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Thirty+ Visits Complete!

With accidental start and end dates of  Pentecost Sunday (’11) and Easter Sunday (’12),  I have successfully completed my 30+ visits.But…I’m not done yet! The completed are, in no particular order:

1.Living Word Church (my childhood church) 2. King Ave Methodist (GLBTQ Reconciling) 3. Lake Erie Drive-in 4. Buddhist Temple 5.Pentecostal Mega-church 6.Baptist 7.African-American Baptist 8.Movie Theater Rock 9.Hindu Temple 10.Synagogue 11.Roman Catholic 12. Eastern Orthodox 13.Vineyard 14.Jehovah’s Witness 15.Mormon 16.Atheist 17.Stadium 18.Christian Spiritualist 19.Emergent Independent 20.Quaker 21.Hare Krishna 22.Scientology 23.Unitarian 24.Baha’i 25. Storefront Redeemed 26.Christian Science 27. Stone Village 28.Sikh 29.Naturalist 30.Taize 31. Vertias (church of the boot camp) 32. Seventh Day Adventist

(Note: My blog checklist is typically behind because I have to rely on my web programmer to change it.)

I was  heavy on the Christian churches, especially in the beginning, so I am doubling back to attend a few originally on the list and several additions before the 5/15 deadline:

–Native American–Amish–Pagan and/or Wiccan–Kabbalah–Mosque

Though I’ve not had luck locating the following in my area, I am still interested in:

–Zoroastrianism–Tao–Sufi–Xenos–African/tribal–Voodou–Virtual–Rastafaria–Gnostic–Jainism–Confusionism–Shinto–New Thought–Polytheistic (any culture, but particularly Celtic)–Shamanism–Snake-handlers

With continual help from the Spirit, I’ve gone from Post-traumatic Church Syndrome (barely being able to enter a church) to being able, and excited, to attend places of worship of all faiths and even non-faiths. I’ve also completed a Thirty-Day fast, studied Ancient Christian and Buddhist meditation, read extensively on multiple religions, sorted out my own beliefs, found a faith I can believe in, known and seen my God, changed my career, discovered my ministry and calling, started this blog–thanks to the good advice of someone wise, written nearly 100,000 words for the book (probably only 10,000 that are any good!), survived three physical and one spiritual bootcamp & ,  (surprise!) found a church, and much, much more. But these are stories and conclusions for other days!  I still have much more to write about. So, let the quest and the blog continue :)

I nearly quit Thirty by Thirty at least a dozen times. So…for all those who have followed and encouraged this journey…thank you! For those who have criticized it…thank you as well. Everyone who has touched this path has helped it toward completion. I’m not done yet. And probably never will be!

All my love–Reba 

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FAQ on my Thirty Day Fast

I’d like to address a few of the questions I’ve received on my recent Thirty Day fast:

So…what did you eat? Nothing. I didn’t chew for 30 days, nor did I drink alcohol. I also tried to limit medications. I did take in copious amounts of vitamins, lots of juice (organic if possible), and sugar-free protein on workout days. (Yes, I still did boot camp.)

 Isn’t that UNHEALTHY? Well, not for me. Obviously I’m here, I’m fine and, it could be argued, in better health than I have ever been.  But I would like to be VERY CLEAR that an extreme fast could ABSOLUTELY be unhealthy for a given person depending on factors such as overall health, weight, lifestyle, mental state, etc. PLEASE DO NOT CONSIDER an extreme fast without A.) A very specific calling to undertake it and B.) Consulting your doctor.

 Why did you choose to fast for thirty days? First, I didn’t choose to fast for 30 days. God asked me to. (There will be much more on this when I cover the fast in depth between April 15th and May 15th). A 30-day fast is something I never would have thought of, nor did I think I could do it. I was called to fast in December, and it took me nearly three months of wrestling with the concept and telling God there was NO WAY I could possibly ever do that before I surrendered and… just did it. Once I got towards the end, I wanted to do 40 days, but that was made impossible by a pre-planned family vacation.

 How much weight did you lose?  It is inconsequential….that was NOT the point. This was purely spiritual venture. I like to say some of the excess weight enabled me to complete the fast, but it was in no way a diet attempt. There isn’t enough willpower in my world.

