July 6, 2018
“Heather, I’m sorry, I forgot both dad and I are prayer people this Friday so we have to go to service. But you can feel free to go hang with a friend or even hang out here till church is over.” My mom’s words were casual and it was evident she expected me to just say alright. We had finally made a pact on church stuff; my family kept that stuff light and I never asked about it. It was an uneasy truce that had taken years to create and neither side wanted to accidentally break it. My reply shocked everyone, me most of all! “Nobody is available to hang out on Friday, maybe I’ll just go with you guys.” Even as the words slipped out, my brain was spinning out of control. What was I doing?! I didn’t do church, and I especially didn’t do church people! Where had that yes come from?
The best I can figure was that I had gone to a church service in another town the week prior for a reunion. I figured if nothing bad happened in that church with people who I knew then a bunch of weirdos I didn’t know weren’t going to change my mind. I had turned by back on God a long time ago and figured that must be the unpardonable sin, so no matter what I was going to hell. I thought I would just go to church, get through the service without being all “converted,” and then my parents would never expect me to go to church ever again. I puffed myself up on the idea that I wasn’t going to fall for any of the crazy religious stuff. I’d been there and done that years ago. Most importantly, I’d rejected it.
The next night, 6 July 2018, found me prepping for church, with a knotty stomach and a rebellious flair just itching to erupt. I purposely wore a t-shirt with some skull design and combat phrases making sure all my tattoos showed. I just knew how “Christian” people loved tattoos and I was determined to weed out the fakes in the crowd. Neither of my parents said a word about what I was wearing or the fact that I was audaciously wearing my commitment band. This was the last shock reserved for the most devout: in every conversation I was determined to bring up my sexuality. So needless to say, I was headed to World Revival Church with a totally open mind! We arrived and walked in the doors. Immediately almost everything inside of me screamed to run back out the door; I hadn’t met a single person but there was a Presence that was so strong I could feel Him. Every spirit that had attached itself to me was uncomfortable, to the point that I felt like I was being watched by something invisible. The only reason I stayed was my pride simply would not let me leave; I refused to back down or turn and run.
My parents, mom especially, dragged me around to meet every person they could find. I tried all my tricks – my lifestyle, tattoos, depressing job, disability, everything I could think of – and each time the result was the same. These people genuinely liked me! I’ve spent years in corrections, law enforcement, and as a pastor’s kid; I know how to read people and I can spot a fake smile, conversation, or politeness a mile away. Not a single one of the people I met exuded even a trace of hypocrisy; I honestly had no defense for their sheer joy and genuine happiness. (Here is a big apology for those of you I did meet that night; I’m sorry for trying to scare you off and acting like a jerk). So naturally, it terrified me even further!
Church officially started and I simply couldn’t believe how excited these people were to worship God! They were excited, exuberant, yet not creepy (you know, those types). What was creepy was the feeling of being watched still overwhelmed me; and yet I knew that it wasn’t my “head friends,” and Whoever it was welded more power than them. *Quick side note: I had been harassed by demonic spirits every since I turned my back on God at age 17. I knew that’s what they where but I was unable stop them.* I think I made about 20 bathroom trips throughout the service just to try and hide.
Having not been anywhere close to a church for 18 years meant I didn’t know a single song, so I just read the words on the screen and evaluated them for hidden meanings. I refused to even lip sync a word; I wasn’t going to let them catch me off guard with some emotional phrasing! It didn’t matter; the words from each song were impactful enough simply because I was surrounded by people who utterly believed what they were
saying. It’s impossible to fake the emotions they put out; plus they all had something about their faces that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It wavered between absolute adoration and full peace. Either way it wasn’t natural; well, at least not in my world.
