Catholic Church.....and me

I was raised in the Catholic Church. Let me clarify what being raised in the Catholic Church in my family meant. We attended mass on Easter and Christmas. We were sent to CCD classes until we made first holy communion, confession and confirmation. Still to this day I have no clue what the letters CCD stand for. I will let you know what I did at CCD class. I caused hell.
Remember, I was a very wild and an undisciplined child. Mom died, dad drank, and Heather ran her own show. I would show up for CCD never listen and bother the nice mother who volunteered to teach us about the bible and God. Back when I was attending CCD we met at houses not at the church. Twice I started food fights with the snacks that were prepared for us and was sent home. The other times I just paid no attention and learned nothing.
First communion meant I got to pick out a lovely white gown and tiara. I pretended I was getting married and Prince Charming was going to rescue me from my home and father. Damn him, the prince never showed up. Confession was a bit more difficult. I remember when they asked me if I would like to face the priest with my sins or hide behind a screen. I thought they were nuts, who would choose to face the priest?
I was nervous the entire week before I was sent off to talk to a man that I did not know and confess my sins while kneeling in the dark staring at a screen. How haunting is that for a child. Especially a child that thought she was doomed for pain and suffering the rest of her life. And truly believed she was cursed. Oh, I thought do I admit that I want to stab my father, strangle my step-mother and then die to join my mother in heaven. If I said that would the priest behind the screen magically appear in front of me and tie me up while throwing holy water all over my body while simultaneously chanting hosana to the highest.
I faked sick the morning I had to confess my deepest secrets. It didn't work. That day my father decided to be sober and dragged my butt to the priest. Before I exited the car I asked my dad why didn't he go in and confess all of his sins. Why doesn't he go in and tell the priest what he has done to me mentally and physically. Well, I was sent off the priest with a swift slap on the back of my head. I am sure he wanted to slap my face, but that would have left a red mark.
I sat there and told the priest I hit my little brother, called my sister names, and talked back to my dad. Surprise, I was forgiven and sent off on my way. I felt betrayed by God and the church. What good came out of confession? Nothing for me, except realizing once again I had to pretend to be someone I wasn't, a good girl that had normal problems, instead of a little girl that was dying every day inside and losing myself and who I was with each passing moment.
Next came confirmation. I don't know what confirmation is about. What I was excited about was this meant I was done with CCD and I was able to choose another name to add to Heather Catherine Hogan. Most girls were choosing Marie or Mary. Not me, I chose Bonnie, the name of my dead mother. I was teased and ridiculed, but I didn't care. According to the church I was Heather Catherine Bonnnie Hogan, and it was the first and only day in my life up to that point that I was proud of who I was.
I never understood why I couldn't eat breakfast before I went and accepted communion. Every time we went to church I felt like I was going to pass out from hunger. I used to whisper to my brother, "For crying out loud, when is it time for the wafer? I am famished!" I would get the dirty look from my dad. The minute he turned his back I gave him the finger in God's house!
When I was twenty two and started my adventure to find out who I was and how I was going to live an adult life filled with anger, resentment, inner turmoil and demons on my back that had their claws dug so deep into my skin I couldnt' shake them, I left the Catholic church and only returned once until two days ago.
MacKenzie is my only child baptized in the Catholic Church. The only reason that happened was because when she was one years old my nephew was getting baptized and my family was freaking out that my daughter would end up in limbo if she died and was not baptized. I remember thinking, "What the hell kind of religion really believes that my daughter will end up in pergatory because her mother decided against a Catholic upbringing." I baptized her reluctantly, and promised myself any children after Kenz would not baptized unless that is what I wanted. My sons have not been baptized.
I have a very strong and deep relationship with God. I developed my relationship with God from twenty two to present without anyone involved in the relationship except God and I. We have a bond and a strong connection. I have listened to God over the last seventeen and healed because of Him. I have cried, dropped to my knees, begged for forgiveness and have been given peace, shown the light, and gotten rid of the demons on my back. I would not have been able to do that without God.
Two days ago I was having an extremely difficult day. My father has been at my home for a week. I have forgiven my father, but it is not easy for me to be around him. My father and I had a bit of an argument, I turned into a child again, but instead of lashing out this time I walked away. I got in my car, cried hard and started to drive. I ended up in the parking lot of St. Bonaventure Catholic Church. I got out of my car, walked into the church, sat in a pew and talked to God for thirty minutes. I read the hymn book, took deep breaths to take in the smell the church, kneeled down, joined my hands and stared at Jesus on the cross. It felt good to be in the Catholic Church. It felt good to be in a place where people come together to worship God. That is what I have been missing my whole life, and didn't realize. Church, any domination from Muslim to Protestant to Catholicism is not about anything else other than coming together to worship the God you believe in. It feels good to finally realize that.
This does not mean my children will be raised Catholic. I talk about God all the time with my children. My children and I pray together and talk about life and what it means constantly. What my thirty minutes in the Catholic pew means I am now ready to worship in a setting with other people that have the same feelings as I. Maybe it will be a Catholic church or a non-denominational church. My point is it doesn't matter, God loves us all!