I was raised in what was called Independent Finnish Apostolic Lutheran Church. Now it’s just Independent Apostolic Lutheran (probably to be more inclusive ….) Yes, as a child it was my responsibility to go to church with my family. I still have free will, so I don’t have to choose to enjoy it.

I want to put this out there, before I continue. I am not anti- organized religion for everyone. I’m anti- organized religion for me. Through the course of my church attending years, I found it fraught with anxiety and much more ‘do as I say, not as I do’ attitudes.

For clarity, I’m just going to call the church IALC. Please follow along. IALC is a branch of Laestadianism. Lars Levi Laestadius created this fundamentalist Christian branch. It’s primarily practiced in the Nordic countries, The United States, and a few other areas. Wikipedia has a great resource: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laestadianism. While I can’t attest to all of the information being accurate – what I did read seemed pretty on point. Finland (where my ancestors came from) is a small Nordic country. For all intents and purposes – what I assume happened (and part of why I’m 100% Finnish) is that only the congregants bred with each other. They didn’t venture out of the confines of the church when choosing their partners. (I could be wrong…)

Here is what I experienced. First of all, I have three sets of God Parents. I’m not certain why I was given so many – my parents might have been over achievers? Maybe they knew I’d be a handful in the future – so they had better be prepared? Not certain. Either way, they seemed to think they had things covered. Second and Fourth weekend were church weekends. I believe second weekend was the main services. You’d sit in church and listen to the sermon on Saturday evening and Sunday morning. After services were done, you sat and enjoyed social time with a potluck that was provided by members of the congregation. This time was a good time for not only adults, but kids. You could be goofy and not upset the parents. And if you were old enough – you didn’t have to sit with your parents. You could sit with your friends without embarrassing your parents. Fourth weekend was song services. It was reserved for Saturday night only. There was no sermon, it was just a gathering of the congregation and singing a collection of hymns until the potluck was served.

In my childhood, I don’t remember too many limitations. I remember my mom getting REALLY mad at me when I told a non church going peer the name of the church we attended. (At that point, Finnish was still in the name – so it was a mouthful!) My mom almost slapped me across the face for saying the name of our church wrong. I had never been so afraid of my mom before that time. We didn’t play cards (aside from War – with actual playing cards … or Uno). There was no alcohol consumption, smoking cigarettes was deemed okay though. And certainly no dancing or premarital sex. People that were outside of the church we attended were ‘unbelievers’. And while the church I grew up in didn’t have its own school – we ‘believers’ did involve ourselves with classmates that were ‘unbelievers’ every day. Most of the time, my family wanted us to be socially active with the other church goers. They were deemed a good influence on us kids. My concept of how they knew that they were good influences is questionable. Just because you attend our faith means that you are automatically considered a good influence?

There seemed to be a hierarchy of who the best families were, who you wanted to ally with. Who might be questionable, despite being in the faith. Income bias, for certain. Popularity contest, certainly. And despite the fact that we’re all born with sin and we all read the same bible (if you do read the bible… ) there is an inherent double standard. Some ‘believers’ children in the IALC went to dances, while others in the IALC (like me) were for forbidden. I had to fight with my parents to allow me to go to see ” Short Circuit” with my ‘unbeliever’ peers from my fifth grade class in the movie theater. My brothers and sister all went to church. I was 11 years younger than my sister Dianne, 10 years younger than my brother Tim, and 7 years younger than my brother Brian. I was the baby of the family – so it was almost like I was an only child. By the time I was starting to show any kind of independence, my siblings were either out of the house or getting close. My sister Dianne was the first to leave the faith inherent in the IALC. It was devastating to my family, I’m sure. I do know that Dianne was troubled. I never quite knew the extent of it, as I was too young to understand. I didn’t understand how people looked at her, until she got married in the church. Dianne was eight months pregnant when she walked down the aisle. Quite pregnant, in a blue wedding dress, no one stood – as is customary when a bride walks down the aisle. I remember that being a defining moment.