 Why did you stop blogging during the fast? Part of the reason fasting, especially long-term fasting, is spiritually effective is because it clears out your life of everything that isn’t entirely necessary. Due to the vast physical, mental, emotional and spiritual strain, fasting forced me to re-evaluate every activity in my life by these two questions: 1.) Is [activity] actively bringing me closer to God and/or 2.) Is [activity] absolutely necessary? In addition to ceasing blogging, I limited my activities to work, prayer, meditation, necessary household duties,  spending time with my husband, and LOTS of sleeping.

 Why didn’t you tell anyone? Fasting is a personal matter between you and your God. It is extremely difficult, and there is no place for the critical negativity of others. You’re already doubting yourself…you don’t need anyone else to doubt you. Also, to be brutally honest, I often thought I was going to fail. (Daily. Sometimes minute-ly.) I didn’t want to announce, “Hey, I am doing this 30-day fast!” only to say, “Hey, I quit on day 10.”

 I hope that clears a few things up! Also, as mentioned, I will be writing in detail about the fast and what I learned starting on April 15th. But if you are interested in the basics of how I got through it…check out this post.

 

 

Devotional Hide-and-Seek

Please excuse my short hiatus from the blog. I am working on a serious project that is an extension of Thirty by Thirty, which I will reveal on March 12th. Until then, the Project is taking much of my time and energy, so forgive me if my posts are fewer and shorter (for now). I’ll be back full force in March!

Today I’m disconcerted because I’m searching for an interfaith devotional…and can’t find one. With all the devotional books in the world, wouldn’t at least one contain daily inspirations from global faiths? 

 I am bothered by the lack of the book I’m looking for…but even moreso by my wavering resolve to continue looking.

Most troubling is my unbidden desire to simply give up the search and instead slip into Oswald Chambers’ My Utmost for His Highest or Henry Blackaby’s Experiencing God–the Christian daily devotionals I have read many times.

I own both of these books, and many more: my dog-eared, underlined copies with accompanying journals showcase my former devotion to daily Christian devotions. If you open these journals to any random page, you will find the desire of a teenage girl, for the very Spirit of the [Evangelical Christian version of the] Lord to descend upon her, reveal Himself to her, use her for his Glory.If you read them cover to cover, you would understand the purity of her heart, follow her unrelenting journey towards the God she knows so well and loves so very much. There are rarely questions, because her faith is absolute. She hears Him in the quiet of the night, in the chaotic hours of the day, and fully believes she is Called. She is Chosen. And her every step is guided by the Invisible hand of the Almighty.

Residing in the darkness of my Mom’s attic, the Rubbermaid tubs that hold  these books and journals mirror my life before The Breaking… before I left behind the faith of my youth and, in the wake of that tidal wave of change, lost my identity, my purpose, and my God.

And this morning, as I seek a devotional book, I consider the gravity of my undertaking. The sheer monumental breadth of the task I have set before me: to rediscover my identity, my purpose, my calling. My God.

Yesterday I attended a wonderful Baha’i celebration during which I was asked to explain Thirty by Thirty, and I took questions. The most profound of which was, “What is your religion today?”

Try answering that in one sentence, in front of 150 people when you’re writing an entire book on the subject.

But, unbidden, the answer quickly flowed straight from my heart through my lips, drifting over the room.

“Today? Today I am a Seeker of Divine Love.”

I believe if I was to visit the the teenage girl I once was, the one who wrote so passionately asking God to use her, and tell her all the pain she would go through before being able to utter those words aloud to a crowd of strangers, she would look me straight in the eye and say:    I promise to keep searching, no matter the cost. I promise not to give up, even if I do for a time. I promise I will be there, on that day, in that crowd, and tell them.

And she would be proud.

As I am.

Even if I can’t yet find the devotional I seek, or everything I desire to understand.

I AM______________

This morning, the questions pulling at the hem of my faith are whispering:

What if, when God said I AM, we misunderstood?

