaves a lifeless shell but my spirit is energy and it goes on.

There are no Presbyterian churches close by in my town.  Over the years, I have been to Methodist, Lutheran, Episcopalian and Baptist churches.  None were a comfortable fit and so if I’m asked which religion I’m affiliated with, I say Presbyterian by rote.

I wonder where I’d fit in the Pew Research results.

Next up: why are there so many stupid people?

 

Happy Birthday, Miracle Baby

I’m sending birthday wishes to my older daughter, who celebrates her birthday today.   There’s a reason I call her a “miracle baby.”  I’ve written that my first husband, Rich, suffered heart failure when he was just 27.  He was sent to Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore to find out why such a young, otherwise healthy, man would have CHF.  We learned from his echocardiogram that his heart failure was brought on by a malfunctioning aortic valve.  He also had cardiomyopathy, an enlarged heart.

While we were there, a genetics specialist came up to examine Rich.  We were very surprised but cooperated.  Rich answered questions about his health and allowed his limbs to be measured.  We were puzzled when Rich was asked: do you have stretch marks in unusual places?  He did—all over his shoulders and upper arms.  Are you double-jointed?  Rich demonstrated he was.  Have you always been *that* near-sighted?  Yes, since childhood.  We were mystified.

The doctor had another surprise for us: he told us he believed Rich had Marfan Syndrome, which was a disorder of the connective tissue.  It could affect the eyes, lungs, heart, and skin.  People with Marfan were generally exceptionally tall (Rich was 6’6”), double-jointed, and had stretch marks in unusual places on their bodies.  We sat there with our jaws dropped open.  It turned out that Hopkins had a clinic for Marfan patient, seeing people from around the world.

Before doing anything about that, however, Rich’s malfunctioning aortic valve had to be addressed.  The surgeon felt that, because of Marfan, Rich should have it replaced with a mechanical valve.  A mechanical valve would stretch out the way a pig valve would.  The surgery was still in its beginning stages, just past the point of being “experimental.”  The surgeon warned it could be 50-50 either way.  If he didn’t have the surgery, Rich knew he would weaken and die.

The night before the surgery, we comforted each other the best way we knew how.

My parents, still active over-drinkers, grudgingly agreed to come and watch our sixth month old baby son.  My father actually asked me why I needed to be there for the surgery when Rich would be knocked out; besides, the nurses would be there to take care of him when he awakened.  I was already stressed and my mind was blown.  I reminded him how we all sat in the waiting room for hours during my mom’s hysterectomy because we were so worried about her.  What if she’d died?  I guess my father “got it”.  I don’t know: I walked out and drove Rich to the hospital.

Rich’s father and step-mother drove down from New York, arriving just after Rich was transferred from Recovery to the ICU.  I was only able to see him for the seconds it took for the orderlies to hurry his stretcher down the hall.  He looked scary but he was breathing.  He was on a ventilator and his wrists were tied to the stretcher railings.  Rich’s dad and stepmom arrived just a few minutes after I left the hospital.

Rich was in the ICU for a week.  From the moment he woke up, he fought the ventilator.  He tried fingerspelling (he learned signs to communicate with my parents) to the nurses but they were clueless.  One of them called me because he’d begun rocking and rolling and wouldn’t lie still.  The nurse wanted me to tell him to relax.  I tried but I just heard him trying to speak, a bark-like noise.  I figured out he was saying, “Off, off!” and told the nurse he wanted the ventilator removed.  They did and he calmed down.

Still, he became depressed over the next day or two.  I used the TTY to ask my parents to come back over so I could go and visit him; cheer him up.  Grudgingly, my dad dropped Mom off to stay overnight and I went to see Rich.  He perked up immensely when I arrived, so I spent several hours with him.  When I got home, Mom accused me of taking advantage of her by staying away so long.

I suggested we have my dad come NOW and get her; I would take the baby with me to the hospital the following day and ask for help.  I wasn’t going to abandon my husband just because my parents felt inconvenienced.  Mom saw how upset I was and backed down.  She agreed to stay one more day.  That, at least, gave me time to make other arrangements.

When Rich was released from the hospital, he was very weak.  The only steady income we’d have over the next 2 months would be from my part time market research job and any interpreting I could pick up.  I knew I couldn’t ask my parents for help so I reached out to Rich’s sister and his stepmother.  Each drove from Long Island to Maryland to care for our son and Rich so that I could continue to work.

It was exhausting and we were struggling financially, but Rich was alive and recovering.  His mood was still low, though, because of our financial situation.  It didn’t help when we went to see the cardiac surgeon and learned that his heart was still very enlarged.  I got the doctor aside and asked what were Rich’s chances.  The surgeon asked, “Are you sure you want to know?”  I did.  No more than five years, he said.

It was a shock.  

I missed my period.  Was it stress?  Even in stressful days, I was regular to the day.  I was a week late and made an appointment with our doctor.  I went by myself, leaving my mother-in-law to care for Rich and Billy.  I told the doctor I needed a blood test; I was pregnant.  No, no, he said.  You are just stressed.  So much has been happening.