Finally, the singing was over and the sermon started. I honestly cannot remember what Frank Seamster spoke about at all; I was too busy trying steel myself for the altar call that was going to come. I figured that people would try to get me up there for prayer or to try and pray right where I was; clearly I had just a little paranoia going on! I was ready for the pushy people (I thought), but they never materialized; not a single person tried to do any prayer voodoo. What surprised me was how disappointed I felt when I didn’t get prayer; I couldn’t quite figure where that desire came from. Now I realize that it was my spirit calling, screaming out to God, and I was totally unprepared for how well He was listening! I left that night, sweaty and shaky, but triumphant in my mind. I had been to the church that hosted two major revivals and I hadn’t been broken or caved in; I won. If that was the case, then why did I feel so lost and empty? To be continued…
The best I can figure was that I had gone to a church service in another town the week prior for a reunion. I figured if nothing bad happened in that church with people who I knew then a bunch of weirdos I didn’t know weren’t going to change my mind. I had turned by back on God a long time ago and figured that must be the unpardonable sin, so no matter what I was going to hell. I thought I would just go to church, get through the service without being all “converted,” and then my parents would never expect me to go to church ever again. I puffed myself up on the idea that I wasn’t going to fall for any of the crazy religious stuff. I’d been there and done that years ago. Most importantly, I’d rejected it.
The next night, 6 July 2018, found me prepping for church, with a knotty stomach and a rebellious flair just itching to erupt. I purposely wore a t-shirt with some skull design and combat phrases making sure all my tattoos showed. I just knew how “Christian” people loved tattoos and I was determined to weed out the fakes in the crowd. Neither of my parents said a word about what I was wearing or the fact that I was audaciously wearing my commitment band. This was the last shock reserved for the most devout: in every conversation I was determined to bring up my sexuality. So needless to say, I was headed to World Revival Church with a totally open mind! We arrived and walked in the doors. Immediately almost everything inside of me screamed to run back out the door; I hadn’t met a single person but there was a Presence that was so strong I could feel Him. Every spirit that had attached itself to me was uncomfortable, to the point that I felt like I was being watched by something invisible. The only reason I stayed was my pride simply would not let me leave; I refused to back down or turn and run.
My parents, mom especially, dragged me around to meet every person they could find. I tried all my tricks – my lifestyle, tattoos, depressing job, disability, everything I could think of – and each time the result was the same. These people genuinely liked me! I’ve spent years in corrections, law enforcement, and as a pastor’s kid; I know how to read people and I can spot a fake smile, conversation, or politeness a mile away. Not a single one of the people I met exuded even a trace of hypocrisy; I honestly had no defense for their sheer joy and genuine happiness. (Here is a big apology for those of you I did meet that night; I’m sorry for trying to scare you off and acting like a jerk). So naturally, it terrified me even further!Church officially started and I simply couldn’t believe how excited these people were to worship God! They were excited, exuberant, yet not creepy (you know, those types). What was creepy was the feeling of being watched still overwhelmed me; and yet I knew that it wasn’t my “head friends,” and Whoever it was welded more power than them. *Quick side note: I had been harassed by demonic spirits every since I turned my back on God at age 17. I knew that’s what they where but I was unable stop them.* I think I made about 20 bathroom trips throughout the service just to try and hide.
Having not been anywhere close to a church for 18 years meant I didn’t know a single song, so I just read the words on the screen and evaluated them for hidden meanings. I refused to even lip sync a word; I wasn’t going to let them catch me off guard with some emotional phrasing! It didn’t matter; the words from each song were impactful enough simply because I was surrounded by people who utterly believed what they were
saying. It’s impossible to fake the emotions they put out; plus they all had something about their faces that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It wavered between absolute adoration and full peace. Either way it wasn’t natural; well, at least not in my world.
Finally, the singing was over and the sermon started. I honestly cannot remember what Frank Seamster spoke about at all; I was too busy trying steel myself for the altar call that was going to come. I figured that people would try to get me up there for prayer or to try and pray right where I was; clearly I had just a little paranoia going on! I was ready for the pushy people (I thought), but they never materialized; not a single person tried to do any prayer voodoo. What surprised me was how disappointed I felt when I didn’t get prayer; I couldn’t quite figure where that desire came from. Now I realize that it was my spirit calling, screaming out to God, and I was totally unprepared for how well He was listening! I left that night, sweaty and shaky, but triumphant in my mind. I had been to the church that hosted two major revivals and I hadn’t been broken or caved in; I won. If that was the case, then why did I feel so lost and empty? To be continued…
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