What if God simply said I AM to us, to all of humanity, but that wasn’t good enough ? Maybe we wanted more, needed more: like the Jews of the Old Testament, who rejected God as their nation’s leader. We want a King, they cried. They needed more: more than Jehovah, more than Abba, more than I AM.

Perhaps we needed a predicate nominative, a fill-in-the-blank ad-lib in Whom to place our faith. An I AM______________: summed with words that we could understand, we could see…Something we could draw lines around and call our Own.

And what if, after we consumed the _______________,with our utterances, we still needed more?

Did we add  to I AM? Did we follow all the nouns with verbs, round out phrases with adjectives? Did we complete all the parts of speech that never really existed? Did we create sentences wrapped into paragraphs which  filled up pages and flowed into sacred texts? Did we cry out with words that formed Religions…whole cultures of grammatical dissent?

We fight and war, debating the -ologies with Holy Fervor: today, here, with our Voices; yesterday and elsewhere with our Weapons. All to defend the words that define our beliefs.

What if, What If?,  the only phrase, the original origin of the world, was quietly I AM? An affirmation of Divine Existence… of  all Creation…of God…of us…and the whole Universe. The whole Godiverse.

The simplest statement of Being, the first noun and verb we learn in any language.

What if all God really said was…

I AM.

 Next Post: The story of my hilarious visit to a historically African-Amercian Baptist Church… who won my Award for Best Talent and tied for Miss Congeniality!

Urban Legends

“I’ve heard of things like this happening, but they’ve never happened to me…or anyone I know.”-Mormon Missionary #1 to me, after I invited him and his partner-in-missions to witness to me, handed over my cell number, followed through with a meeting… then asked to accompany them to church.

          I am a Mormon Urban Legend.  I feel quite certain the story of The Girl Who Asked To Come To Church will circulate evermore among the sweet, suited missionary-mafia. It will grow from the truth (I approached a table of twenty tie-wearing, name-tag bearing Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-day Saints missionaries at a gourmet grilled cheese restaurant, gave them a green post-it with my phone number, and told them to call me)…to a full-on legend. I heard she got saved right then and there… I heard she begged them to tell her the Truth of The Book of Mormon…on her knees! I heard she disappeared right in fromt of them…she was an angel sent from heaven to test their knowledge! (Well, maybe not the angel part… but still, I plan to fully enjoy my fame.) It’s not every day a gal gets to become an Urban Legend. 
     Anyhoo. They were definitely salivating more over the prospect of my salvation than their delicious grilled cheese. And I really did make their collective day. Possibly their collective year. Mostly they get doors slammed in their faces, or ( if they’re having a good day!) get invited in only to be “witnessed to” by “real” Christians trying to save their Mormon souls. (Sort of like a spider inviting an insect in for polite conversation. First I tempt you…then I eat you!) I was, in their words, “a breath of fresh air!”
     Two missionaries, both named Elder, were assigned to my case, and they promptly called to set up a meeting. (If you want to avoid waiting by the phone, date a Mormon missionary. They call precisely when they say they will… Oh wait, they’re not allowed to date during their two-year mission commitment. Too bad!) All male missionaries are named Elder for the term of their mission, and they do not use their given first names (even with other Mormons) until after their service is complete. It reminded me a little of giving prisoners numbers, and upon further review, a strong case could be made for missionary life as jail. If you are considering joining the LDS Church and becoming a missionary, please first consider the following:
1. You will give up: TV, Internet, email (except once a week to family only), radio, music, reading (except religious books), all your friends, dating, thinking about dating, and even thinking about thinking about dating
2. You will have already given up/never partaken: sex, drugs, rock ‘n roll, porn, caffeine, and cigarettes
3. You will not see your family for 24 months. You will call home only twice a year: on Mother’s Day and Christmas
4. You will have no control over where you live, with whom you live, or when you are moved
And you will like it!
And the amazing thing is, these guys do! It’s not jail for them, it’s service to God. And that means more to them than giving up all of the above.Impressive.
     These Elder guys are a highly dedicated, well-organized, backpack-carrying militia of world savers. Compared to the well-oiled Mormon missionary machine, all the other Christian denominations look like pansies. Upon high school graduation, these guys take the Great Commission (Go ye all into the world and preach the gospel) to a breathtaking level of commitment by “giving it all up” for God.Which is why it is literally painful for them when people say they are not Christians; “It hits me right here [fist to chest], and it really hurts. I love Jesus. I believe in God the Father and the Holy Spirit.How can they say that?” asked Mormon Missionary #2. These guys believe so hard that their faith almost shimmers. And of this, as I mentioned in my Jingle Bells post, I am truly envious.
     It’s actually tough for me to hear Mormon Missionary #2′s question; I used to be one of those people. And sitting there with those fresh-faced, shiny guys, so earnest in their beliefs and fired up for the cause of Christ and Latter-day prophet/leader Joseph Smith…it made me wonder if the people who taught me Mormanism is a cult!They’re not Christians! ever actually took the time to sit down and listen without judgement.
    Because here’s the thing. People, especially mainline Christian people, like to talk about how weird the Mormon’s extra-curricular beliefs are. And they are a bit (or a lot) strange. Believing you have to change into sacred clothes before entering the temple, like some kind of Holy Locker Room? Strange. Believing in multiple heavens and that you have to be married to get into the highest level? Stranger. Believing you will eventully get your own world in the afterlife? Stranger still. But…are these beliefs weird because they are actually abnormal or because we’ve never been exposed to them? I guarantee an African bushman would think it’s more than a little strange to curtsy before a statue of a hanging dead guy, then eat his body and drink his blood. I’m just sayin’.
     If man looks at the outer appearance, but God looks at the heart, I think it’s time we tried to see things from His perspective. And I’m guessing that when God looks at the Elders? He doesn’t see the Book of Mormon or Joseph Smith’s sacred gold plates…He sees hearts of gold.
     I have much more to say on the topic of my visit with The Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-day Saints…especially the story of how I testified in front of the congregation. But I’ll save that for another day :)
Like this article? Connect with Reba at www.facebook.com/thirtybythirty
two gold hearts on the white background Stock Photo - 5876351

