Let's explore my history as it relates to religion.
I was raised by an Atheist father and Catholic mother. We lived in a poor community just a few miles southwest of Los Angeles.
I was guided by my mothers beliefs. She took my younger brother and I to a nearby Catholic church when we were young. She would attend mass, and my brother and I were sent to Sunday School.
We were really young, and I don't remember a whole lot about the experience. I do remember taking my "First Communion". We had to wait in a long line of kids, and when we got up to the priest, he asked me what sins I had to confess. I told him that I was sorry that I was mean to my little brother sometimes. The Priest made me promise to be nicer, and told me that God would forgive me.
That was it. I was going to get to go to Heaven again!
I remember that the Church was huge. It was cold, and echoed every time someone would drop down one of those little knee pads that people used to kneel on. It felt very sad in there. There was the big statue of Jesus on the cross. His eyes looking up, off to the side, and blood coming from the stakes that were driven into his limbs and the thorns stuck into his head.
Off to the side, there was another statue of Jesus' mom (I think). There were always lots of flowers and gifts and candles burning in front of her. I wondered why we had to dip our fingers in Holy water before entering the Church. I never quite understood the Priest. Most of the time we went to the Spanish Language Mass, and with the echos in the room, and all of the big religious Bible words, I was lost.
One night, my mom (Maria) tucked me into bed. She told me that if I wanted to go to Heaven, all I had to do was believe and let Jesus into my heart, and let him live within me. He would protect me, and guide me. If I did this simple act of faith, I would enjoy everlasting life in Heaven.
I did just that.
I didn't understand much about the Christian Faith. All I knew was that Jesus could talk to God for me, and he would let me into heaven if I believed. Now, if I didn't believe it, well, I would go to Hell.
So I guess the choice was simple. Believe in God or else.
As I grew older, we went to Church less and less. My mother worked long hours as a waitress and rarely had a weekend off, so Sunday Mass was almost always out of the question.
I went through school calling myself a Catholic, not really ever understanding what that met entirely.
In high school, I was exposed to a few different belief systems, but for the most part, Christianity was the norm. I dated a girl who was a Methodist. Her family went to church every week, and volunteered their time during church functions. I got involved with their youth group, and we had a lot of fun. One summer we went up to the tip of Northern California and helped make repairs on the home of a Native American family as a part of Habitat For Humanity. We were up there for just over a week, and we stayed on a church campus. We prayed, and fellowshiped, and sang Christian songs together. All in all it was a very uplifting and positive time for me. I didn't really learn a lot about theology or the basic doctrine of the Christian faith, but I did learn how nice it was to have fun, and be with other kids in a positive and productive environment. I had a great time, and it was a part of church! Wow, why wasn't Catholic stuff fun like this?
Even so, I held on to my Catholic identity all through high school. During my sophomore and junior years, I spent a lot of time with friends who were part of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, (aka Mormons or LDS). The school I went to, (El Segundo High) had a large population of Mormons. With a student body just under 800 at the time, I would say that anywhere from 150 to 250 of the students were Mormon. Now, that's just a complete guess on my part. It could be more, it could be less, but the point I'm trying to make is that there were a lot of Mormon kids.
Many of my closest friends in high school were Mormons. I participated in a youth play and musical every year called "Roadshow". I went to all of their church dances, and spent a lot of time with them. Many of these dear friends I still talk to today. Thanks to Facebook and the internet, I can stay in contact with many of my friends from this time.
One thing that I remember is that they never pressured me to join their church. No one ever tried to convert me, or get me to go to Sunday services. There was never any "sales pitch" or witnessing or anything. They knew I was a Catholic, and they were good with that. We were just normal kids and we had lots of fun together.
All through childhood and after high school I had a very loose and non-descript religious foundation. Looking back on it, I was more of a Monotheist than a Catholic. I believed that there was one God who created everything in the universe. This God was able to watch over me, and hear me, and was in control of things all over the Earth all the time.
But that was about it. I didn't really even learn about the Holy Trinity until later. I don't even remember if I knew that God and Jesus were the same person (being).
But I did believe in God, and Jesus. And I asked him into my heart, so I was good. Right? If I were to get crushed by a bus, I would get to go to Heaven. Even if I had to have a little layover in pergatory (which I really didn't understand either).
My Senior year and for a little while after high school I dated a wonderful girl who will always hold a special plcae in my heart. She ws Catholic too, but was a lot like me in that for her, the world didn't revolve around the church. We didn't really get into discussions about faith and doctrine. It was just something that was there, but not an important part of our days.
I ended up going into the Mairne Corps Reserve in early 1993. During boot camp, they allowed us to go to church services on Sunday morings for an hour. My dawg tags said Roman Catholic on them , so of to Sunday Mass I went. Now, I really didn't get much out of these Sundays either. Basically we would sit there as the Priest went through mass. We took communion and prayed for our families back home, and prayed that God would help us throught he rest of boot camp.
And that was it. A lot of crying and homesickness, then back to the barracks where we paid the price for our little vaction from the drill instructors with sweat.
One Sunday, we had Conformation. I "sponsoered" one of my buddies. Don't ask me what that meant because to this day I still don't know, but I do know now that I wasn't "supposed" to sponsor him. I guess, since I hadn't been to confession in like 10 years, I wasn't prepared to sponsor someone. Hell, I wasn't even supposed to take Holy Communion. I found out later that it is a serious sin to take communion without first getting right with God through confession.
Oops. Who knew?
So anyway, after boot camp and several other schools, I went back home to my old life. The Marine Corps had me for about 4 days a month and 3 weeks in the summer. Things were good.
Then one morning in Feburary of 1994, I lost my mom. She died suddenly of a brain anyerisum.
It's an understatement to say that I was devastated. It was a very dark time for me.
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