When we got back to the continental US, it wasn't long before my mother started looking for a place for us to go to church. Frankly, I think my mother did not want my father at loose ends and she needed a social outlet. First, we visited a Church of God one Sunday morning. It seemed okay, but my parents went back without us kids that night and everyone joined hands to pray for a "happening." That didn't go over well. Then we tried out a local Baptist church for a few Sundays. That was better, until my parents were told they had to sign some kind of contract and get rebaptized to become members. No thank you. My mother then resorted to the phone book. She called around asking about church beliefs and practices until she got to the church of Christ. They sounded exactly like what my father and mother were both looking for. Plus, they didn't celebrate "pagan" holidays like Christmas and Easter.
To their credit, we were treated well in that church. They told my parents that their baptisms were a matter of their own consciences, if they understood what they were doing. My mother opted to be rebaptized. My father did not. My family settled in. I was soon asked to join the youth group. Since I had not grown up in that church, I was unaware of the many unwritten rules. So were my parents. We were never berated or talked down to, but we had ample opportunities to notice we were different. So we made adjustments. I learned about the hypocrisy of christian modesty when the youth group went to the beach for a devotional. Having run around in shorts most of my childhood, I discovered that it was taboo when in front of church members, especially those of the opposite sex. No-one told me this directly, but a teen girl notices when she is the only one in shorts at The Beach in Florida. Never mind that I had seen the other girls in shorts at their homes.
That church was the first place I had ever heard of and witnessed the disfellowshipping of a member. It was over the issue of a divorce. A church friend also introduced me to the concept of the anti-Christ. President Jimmy Carter was the anti-Christ of that era, poor man.
Little occurrences, various subtle teachings, certain reactions to things I said or did, all affected me, gently molding me into a model member of the church of Christ. It was the velvet glove treatment. It works. I became a daily bible reader, so I could raise my hand proudly in services when asked. I memorized scripture in a spirit of competition with my less enthusiastic Sunday school mates. I agonized over when I should take the step to go forward and be baptized. Then it was all taken out of my hands. My mother decided I had reached the "age of accountability",which was unofficially thirteen. She made an appointment with the minister for me to have "a talk." The minister deemed that I knew everything I needed to know, my mother deemed I should be baptized right then and there. I barely remember how I ended up in the water. It seemed to have nothing to do with my own free will. Of course, I said I believed Jesus was the son of god, when I was asked, because I did. I felt like I had no way to gracefully back out or postpone the event. In later years, I became rabid about people leaving my children alone to let them decide for themselves whether or not to be baptized.
Since, my baptism had not been voluntary, in my mind, I was scared witless. I became afraid to "sin" lest I destroy the cleanness of my soul that I had been told was a result of the baptism. I tried to live an exemplary life at thirteen. That lasted about two weeks. My father noticed that I gave up trying to be perfect. He wanted to know what had happened, why was I back to acting like a normal sassy kid (not in so many words.) I had no way to explain to him what had happened to me because I didn't understand it myself, at that time. I just knew I was probably going to hell. I lost interest in excelling at anything because I had realized I could never be good enough. I went through bouts of depression that I hid from everyone. I listened to a lot of music and read a lot of books, some Christianity oriented, to escape my feelings of inadequacy. I continued to fervently study the bible. I cried a lot.
We moved again.
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