My Very Bare-y Christmas

Sharenator.com

Sister #1: I got a remote start in my car for Christmas!

Sister #2: I got an IPAD!

Me: I got a pair of socks from the emergency room…

Brother-in-law: At least your present was the most expensive.

Henceforth this holiday shall be known as: The Christmas Rebecca Landed in the ER. (For a case of hives that migrated to her throat, which started swelling shut.)

It shall also be known as: The Year a Doctor Scares Trent. (When, upon our arrival at the urgent care clinic, we were immediately sent away by the attending physician to the “Real ER, where they can do something for your wife.”)

And this is why I do not have a post about attending a Christmas service.

On the bright side, I did pray fervently between the urgent care and the “Real ER”.

Lesson Learned: Only go to the urgent care clinic with urgency…not an emergency.

Bonus Lesson: If, in the excitement of a swelling throat, you fail to wear socks, the ER nurse will gladly provide you with a  pair for the nominal astronomical price of your stay. But only AFTER you have bared your bottom* to your mother-in-law, your mother-in-law’s neighbor’s son [he is a doctor! I do not expose myself to visiting neighbor's sons for fun!], three urgent care nurses, one incompetent urgent care doctor, three ER nurses,two ER physician’s assistants,and a partridge in a pear tree.

(*My bottom would like to note that it prefers to remain covered. However,  if it is called to duty, in such cases as it being eclipsed by welted, migrating hives and thus becoming a threat to the life of its owner, my bottom is very patriotic and willing to be bared, even if said baring causes much shame!)

Apology:

I realize this post has nothing to do with going to places of worship, except that I skipped going to church on the biggest church day of the year. So….sorry about that.

In my defense, I am certain more people find God in the Emergency Room in one day than find Him in some mega-churches on Christmas. 

FAQ:

1. Do you know what caused the hives? No.

2. Have you eaten anything new or changed anything recently (add long list of things you think I may not have considered as a cause but, believe me, if you think your throat is swelling shut you ponder possibilities. Very.Very.Thoroughly.)  No.

3. Can the doctor tell you what caused them? No.

4. Are you OK now? I am drugged up on Benedryl, steroids and various antihistamines. Everything is OK.

Shout-Out!

