I was raised Fundamentalist Christian. I know you all know stories, but here's mine:

[Silver Gaia]

101. I'm so very sorry that happened to you, Coventina.

Her interpretation of the church teachings may have been incorrect. But I can imagine churches where this would be the actual cruel belief.

My own story is an odd one. My parents were, for all practical purposes, agnostics. They did consider themselves to be Christians, but did not belong to any church. We did not say bedtime prayers or grace at supper. We were taught right from wrong, the difference between good and evil, but we did not worship anything.

However, my paternal grandparents belonged to a Pentecostal church that was radical, even for a Pentecostal church. They spoke in tongues, were sometimes "possessed by the holy spirit" in church services, and sang and shook and danced their way up and down the aisles. Women were not permitted to wear jewelry, makeup, or short sleeve dresses. Dresses and skirts must be below the knees and they could not wear pants or shorts. Women were also not allowed to cut their hair, so they wore it piled up in elaborate hairdos. No church members were allowed to watch movies or television, and the only music acceptable to listen to was gospel.

The preacher's word was considered to be the actual word of God, and they actually believed that the ONLY people who would be admitted to heaven were the members of their one, tiny church. Seriously. That was their belief. So, unless you were baptized in their church by their preacher, you were doomed to hell! Needless to say, this created a conundrum for my grandmother, who loved her grandchildren deeply.

She wanted her grandkids baptized in her church, and she would not give up trying to convince my parents to let her take us to church with them on Sundays. My parents eventually relented, to "keep peace in the family" they said, so at around the age of 3, I began going to church on Sunday with my grandparents.

Obviously, this created a very weird situation for me. We loved watching TV in my home, but the church told me it was a sin. I once made the mistake, when my Sunday School teacher asked each of us to tell about something we'd done lately that was fun, of cheerfully telling everyone how much fun I'd had going to see Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs on Saturday with my Mommy and Daddy. Oh boy. I did not understand why they all gasped and moved as far away from me as they could get. The teacher told me I had to repent for that sin or I would go to hell! I cried. It was messy.

There was one Easter when they pestered my parents to go to church with them on Easter Sunday. My Dad refused. Mom eventually agreed to go, but she warned them that she was going on HER terms, not theirs, and would not alter her appearance for them. My Mom was beautiful. She dressed fashionably. Her hair was cut short and curled. She wore makeup, and was rarely seen without her trademark red lipstick. That Sunday was no different. I proudly sat next to my mother that Easter who wore a lovely short-sleeved spring dress, earrings and a necklace, and, oh yes, red lipstick. I thought she was so beautiful! I was around 7 years old, and I understood, when the preacher didn't preach about Jesus arising from the dead, but preached instead about painted harlots, that he was aiming hateful arrows straight at my Mom. She did not flinch. She held her head high. I was so proud of her. I'm glad I finally told her before she died how much what she did that day meant to me, and what an important lesson she taught me.

When I was about 8 years old, my grandparents started pushing for me to be baptized in the church. My parents were steadfastly against it. My Mom made me promise I would never let them do that. Well, my grandparents finally convinced them to let me go with them to Wednesday night church. They said I would have fun because there would be lots of kids there. They knew, I'm sure, but my parents did not, that the focus that night would be on baptizing children. It didn't take long for the preacher's wife and daughter to take me aside for "counseling" when they realized I wasn't going to go along with the plan to baptize me. They drilled me over and over about it, and finally told me that if I did not allow them to baptize me there and then, that night, that Jesus was going to come by morning and I would burn in hell forever. They said there was no saving my mom or dad or my brothers (who were too young) but *I* had a choice. I could be baptized and go to heaven with grandma and grandpa OR burn in hell with mom and dad. They convinced me that they KNEW Jesus would come by morning because he had told them this. I was terrified! But I chose my mom and dad. I cried. I cried all the way home. I barely slept and cried all night.

The next day, my Mom finally got me to tell her what had happened. She was livid! I don't know if I have ever seen her that angry any other time. That was the end of my brothers and I being forced to attend church with our grandparents. The family did survive, though. No one disowned anyone. I still carry those scars within, but I also know that the experience taught me important lessons that have served me well.

So, that's my story.