I know my parents had a hard time with Dianne being pregnant. As any unwed mother probably knows – the idea of what’s to come is terrifying. Not every person goes through the status quo of marriage and then sex. Matter of fact, it’s even less common now than it was back then. After Dianne’s daughter was born, I think the concept of what they were afraid of was gone. Now they were grandparents, and they loved this little girl. Probably more than they ever thought they were capable of. And they’d try to fight for her down the line.

I grew up very closely with the Ruuska side of my family. My cousins and I were so tight. We spent so much time together, it was probably ridiculous. And the rest of the time that I didn’t spend with them, I was probably with my childhood best friend, Denise. I lived both sides. I saw restrictions with my life and I saw less restrictions (to some degree) with my friends lives. I wanted to experience what they did. I guess I always felt uncomfortable with feeling like I had to live up to certain expectations. If you didn’t meet the expectations of your nuclear family, your church family would likely judge you. And judge you, they did. Not all members of the church are guilty of the massive amount of judgment that passes through those walls. Some are more prone to it than others. I grudgingly went to church. I hated sitting in church with my parents. In the IALC, there is no preaching to certain age groups. Every age sits in one room, hearing the same sermon – whether you understand what’s happening or not. There are no musical instruments – unless it’s a wedding, maybe. And if there is one – it’s generally an organ or an acoustic guitar. The music is sung at one set of notes, regardless of what register you sing to. So, for me being musically inclined – it was boring. And sometimes you sung in the Finnish Language – which, I could NEVER master. And then, when you’re in a service during the singing portion – someone might start feeling the holy spirit in them and begin rejoicing. That part freaked me out. A person would begin screaming and throwing their arms up in the air. Sometimes moving from one place to another, not always. When I was a kid, I would try to sit in my parents car as often as I could to get away from the church proceedings. I just didn’t care for it. Like I’ve said in the past, I knew at six years old that I wouldn’t be a practicing member at the legal age of eighteen.

I think it’s around the age of 14-15, a teenager goes through confirmation. When you pass through confirmation, you’re able to take communion for the first time. This is a big deal to anyone in the IALC. Another rite of passage. By 13 years old, I was already diagnosed with major depression. My sister Dianne had died of unknown causes when I was 11 years old. I was a believer in the spirit world, when that happened. No one really understood me, except for a few peers in both, worlds. I wanted to be loved. My father was tough, but a good man – and a good provider. My mom was terrific. She was the emotional person in the family. She was very much the warm fuzzy person in the family. She was the glue that tied everything together. My mom and dad had a strong faith in God. They believed it to their core. My mom had so many friends in the church. So much of the time, my parents entertained church friends at our home. My mom became a confidant to many of the wives in the church. She always had an ear for everyone. After Dianne died, she was exceptionally hurt by one of those church wives. This woman told my mom that she shouldn’t be grieving anymore. I guess in her eyes, one year was enough to bounce back. And despite the fact that my mom was a confidant to so many, my mom – apparently had an unhealthy connection to her therapist. I only found that out when my siblings and I were going through the house after my dad had moved into the nursing home. My mom’s therapist had written her a letter stating that therapy needed to end. For whatever reason, that letter was kept. I didn’t know my mom was unhappy. I only saw what she wanted me to see, as her daughter. I feel bad that I couldn’t be that confidant for her – but I was only a kid.

It wasn’t until 1991 that everything went completely hay wire. I was fourteen years old when my mom was attending Northern Michigan University. My mom went to lunch with my cousin Curtis. After that, she was heading to a class to finish her teaching degree. Before my mom could make it to class, she had to go to the bathroom. Apparently while my mom was in the bathroom, she vomited. Choked on her vomit and went into a cardiac arrest. From that time, there was enough oxygen deprivation that she went into a coma for six months. She was in a persistent vegetative state from that point on. I think at that point, everything stopped for me. For my dad too. As good as my dad was, he would never be the same. He’d try to appear okay on the outside – but I’m sure he was riddled with guilt and depression. Of course, he never said anything of the sort.

