Childhood memories

I grew up in a small town in central Illinois.  Lincoln, IL.  Population 16,000…today, 2012, still 16,000 people.  We lived with my grandmother (on my mother’s side) in a 2 bedroom house, no bathroom, coal stove in the living room for heat, coal cooking stove in the small kitchen…wait, that will be another post.  What today’s memory is about is going to church.  My grandmother (on my Dad’s side) also lived in Lincoln along with my Aunt Sara and Uncle Russ and various cousins.  My mother’s side was Baptist.  The no drinking, dancing kind.  My grandmother – Dad’s side – was an ordained Nazarene minister – the kind who came to the alter, got down on their knees  and pound the day lights out of it.  I was never sure what the purpose was.  One Sunday I would go to the Baptist Church.   The next would be to the Nazarene Church.   Both churches scared the hell out of me.  They preached fire, hell and brimstone.  Still don’t know what brimstone is.  I just knew I was in trouble and was going to hell.  I sang in the Nazarene church choir with my cousins until we got kicked out for having the giggles.  We use to poke each other about the different people who went to the alter to pound the crap out of it.  Some were very vocal and really laid into that alter.  I was baptized in the Baptist church.  Don’t remember how old I was…I just was afraid I would drown.  I was sure the preacher knew I had been at the “rec” the night before dancing up a storm and this was his chance to get even for my sins.  I had a lot of guilt about going to church.  Didn’t like it.  Scared of it.  Didn’t understand the God, Jesus, Holy Spirit thing.  No one could explain (nor did anyone try to) how we went from Adam and Eve to the kajillon people of all different races.  I did like the songs.  Still do.  More Church memories tomorrow.