A big shout-out to Jen Lancaster,  NYT best-selling author of multiple books (including my fav Bitter is the New Black),whose hilarious, sharp-witted voice I heard in my head while considering the absurdity of my Christmas Situation in the ER. Though I have not the faintest idea of Ms. Lancaster’s religious views outside of her former attendance at the Magnificent Mile Mecca,I believe we share an affinity for mild, mind-altering meds (Her: Ambien. Me: Benadryl). Thanks for your great sense of humor…it ( and the drugs) helped get me through My Very Bare-y Christmas.

cheezburger.com

Please like Thirty by Thirty on Facebook if you enjoyed this post! www.facebook.com/thirtybythirty

And don’t forget to visit Jen Lancaster on FB if you need a laugh! www.facebook.com/AuthorJenLancaster

 

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Jingle Bells?

“Aunt Rebecca, do you believe in Santa Claus?”
(Carefully) “Do you believe in Santa?”
(Vigorous head-nodding and jumping around) “Yes!!!”
(More carefully) “How do you know he’s real?”
(Puzzled) “Don’t you know if you believe in Santa you can hear jingle bells when you close your eyes?” (Squishes eyes tightly) “I’m hearing them…right…now! Do you hear them?”
I shut my eyes, but all I hear is my seven year-old niece’s  excitement.

How I wish I could hear the jingle bells: my niece’s irrefutable proof that Santa lives, that elves are working happily away in the North Pole, that presents will appear under the tree, that the world is full of joy and peace, that all is safe and right and magical.

Her bells hold all the magic of Christmas wrapped into a sound that fights the inevitable hows and whys. How can Santa reach all the children of the earth in one night? Why do people without chimneys still get presents? How do reindeer fly? Why is there a Santa at every store?

But all these questions? They mean nothing to her now. Because she can hear the jingle bells.

When my niece talks about Santa, she glows; her eyes light up with the wonder and magic of Christmas, and reflected in her is all the world’s joy. I encountered the same shiny look on the faces of the Mormon missionaries, and I wanted to throttle them—actually lean over the coffee table and strangle them with their Army of God-issued ties.

Because I felt very, VERY jealous…as evergreen with envy as a Christmas tree.Because they shut their eyes and hear jingle bells, but when I close mine questions are all I hear. I know how it feels to be so, SO certain of everything. To believe. To hear the jingle bells.

It is so happy and easy to have all the answers handed to you, to wrap yourself tightly in the peace that surpasses understanding. To share the belief, the wonder, the magic, with people who love you because you can hear the same jingle bells as they.

But what happens for my niece when someday her best friend whispers more questions in her ear, planting the seeds of doubt? When a boy makes fun of her on the playground, taunting “You still believe in Santa?Don’t you know he isn’t real?”

What happens when the Mormon missionaries open a closet before Christmas Eve, and all their presents tumble out?

When they all close their eyes…and can’t hear the jingle bells?

I’ll tell you what happens: you lose your faith. In Santa, in religion, maybe even in God. And you push it all out of your mind, ignoring the ache that lives where there once was magic. You denounce everything that you once put your belief in, grow up, and don’t acknowledge the hurt, the betrayal, because it simply hurts too much.

And then.

Nine years later.

You wake up and realize you want to believe in something real. You want to hear jingle bells without closing your eyes.

And seven months later, on Christmas Day, you realize you DO hear them ringing… loud and clear.

With your eyes wide open.

Because you are the one shaking them.

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The First Christian Spiritualists: Part Deux

Post-Christian Spiritualist Temple Experience, no one was more surprised than me to discover the existence of dark energy outside the confines of Paranormal Activity I, II and III.

I boast a long and rich history with Satan, wherein certain parents and pastors of mine systematically rebuked him in the name of Jesus, regularly banishing his malevolent minions from our house, my bedroom, and the church. I even witnessed the exorcism of a church camp sound system that was behaving badly. Clearly this was no ordinary power surge! The Evil One himself infested the equipment to keep 4th graders from hearing the message of salvation for the twenty-seventh time in six days! This process, known in Christian circles as Spiritual Warfare, was simultaneously comforting and frightening.  I understood said warfare to mean  that Satan could enter our house and possibly hide out under my bed (scary!), but my Dad could easily make him depart by praying (calming!) until he came back again (alarming!).