Despite the fact that I had three sets of god parents, I had little help. Once my mom wasn’t a viable figure in my life – my aunt and uncles ceased to exist on a regular basis. Suddenly I was living in a home with a shell of a dad and I was on my own. We were waiting for my mom to come home – to resume life as usual. Cleaning wasn’t done, really. Especially dishes. The dishes just continued to pile. And when things seemed to not get any better, we’d do the dishes that we needed to do – until we knew there was no coming back. Resigned, I did the dishes. All of them.

By the time I was 15, my mom had been living in our home for a short time. We had home health nurses taking care of her – not round the clock, but for a time. I was taught how to use the lift in the event she needed to get out of bed and into her wheelchair. Fortunately, I never had to do that. After a few weeks, my mom was transported by ambulance to the hospital for pneumonia and she’d be in the nursing home until the day she died. I only say fortunately because our house burned down December 25, 1992.

One of the bonuses of being a part of a church community is that when our house burned down, the community of believers in the IALC banded together. They helped go through our house, tear things down, and even did some of the construction work later. It was incredible to see the level of dedication these people had to our family. We even were able to rent a home in my hometown until our modular home was delivered.

When my mom’s medical status was dire – I was left to my own devices. I think that people were ill prepared to deal with that concept, as a whole. I know everyone grieves differently. I also understand that at 15 years old, I was expected to just grow the fuck up and not complain. So much of our social universe is just picking yourself up, dust yourself off, and move forward. Depression is only warranted if you keep it to yourself. Otherwise, you’re just too much. You don’t need medication. Maybe your faith isn’t strong enough. Maybe there’s something wrong with you. After a while of watching peoples looks as I walked through the building – their eyes following me as I pass with judgment. Like somehow, they knew what was in the depth of my heart. What they didn’t know was that I was terrified, and I was looking for someone to guide me. It was not my job, as a fifteen-year-old girl, to say – HELP ME! Please, just show me how to grow up. I can’t do this on my own. The world was too big. Way too big.

After our house burned down, one of my sets of god parents let me stay with them. One of my best friends from church was their daughter. It seemed like it might be more manageable than for me to stay with my dad and his aunt and uncle – since they’re all older and have no kids in the home. I tried, and boy…. it didn’t work. I love this woman to this day, but we were not meant to be roommates. I rebelled. I rebelled hard core. And I don’t remember being challenged. The church family just watched and judged. My one god parent called me, screaming, hoarse after screaming at his own son. His son, my cousin, found a condom in my room. He picked one out of my caboodles and stashed it before I was the wiser. When he got caught trying to give it to a girl, my uncle found out where he got it from – and of course, I was no longer allowed to hang out with my cousin. The more restrictions I got in the way of church friends, the more I rebelled. No one seemed to think that my acting out was a way of calling for help. Everyone just seemed to think that if I just saw the shunning, or the judgment – that I would get it. I didn’t. The less people helped me, the farther away from the community I felt. The farther away from the community I felt, the less inclined I wanted to participate in any of their gatherings. Whether it was going to church in general, the get togethers with the older kids after church – eating chips, drinking pop, socializing. I wanted to have sex, drink, and – in general, behave inappropriately.

By the time I was nineteen years old, I’m still living at home. A high school drop out. I’m also a welfare recipient. My boyfriend and his friend accompany me to church. They’re both wearing jackets that might send the wrong message. Trench coat and leather jackets. They also might have the appearance of not being God Fearing Christians…. so when the three of us sat in the pew together – we were alone.

The less they helped, the less inclined I was to want to stay. The more I stayed, the more alone I felt.

