When I was 3, I began to contemplate my relationship with deity.
I remember one particular Sunday, during Primary. Sitting there in the front row, I sang the words to "I am a Child of God" with the rest of the children. I began to stare up at the ceiling, thinking that my Heavenly Father was probably just on the other side of that dark, wood paneling. It seemed to be the only thing separating me from Him and the place that I came from. I knew that my spirit was older than 3. I knew I was important to Him. I could feel it. But, I was only 3, so my teacher thought I was daydreaming. She stuck her head into my field of view and told me to look up at the front of the room.
When we lived in Belgium, my dad used to take each of us on walks on Sunday afternoons. We lived near a cemetery; he and I would often end up there. One Sunday afternoon, I asked him if this was the place where his dad was buried. My dad told me no, that he was buried in Ogden, Utah. I asked my dad where he would be buried. And where I would be buried. I was asking very matter-of-fact questions about death, which my father answered with tenderness in his voice.
Our church teaches that before we came to earth, we lived with our Father in Heaven and He taught our spirits and loved us. We came from a wonderful place, and someday we will all go back to a wonderful place to be with our Father again and feel his love.
As a 3 year old, this all made perfect sense to me. These things were taught in my home and reinforced at church. I could feel the eternity of my own soul in a very tangible way. I often think of those feelings that I had and I try to get back to them. It's so easy to lose the faith of childhood. I feel blessed that I was taught those truths from an early age and had the chance to grab on to them with such intensity.
2 comments:
Julie I love this idea. The last few posts have been such sweet memories and insightful. Please keep it up, I'll be reading :-)
Obviously I didn't know the gospel yet, but at a very young age I too developed an awe for God. Awe is probably the best word to use for the early impressions one receives as a Catholic! I always knew Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were real--I just didn't know or believe they loved me. But I remember being overwhelmed by a feeling of sacredness at Mass. I also remember licking the pew in front of me during Mass because it tasted salty. Our inner-city parish (which was a haven for ex-priests and nuns) doubled as a homeless shelter. I don't even want to THINK of what I was innoculating myself against back then. But it always springs to mind when I see my girls lick the shopping cart at Walmart. Retch, retch.
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