It’s Wednesday afternoon. That means it’s time to load up our three children and the little boy I babysit into their carseats and head off to church for an hour.
Every Wednesday afternoon from 2 to 3, you will find me and four children in the prayer room at our church. Why? Because we are taking what is called a “prayer watch.” We spend one hour playing worship music and spending time in the presence of God.
Sometimes we dance or spin in circles with the ribbon flags. Sometimes, the children “play” the keyboard and sing along with the songs. Sometimes, the girls draw pictures while I supervise the two one year old boys’ explorations of all the sound equipment. Every once in a while, I get to do about 2 minutes of sitting in quiet conversation with God. Most of the time, tho, I am worshipping Him as I chase down one toddler and settle a dispute over the crayons with another one.
Why do I do this? Why do I prioritize taking four children ages 4, 2, 1, and 1 to church to worship for one hour? Because it is important to me to cultivate a heart of worship in each of our children. I want them to have conversations with God as easily as they have them with me. I want to build their faith that their prayers make a difference. I want to set an example of prioritizing time in God’s presence, no matter what else is going on in our lives. I want them to see that no matter how seemingly inconvenient it might be to do this every Wednesday afternoon, it is still important enough to me that we do it. I want prayer and worship, singing and dancing, and listening to hear what God is saying to be a normal part of our children’s lives.
The other week, we found our 4 year old’s little purse that she has been missing for months! Her immediate response was to say, “Thank you. God! I love you!” and then she drew a picture for Him to show her gratitude.
Once the song “Make Room” by Casting Crowns was playing. One of the lines in the song says, “Is there room in your heart for God to write His story?” Our daughter turned to me and said, “Mom, I can see God writing His story.” She went on to list ways she sees God writing His story in her life.
I imagine that God smiles when He sees the children’s pure worship. It doesn’t bother His ears when the notes they play aren’t perfectly in tune with the song. He delights in the colors that they choose for their pictures. I can almost hear Him chuckle when He sees their portraits of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. He isn’t bothered that their worship sometimes looks like running in circles and giggling as they chase each other around the room. Their freedom in His presence is a delight. Their confident faith and sweet sensitivity to His voice is amazing.
Our children have so much delight in taking part in prayer watch that they ask if it’s time to go yet whenever they know it’s Wednesday.
It’s only one hour a week. Sometimes, it can seem like maybe I did nothing except try to calm the waves that are toddlerhood, and I wonder if God really cares about this one mother and the four tiny humans she brings. I sometimes feel guilty that my prayer watch is not as deeply reverent as some of the others that also hold prayer watches. I don’t get grand revelations or big breakthroughs, but still I go. And I do enjoy it.
No matter what chaos we bring into the room. No matter how frustrated I was trying to get everyone fed, changed, dressed, out the door, and loaded up to leave on time. No matter what. I walk into that room, crank the worship up, and I feel peace. I know that in His presence, there is rest. And it restores and energizes me. And by the time we leave, everyone is in a good mood and relaxed. That’s what the presence of God brings.
I recently asked for blog ideas on my Instagram page, and someone suggested telling the story of how I came to leave the Mennonite church. And it’s something that I’ve been pondering since the question was asked.
I think I really started questioning my childhood church when I was in my early teens, maybe preteen. I’m not quite sure how old I was when there were a lot of big discussions going on about having internet access in the home vs. no internet access in the home. I remember going to the meetings with my parents and observing and listening to all the things being said.
By this time, I was already baptized and considered a member of the church, although I had no real part in any decisions until I reached the age of 18. I was baptized by sprinkling at age 10 and considered my baptismal vows as sacred as marriage vows. That’s how they came across to me, not that anyone actually told me that’s how it was; it was just how serious my own brain took them.
Now, back to that members’ meeting. I distinctly remember a lady standing up in the back of the church and making a very passionate speech about internet access. I no longer remember her words or the stance she took, but I remember the passion, and I remember that the whole conversation was extremely polarizing. Shortly after that, some families left the church and started meeting in their own homes.
Internet access vs. no internet access. Divorced and remarried or divorced and single. Wearing wedding rings out in public or not. These are some of the polarizing conversations I remember happening. I would often end up feeling confused, especially since I could often see both sides of an issue. I also remember being so confused as to why someone who had made some mistakes but had returned to God and shown themselves faithful was not allowed to hold a position in church that they would have been perfect for. I wondered if people didn’t actually believe in forgiveness and redemption. I wondered if people were only focused on minor issues rather than what really mattered.
I was careful to always follow the standards that I had agreed to when I was baptized. I read the standard book and basically memorized it. But even I found it ridiculous when an older man commented to my mom how he appreciated that my skirts did not reach the floor like some of the other girls’ skirts did. Mine met the specified standard of between the knee and ankle. As a teenager, I thought it was stupid because he was mad about a dress being longer.