If Satan does indeed sabotage inanimate objects, I feel quite certain this lamp is in grave danger.

Upon considering the Devil as an adult, I threw out the idea of a lurking,evil entity preoccupied with ruining church camp sermons. I also tossed the notion of intelligent evil altogether and, carefully refraining from exorcisms of inanimate objects, proceeded happily along in my life without the heavy burden and time-commitment of telling Beelzebub to Depart from me! In the name of Jesus!

Around the same time, I rejected praying out loud. There are more reasons for this than the exorcism factor, but it suffices to say here that 99% of the (few) prayers I uttered after my 21st year rose from my mind to the Almighty’s ear. I conscientiously objected to spoken prayer on the grounds that an all-knowing God needed not hear my voice. And, it was just too traumatic to pray out loud. Much to close to my past for comfort.

Anyhoo. An alert reader needs this background information to understand just how bizarre the events following my time with the Christian Spiritualists really were. Please keep said background in mind when I say this: something sinister followed me home from the witchcraft/Christian-craft conference.

You know that time you randomly stepped in a pile of dog poo? And didn’t realize it until you walked in the house, took off your shoes and sniffed? That’s how it was when I arrived home after five hours with the Christian Spiritualists.I discovered (too late!) some metaphysical ju-ju clinging to my spiritual shoe-shoe.
In the immortal words of bumper sticker-ists everywhere, “Sh** Happens”. And apparently it happens to me…in the First Christian Spiritualist’s temple sanctuary…with a crystal. Or maybe it was a tarot card–or a divination rod–or a hymnal?

It started simply enough— with a headache—which became a bad headache— that turned into  The.Worst.Headache.Ever. EVER! My head hurt so badly I thought it was going to split open right there is the bed, which I was in for a full fourteen hours. Note: migraines have never, ever plagued me, but plagued I was, and would continue to be, for the next three days.

I awoke that night and the following two nights promptly at three a.m., with a disturbing weight on my chest and terrible anxiety. Once awake and thoroughly freaked out, I felt some kind of dark presence in our bedroom. Note:I have never felt unsafe in my own bed, unless you count the time Oxley knocked over the laundry basket and I thought someone was breaking in.

I prayed silently;it went away. I stopped praying; it came back. Feeling crazy, I woke up Trent, who rolled me into a bear-hug and told me to calm down. But calm down I could not…not while this creepy energy was hanging out with me.

After two days of this weirdness, my spiritual circuitry was so hot you could fry a metaphysical egg on my chakras. I was on high-level alert, like a red rating of spiritual terrorism. I considered calling a priest, even though I am not Catholic. Instead, what did I do? I called my father. In the middle of the night. To pray for me. OUT LOUD. It helped, until the next day when the weirdness forced me to do the unthinkable.

I personally got down on my knees and prayed. OUT LOUD. Rebuking whatever evil was lurking around me and commanding it to Depart from me! In the name of Jesus!

And…it left.

I refuse to name the weirdness Satan, and I suspect that invoking the power of Christ against it was a conditioned knee-jerk reaction based on my childhood and watching too many scary movies. My best guess is that in willingly (and foolishly) joining my energy with about twenty other psychics of dubious origin, I managed to carry home some transference of negative energy. Spiritual or natural I do not know, and I realize this whole thing is very New Age-y and stinks of sensationalism. But still.

If I ever consult a psychic, or medium, or Christian Spiritualist again, I plan to take a crucifix, garlic, and a rosary with me. And possibly bathe in Holy Water before and after.

I am thankful, however, that the spiritual ju-ju forced me to break through my praying wall. I can now pray out loud with anyone, anywhere, for any reason. Except maybe to banish Satan from church camp sound systems.

 

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Witchcraft or Christian-craft? The First Christian Spiritualist Temple

Mom, I'm scared! How does psychic Pastor Carol know about me?