I insisted I was pregnant.  I was NEVER late.  Sighing, he drew my blood.  Days later, he called and sounded stunned.  “Yes, you are pregnant.”  Then he advised me not to tell Rich, who might find the news devastating and depress him further.

Great.  I’m not supposed to confide in my husband and best friend, left alone to worry about how we were going to survive all this.  And Rich wasn’t even supposed to live more than five years!  I didn’t want to tell my in-laws yet, either, and have them accidentally spill the news to Rich.

It ended up being me who spilled it.  One day I was in the dining room and, while Rich napped, I began wondering what would happen to us without Rich.  I began to cry.  And then Rich was there, wanting to know what was wrong.  I tried not to tell him the truth but gave up when he kept asking.  Maybe I’d end up killing him off sooner but I couldn’t help it.

To my complete surprise, he broke out in a big grin.  He was absolutely delighted.  The news pulled him right out of the dumps.  When I saw how happy he was, I was thrilled too.

Rich was scheduled to have another echocardiogram about 8 months after his surgery and I was definitely ready to have our baby, top heavy and waddling about.  When the surgeon came in after the test, he had an amazed look on his face.  “This is like a miracle,” he told us.  “The size of the heart has gone down in size by almost half.”  He looked at Rich and asked, “What have you been doing?”

Rich answered straight faced: “Making a miracle baby.”  He swore that he regained all his hope when he learned we were to have another child.

So, happy birthday, Miracle Baby.

Rich began to have atrial fibrillation in March of 2001, a good 13 years after his surgery.  The night before his appointment to see an electro-cardiologist, he passed away in the night.

 

Vounteering & Random Acts of Kindness Feels So Good

A few days ago, I happened on a piece in my Axios newsletter.  It has stuck with me and, because I am totally sick of US news lately, I thought I would focus my attention on it.  The idea was the benefits of paying it forward and acts of kindness.  We’ve all heard of little acts that actually make a big difference.  A prime example is a driver in the toll lane pays not only for him/herself but also for the driver behind.  It can have a ripple effect, with the other drivers in line inspired to do the same thing.

Or take the person in the Walmart line that is short of cash when the cashier is done ringing up purchases.  A person in line behind might be inspired to make up the difference.  It’s such a small thing but saved the first customer from embarrassment.  That customer might later do something nice for an elderly neighbor.

Kindness can spread just as well as a virus.

I have been in some tough situations in my lifetime.  One particular period of time was when my first husband, Rich, was recovering from heart surgery.  He was on medical leave and was receiving a very small portion of his salary.  I was working as a sign language interpreter for a school district but it was only part-time.  Rich needed a lot of help in those days and could only care for our baby a few hours at a time.  We were struggling to pay our rent, for food, and for expensive medications for Rich not covered by insurance.  We couldn’t bring ourselves to reach out for help.

Somehow, my cousin Mary figured it out.  She would come over to visit or to babysit Billy if I happened to pick up a freelancing gig.  Maybe it was what was in our fridge or what we wore.  One time when she dropped by to visit, she had a warm, full length winter coat for me.  I didn’t have any nice coats to wear when I went to work and this was an act of kindness that meant so much to me. 

When Rich was doing better and we were more financially secure, I felt a need to pay it forward, as it were.  We were going to church at that point and I learned that there were a lot of vets living under a bridge that was on our way to the church.  The church was providing cots to sleep on during the winter months and Rich became on of the volunteer drivers to pick the guys up and bring them to the church.  I joined a team of volunteers that rotated at Elizabeth House, where we served meals to those in need.  Many nights, we served families.

Here we live in one of the wealthiest countries in the world and yet we have vets and families homeless and hungry.  It’s appalling.  When I give, I donate to food pantries and No Kid Hungry or the Harry Chapin Foundation.  Ted and I can afford our food so it’s a small act of kindness to try and see that others get a meal.

Before the pandemic, I was a volunteer reader at an elementary school.  I read one-on-one with students K-2 and these were children who struggled with reading but not so much they qualified for special services.  I loved reading to the kids, most of whom had never had anyone read to them before.  I loved talking to them, learning about them and their interests.  Many of them grew more self-confident with the individual attention.  It wasn’t a small act of kindness because reading helps children to succeed later in life.  It was mostly an act of kindness to me because I love reading so and wanted the kids to feel the same way.

The point of all this is that volunteering or performing small acts of kindness ends up being a win-win situation.  The people we do a kindness for receive something that they need and it’s a feeling of relief or joy for them.  Feeling relief or joy starts the feel-good endorphins flowing and they’re likely to be kind to someone else.  As for the person who volunteers or helps out some way, the feel-good endorphins flow as well.  There is a feeling of doing something positive in a world of so many negatives.

When I volunteer, I feel I’m doing something useful and beneficial.  Working people are often too busy to volunteer a lot of their time but it only takes a few minutes to perform an act of kindness.  I wish we would all do this.  It could be healing for us all.