Then, in high school, one year we had what we called “traditions class.” We had to take Mennonite traditions, evaluate them according to the Bible, and then decide if the tradition was essential to salvation or if it was just a good idea. Through that class, it was solidified in my head that so many of our traditions were not really all that essential. (Thanks to my dad, encouraging questions I already knew thus, but this exercise solidified it in my mind.)
Around the time I was a senior in high school in 2009
Throughout this time, there were also various youth gatherings where we were supposed to be able to ask questions. I was rarely able to go to them due to my work schedule. (I mostly worked evenings and nights.) But from the reports I heard from my friends, we all felt like our questions weren’t actually being heard and answered. I even remarked to my mom at the time that if the adults weren’t careful how it was handled, they would end up losing all the youth.
I continued coasting along, begging God to show me if there was more. Having more than one person comment on how happy I was and how I needed to be more serious. All the while, people did not know how serious I took things. I also saw some of my classmates struggle with things in a real raw way, and I saw that they did not find help in the church.
It was a couple of years later when I moved to the east coast that I formally requested to withdraw my membership from my childhood church. I wrote an email to the bishop and told him that I no longer wished to be a member there. He wrote back and told me that I should think about it for a while and be sure that’s what I actually wanted to do. He also suggested that I just wait to withdraw my membership until I found another church to transfer my membership too. At that point, I had already been thinking about it for a while, so I considered myself released then. I looked around for a church and visited quite a few different ones, but didn’t find any that I wanted to become a member of.
Later, I went to Oregon and had a meeting with the bishop and minister. I asked my parents to be in that meeting as well for moral support. In the meeting, we had a short discussion about me leaving the church. I reassured them that I had thought it through and that I was still sure that I wanted to withdraw my membership even without a church plan in place. It was then that I was told that if I withdrew my membership, I was in danger of going to hell. I was startled to hear it in words! I had always felt like that’s what they believed, but I had never heard anyone actually say it out loud until that moment. When I walked out of the meeting with my parents, I turned to them and said, “You guys heard that too, right? I wasn’t just imagining things?” They assured me that they had heard it too.
From that meeting on, I was no longer officially part of a Mennonite church. However, I often still referred to myself as such. When people would ask me, “What are you?”, I would reply that I had been raised Mennonite. I still dressed in shirts and skirts and wore a headcovering. (And by headcovering, I mean a scarf or a bandana mostly.) I never again regularly attended a Mennonite Church.
So what actually led to my leaving? I guess it was a series of small steps, starting with dissatisfaction in my youth and the inability of the adults to satisfactorily engage with and answer the questions that I and other youth had. I was looking for something, and my childhood church did not have it.
Maybe I was never meant to stay a Mennonite. I had dreams that were too “out there” for a “proper” Mennonite girl. I wasn’t ladylike enough. I asked too many questions and wanted real answers, not a brush off or a rote traditional answer. I got angry when people were suspicious of my cousin for no good reason, and when they didn’t reach out to support young people until they were on the verge of leaving or had already left. I often felt like no one cared until there was a problem, and then everyone cared, but only in order to get the latest inside gossip. By the time people started showing they cared, I was already on the way out. I did my best to be a good one, but it wasn’t enough.
I will say that I often still “feel” Mennonite. I still cover my head and dress modestly. When people ask what I am, I don’t know always what to tell them. Do I say, “I grew up Mennonite?” Do I say, “I married someone who grew up Amish?” Do I simply say, “I’m a Christian?” Do I just tell them what church I attend now?
I still love gorgeous full four part harmony singing. The singing is probably the #1 thing that I miss. I still think that no one can do a potluck like they can. I still have fond memories of having an all-Spanish service since so many of the attendees could speak Spanish. I always loved hearing the murmur of the Spanish translator in the back of the church. It wasn’t all bad. It just wasn’t enough.
I’ve also struggled with feeling guilt since leaving that church. I know my mom has had to ward off more than her fair share of “concerned” onlookers. I’m sure my parents have been judged for “not raising their children right”. I have personally faced confusion in others when I’ve visited my childhood church, as if people can’t quite believe that I can be so happy when I’m no longer Mennonite. My parents might have even wondered for themselves if they did something wrong in raising me since I wasn’t content staying. I sometimes wonder if I was responsible for the majority of my siblings also leaving that church. But I always come back to what my mom repeats on a frequent basis, “As long as you’re following God and doing what He wants, that’s all that matters.”
My story might not be one with many clearly defined reasons. It might feel messy and non-linear, but it is the path I’ve walked. As always, my goal is to follow the next step that God has for me and to always speak with honor and honesty.
If you have any questions, please comment. Let’s have a discussion!
P.S. I also want to say that I have always had my parents’ support throughout my journey. They’ve always encouraged me to think for myself and follow what God’s plan is for me, even when it’s different than might be expected. And I will always appreciate that and love them for that. I’m sure it wasn’t always easy, but they have done it so well.
Adventurer with God 