Circa August 2011. Temperature: 90+ degrees.
I just allowed a thug look-a-like (white tee, cocked-hat, multiple chain necklaces,loose jeans belted at mid-thigh) to lead me into a small room, take off my shoes, and touch my bare feet while I try (in vain) to relax on a medical-grade table covered in a Mexican blanket. What the heck am I doing? I mentally panic as the thug closes his eyes, places his hands an inch above my now-bare feet and proceeds to channel healing energy into my foot chakra. I’d cross the street to avoid this guy in broad daylight.** Under what circumstances would I allow this to happen?

The circumstance is the spiritual forum at the First Christian Spiritualist Temple, and I am sweating bullets. Is it because I actually feel heat radiating from Mr. Fro-Bro’s hands or because this historic church building lacks air conditioning?

I’m about to grab my sandals and bolt until I notice an angelic, white-haired oldster rise from a seat in the corner. She hobbles over, lifts her hands over my forehead, and begins channeling energy into my crown chakra. I relax. Nothing truly bad is going to happen to me in the presence of Psychic Grandma.

I’m in a church building, with a totally normal sanctuary and yet things are just….off.

Temple Sanctuary. It looks so...normal.

Aside from the Reiki healing treatment I’m receiving in this little room off the sanctuary, psychic phenomena is taking place all around me. Twenty-five card tables line the church’s perimeter, each staffed with a medium, psychic or healer consulting with a supplicant wishing to know their future. There are crystals, tarot cards, hymnals and Bibles. There is a even a Bible with tarot cards on top of it. I think I have just entered an alternate spiritual country where divination and Jesus combine to create a haven for all things spiritually strange: one fortune-telling nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and communing with the dead for all.
Despite the familiar stained glass and paintings of Jesus holding lambs, the Christian Spiritualist God is one I do not recognize.The Trinity I grew up with frowns upon witchcraft, Ouija boards,alien-abductions and crystals of all kinds. But are these spiritualists actually practicing Christian-craft since they profess to be consulting the Holy Spirit and practicing the gift of prophecy? Hmmm…
Post-reiki healing, I make the psychic table rounds. There are a few total wackos, like the lady who sees me as a queen rat standing on its hind legs holding a spear and dancing to the sounds of rock-n-roll. She interprets this to mean I should stand up for myself and have more fun. (There are a great many things I need improve in my life, but standing up for myself? Not one of them. I’ve already got great standing-up skillz. And nun-chuck skillz, if my nun-chucks are defined as standing-up-for-myself profanity.)
However, there are a few mediums who are right on– including Pastor Carol. She tells me I just got a pet (yes, puppy Oxley) which makes me look to see if I am covered in fur. (I’m not.) She informs me I am on a spiritual journey to enlighten many. (I hope.) She channels my long-dead grandfather who encourages me to, “Persevere!”. Which, according to my mother, is something he said. I ask another woman –she of the Bulging Eye and plaid shirt–, “What about my writing career?” to which she replies, “I’m getting the number thirty regarding your writing.” Ummm, my book is entitled Thirty by Thirty so, yeah, my jaw drops open on that one.

First Christian Spiritualist Temple

I took a few lessons away from this experience:
A.) The term “Christian” is more pluralistic than I thought. That is, you really need to ask a person what they mean when they ask, “Are you a Christian?”
B.) Avoid psychics that do not have a table on the perimeter (aka: rat lady).
C.) It may be best to avoid psychics and energy readers altogether. More about this in my next post.
If you too would like to experience the strangeness of the First Christian Spiritualist Temple, you can do so at their Saturday spiritual forum on the first Saturday of every month. For the bargain price of $15 (with coupon), you can obtain hours of Christian-psychic fun with multiple readings, healing, and a light vegetarian lunch. http://www.christianspiritualisttemple.org/index.html
Truthfully though, I do not recommend it based on what happened to me after I got home; it was not good. More to come on that…
**FYI: I would cross the street to avoid a man of any race dressed like this.
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Da-da-daah….(Drum roll please)… The Inaugural Blog Post!

I view religion from a different perspective

I am the original Spiritual Scrooge.

