Once Upon a Time in My Oceania

  I recently enjoyed a fantastic vacation down South. While making that drive, as a religious abuse survivor, I was greatly aware of signs and messages with religious sentiments being shared and often in fearful ways. This is nothing new as I’ve grown up in the Bible Belt and as a former fundamentalist, the tactic is one I know all too well. But it seemed that the further south I went, the more prominent these messages became. I continued to see billboards, stating they were truth. “Repent,” the Sinner’s Prayer, and the fact that I needed Jesus were constantly thrown in my face while making that drive down Interstate 95. It didn’t always bother me. Sometimes, I would laugh. Other times, I’d feel my stomach twist. I even reminded myself that they have a right to speak freely. Then there were the moments that I let out a relieved and yet frustrated breath. I hated that kind of “in your face” witnessing. I hated Chick Tracts, knocking on doors each Saturday, passing out Gospel tracts,...

My conversion process isn't something I look back on with sentimental nostalgia, in fact, I really don't like that memory. At seven years old, I found myself terrified, going face to face with an angry God and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if I didn't accept Him as my personal Savior, I'd burn eternally in a literal hell. This being the case, I confessed all the sins of just a child, most importantly the sin of being born a sinner, and became a Christian. I repented fully, accepted the gift of salvation and shortly later was baptized. I did all of this, believing wholeheartedly and entirely convinced in the teachings I learned from babyhood. I knew I was a wretched sinner, deserved hell, but the remedy to my condition was Jesus' sacrifice on the cross. At just seven years old, the problem was solved. The first time I was called to share the good news of my conversion was that very night it was made known. In front of the entire congregation, I was cal...