Sundays, Daddy and the Holy Ghost

My God is a god of love, understanding, inclusion, and compassion. My God has always been there for me, he has never forsaken me. I know him well. I want to make sure you get that before you read the next part-spirituality can be complicated. I’m not much for socialized religion. I am certain my past experiences have formed that opinion.

I was raised Southern Baptist in what I would consider a strict church. My mom once received a handwritten letter from a church elder because she allowed me to wear culottes (70’s lingo for a long skort) to summer bible school- I was 7. Many in the church I grew up in didn’t believe in dancing or mixed swimming. I’m just going to leave those words here and let you think about that for a minute.

There was one big rule at my home growing up. You live at home, you go to church on Sundays with the family. No excuses, no exceptions. And you might have to go on Sunday nights and Wednesday nights too, just depending on how religious the family really wanted to be that week.

I felt a lot of judgement when I went through my lengthy divorce from hell. Some of that could have been my own judgement of myself. And some of it was also from some very small minded people that fill the pews on Sundays. The bottom line is I think religion/spirituality is a very personal thing.

During my cancer journey I had an experience I would like to share. It was the day of my bilateral mastectomy. I had posted an update to my social media about my surgery and asked for prayers. When I arrived at the hospital, Dr. Jay McCluskey- a pastor and my friend, was there waiting for me, to pray with me. All I could do was cry.  

After I was checked in and taken to the pre surgical room, Pastor Gary Sears, a family friend, also came by to pray with me. My surgery was delayed seven hours due to complications with the person before me. As I sat with my husband, I began to review my post from social media that morning and continued to read about all the people praying for me.  As I sat in that curtained cubicle waiting to be taken back to surgery, I felt God. I mean, I really felt him. It was a peace I had never experienced. And I also felt my dad right beside me. And I knew I was going to be okay.

After surgery, I was taken to a hospital room in the Women’s Center. Before this day, I thought that was for women having babies. It was dark, late at night when I got to my room. The next morning when I woke up, Jay opened the blinds and there it was- the American Flag, my dad. He fought for his country in Vietnam and he was a proud American. He was with me, and he still is.

There is not a day that goes by that I don’t think of my dad. I miss him every day. It doesn’t get any easier, I just get more accustomed to my grief. There are so many things that I am thankful for along this journey and my glimpses of dad are at the very top of the list.