      If the Ghost of Rebecca Future had appeared to me this time last year, all Dickens’ Christmas Carol-style, and told me what I’d be doing today (December 9, 2011), I would have borrowed Tiny Tim’s crutch, boinked the haunting over the head, and sent her packing back to her future. “No way am I ever going back to church,” I’d huff and puff, stewing in all my Post-Traumatic Church Syndrome rage. “I’ll never, ever have daily conversations about my spiritual path. Heart awakening? Journey of the soul? Bah, Humbug!”
     I’d pull together all my bad memories, all the pain inflicted on me by hard-line theology and hurtful people, and wrap them around me like a miser’s coat. “How dare she!” I’d say in total exasperation, “just imagine me going to thirty places of worship before I turn thirty…and writing about the experience? Yeah…. right.” I’d recall how the church ate my faith for breakfast at 20*, and when faith broke up with me in a Starbucks*. I’d hoard all these thoughts in my little treasure trove of spiritual self-pity, and continue sitting in the cold, dark house I’d built to keep God out… to keep me in… to keep things safe.
     And just like Scrooge, I’d soon be proven wrong.
     Because today I awoke at 4:45am to attend morning prayers in a little Eastern Orthodox chapel with an archbishop monk who looks alarmingly like Santa Claus (aka Father Christmas). I did this willingly, of my own volition….it was even my idea. And that’s not all, folks. In the past 208 days since my 29th birthday (5/15/11), I’ve attended eighteen places of worship…and liked it. (Well,most of it.)
     I’ve revisited the church of my childhood without breaking into hives and ventured into uncharted Atheistic territory. I’ve suffered through an awkward pickup attempt at a post-meditative Buddhist tea service (poor guy didn’t notice my left-hand ring), hugged it out with the African-American Baptists, and been nearly evicted from my synagogue seat for breaking the Sabbath rules. I’ve found out why Hogs Are Evil from the Seventh-Day Adventists and endured an ear-splitting “THOU SHALT TITHE SO THE LORD WILL BLESS YOU” sermon courtesy of the Pentecostals. I’ve attended church in a basement, a movie theater, a cathedral and even a parking lot.
     But the most important thing I’ve done is what I’m still in the process of doing… cracking open my door to the Light and warmth that is the God-iverse. (God+Universe=God-iverse). I’m trading in my wardrobe of bad memories for the wealth of a God who is is bigger than I’d ever imagined.
     I’m discovering  there is room at His** table for all His children…and I’m just now pulling up my seat. Care to join me?
     If so, please follow my ThirtyByThirty.com blog for tales of my thirty visits to places of worship and my thoughts on the God-iverse.  I realize I’m starting this blog smack-dab in the middle of Thirty by Thirty (157 days to go), so forgive me if I have to backtrack at times to fill in the story. What I do not cover in the blog will be addressed in the book…to be published after I get an agent and a publisher! Feel free to ask questions, post comments, and challenge my assumptions and experience. The only thing I know for sure is that I know nothing for sure.
     My spiritual journey doesn’t fit neatly into a box with a pre-printed label, and it may not be wrapped as prettily as yours. Mine is the ugly present under the tree—you know, the one with newspaper that’s barely duct-taped together?
But even so, I believe every journey (even mine) comes with a little tag that reads just as Scrooge’s story ends and this blog begins: God Bless Us, Every One!
*Stories for another post.
**The use of the masculine form of God is in my spiritual DNA. If it doesn’t fit for you, please substitute the feminine. The capitalization denotes my reverence for the God-iverse.
And now…on to Thirty by Thirty,  30×30,  30 by 30, Thirtyx30, or 30byThirty…no matter how you spell it; it’s 365 days, 30 places of worship, and once chance to find faith.
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Faith, Faith blog, theology,Reba Riley,thirty by thirty, 30 by 30, thirty x thirty, 30×30, faith, faith blog, God, blog faith, on faith blog, faith blogs, faith & theology, faith theology, unreasonable faith,on faith washington post,washington post on faith,church, christian,Jesus,hope, Bible,what is faith,faith in God, faith book,world religion,religions world,the major religions, lost faith, lose faith,losing faith in faith,confidence in God, losing my faith,faith God, find faith,find your faith