I don’t ever remember a time when I believed in God. I was a child, and I cried to my dad that I just didn’t get it. How could dinosaurs and the Garden of Eden have both existed? He gave me an answer that made me feel better at the time, but as a minister now (he wasn’t then), I wonder if he would still mean it?

Since my dad was ordained while I was a sophomore in high school, I spent a lot of my time in church, and hating it. I went to confirmation because I had to, and I never, ever fit in.

(Off Track: I remember this one project we had to do on a confirmand retreat – me and one of my friends both made question marks, but mine was perceived as “copying”. I was furious – I was the one who didn’t believe in God, and he was the one who was confused as to his spiritual path, but he knew he had one! How was that copying? Urgh.)

I also used to quite regularly fall asleep during sermons, even my dad’s. I would doodle, and do some really interesting Old West art with running horses in my church bulletin. I smiled, and said hi to all of the members of the church whenever I saw them around (because everyone knows the PK), and sang in the church choir because I have more singing ability than my dad (they made him turn off his mike – he gets quite out of tune, but he’s very enthusiastic about it).

But the very second I went off to college, I stopped attending. Finally, I didn’t have to go and be forced to listen and repeat this crap that I never believed in in the first place. I asked how I could cancel my membership with my dad’s church, but that probably wasn’t such a good idea. Apparently, that’s just not done. You can’t un-member once you’ve been confirmed. *sigh*

When we moved to Pennsylvania from Iowa to bring my son closer to my parents and to get back on our feet financially, I started going back to church once in a while. When my son was old enough for Sunday School, we were asked to bring him even more regularly, and so my husband and I would take turns. But it still wasn’t a regular thing, and the moment Summer hit, we would stop going.

Now imagine my surprise – we’ve moved to a new neighborhood. There’s a church of my parent’s faith just two blocks from our house, and of course I got hammered to take the kid’s to Sunday School. At this church, it occurs before the regular service, so I can drop the kids off and pick them up and not have to spend a moment listening to another sermon.

And yet, I find myself attending. Part of me says I go so that my kids can play for another hour in the child care room, and give my husband two whole hours of childlessness to enjoy on Sunday morning however he likes. But part of me actually likes it. Especially now, when we’re pulling out all the dusty old Christmas hymns.

I know all the songs. I remember all the responses and prayers that are printed in the hymnals. I still zone out during the sermons.

But coming in about 5 minutes before the service starts, hoping not to be too noticed, is an Agnostic Atheist sitting all by herself, putting $1 into the offering plate to help pay the church bills, and refusing to read responses or participate in communion because she simply doesn’t believe.

Very weird.