So, the subtitle of my blog is How I became a closet Calvinist in a Baptist Church. I think I'll post a little bit about the beginnings. Had I foreseen the consequences of these fateful decisions...I probably would have made them a whole lot sooner.
I suppose it started with the birth of our last child. In fact, I tell my friends and older children that perhaps that is why God did not open our eyes sooner, He was waiting until we had our last child so he could be baptized and I'd have one less thread of guilt. ;) At any rate, after our last child was born we made a concerted effort to get to all services at church. There was no problem at first. It was as I had left it before my pregnancy, and so was I. The attitude, the sarcasm, the feelings of superiority, the judgementalism.
Then it hit. What? Hell, that's what. There's no other way to describe what happened in my family but Hell. The first thing I did was call the pastor of our church. I believe I've mentioned that before. Fat lot of good that did. Nary a second of follow up. Not a call, not an email, nothing. Oh, there was a compassionate look the following Sunday, but beyond that nada. At first I returned to the teaching received at the first Reformed church we attended: The pastor is busy. Don't bother him with your personal problems. It would take almost 2 more years, and whole lot more Hell, before it finally dawned on me that in a church of around 50 professing adult members (less than that as regular attenders), the pastor ought to have at least time for a phone call to suffering members of his congregation.
TBC...coz I have housework to do and my teenager is shirking his chores...again. :D
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