So here I am, nineteen years old and I finally say – screw it. I’m done. I’m not going anymore. I was so happy to be done with the formalities of church. No one really seemed to care about me anyway. I had gone from having a huge family to being stripped of every last one. No one talked to me. At least not from church. And if they were from church, I was so incredibly hurt that I refused to talk to them when they did reach out to me. I thought they were going to try to talk me back into faith. I had no intention of submitting again.

By twenty-two, I’ve had two children and I’m in a new relationship with a man that I finally marry in 2002. He’s the love of my life. By the time 2011 comes around, I’ve had a cardiac arrest and an ICD is placed in my chest. Do you think my family comes to visit? W.ell, no. They call, maybe. My daughter dies. The Seppanen uncles show, which shocked the hell out of me. My godmother does too. My brothers both show. It feels surreal, the whole thing. Mind you, when my uncles from the Seppanen side show, I’m confused. Like, why now? You really care? How long has it been? Is it only because my dad can’t be there?

I’ve been abandoned by an entire community that likely says it’s me that caused the split. That if only my faith were stronger, I would come back. I know that there are some people that this works for. I hope that your religion – if you choose one -that it works for you. That you never experience the loneliness I experienced being part of that faith. I know not all of my choices were wholesome. I chose sex because I thought it meant love. I was wrong. Yet at the same time, it was the closest I could come to love. I picked alcohol because my peers outside of the church were doing it, and I wanted to misbehave. It’s a classic sign of being a stupid kid. Is it not? Oh yea.. I had no intervention. I was walking away and everyone just watched as I walked. No ‘I love you’s’. No ‘We miss you’. No nothing.

So as an adult, I know I have a family out there. I know that I miss them and I wish I could have a relationship with them. My brother Tim says that if I’m not in the church – we have nothing in common. I disagree. We have blood. We have blood in common. Our ties are not just made up of spiritual forces. I choose to be a good person. I choose to be a hard worker. I choose not to molest children. I choose to be an ethical person. I choose to care for others and not wish this type of shunning on anyone. I choose to not bully people or to make people feel like they deserve the bad energy – because, they had it coming. Because they made the wrong decision. Because they’re screwed up. It’s not okay to play the blame game. If anyone were to use their rational mind, they would see…. cause and effect. In order to get to the effect, there has to have a just cause. And that cause isn’t a simple get out of accountability for bad actions on the part of the players. The cause of my misbehavior was … yes, my choices. Had I been shown love and respect, I likely had not chosen to engage in activities that were dangerous. Many things could have been different.

As my life has gone on, I have felt like I am unlovable. I go between hating my aunt Susie for not talking to me for the last 20 years. And then if I were to see her in the grocery store- wanting to hug her forever and never letting go. The idea of who these people are supposed to be, for you. And yet them not being who you need/want them to be. Am I better off without them? The strong answer is yes. Likely they would try to tell me that I need to be the unhappy person when I was in the faith they profess to be ‘the one’. The one that will get us to the heavenly gate. Look, I have been the loneliest I’ve ever been going to your church. Feeling judged by everyone – instead of anyone having the presence of mind to be an adult and to see me as a child. A child incapable of making adult decisions. The ability to know that I was hurting in ways that many could not possibly understand. Yet I was supposed to get out and see the right and just way. Inaction IS an action – in my case, it was not the right action. To me, I was abandoned. And while my life is better now – I’ve had to fight – tooth and nail to get to the point I’m at now. I still want my aunt Susie to look at me and say she loves me. That she’s sorry so much time has passed. That she wants to spend time with me and catch up. I wish I could be worthy of those people that I love that are still in faith. To be worthy of those people, I’d have to accept unhappiness.

I am and always will be a sinner. I choose to do right by me. And if that’s not okay for the ‘believers’ of the IALC, I’m good with that. It was never meant to be anyway. Just know, that for the purpose of your religion – of your God, you’re turning away people because you think you know what’s in their hearts. And the truth is? You have no fucking clue.