There are a lot of people who will tell you all about their childhood memories, and what they can recall. They'll spin elaborate stories of wonderful times and fun gatherings, or tragic accidents and unfortunate events - they'll remember their childhood, or they will say that they do, without any trouble at all. I don't know if that is normal, or if it's perfectly common to only remember small clips and pieces of your childhood; but I do know that for me, normal is the latter. I don't really remember a lot; most of what I remember is sort of how you might remember a dream. I know the specifics of plenty of events in my childhood because of the stories that I've heard, but when I try to think of them in my own mind I can only recall emotions, general ideas of how things might've happened, and - occasionally - a few memories do come around into sharp focus.
I have been a Christian for my entire life, and so to tell about my memories of my early Christian faith I have to delve into those dream-like memories, and utilize those few sharply-focused moments as foundations to weave together a story.
My father grew up in a very Catholic family, and to become part of that family my Mother - also a Christian, but not Catholic - had to promise that she would raise their children, together, in the Catholic church. What she didn't realize when she agreed was that my father, as soon as their youngest (that's me) was baptized, would cease attending church at all. I was far too young to remember this part of my life; my Mother had told me that she continued attending the Catholic church for some time after he stopped going, but that when it was clear he wouldn't be returning, she could no longer take being alone in a quiet Catholic service with two young children at a church that did not offer a during-service class or daycare. She brought us to a Protestant church instead, and that's the church that I remember growing up in.
I was too young during that brief time at the Catholic church to remember much, but I do recall some other moments from my childhood where we attended Catholic services - funerals, mainly. My memories of these services are brief and fluttering, but I can recall the strong smell of the incense used and how it burned my nose, and I can remember communion during one funeral in particular. It's honestly a bit embarrassing now that I'm older (which is probably why it's one of the sharper memories I have of childhood!) but this is, after all, about honesty! The funeral was for someone who was close to me, family-wise, but I cannot recall precisely whom it was. I remember kneeling in the front row of the pews next my mother while they brought communion to the family. I was old enough at this point that we had been attending my Mother's church for some years, and through them I knew of communion as being a small saltine cracker and a tiny cup of grape juice. So at the funeral I happily took the offered wafer, after it had been dipped into the chalice of "grape juice," and popped it into my mouth just as I saw my Mother do beside me.
And then I promptly gagged at the taste of the 'juice.'
My Mother was thankfully prepared for the possibility, and quickly ducked down to whisper instructions at me. "Don't you spit that out!" she whispered urgently, clearly knowing me well enough at that age to recognize what my expression meant would come. "That's Jesus!"
So I knew that I couldn't spit it out - I loved Jesus, and I had learned enough from our regular church by then to understand that 'spitting him out' would've been terribly dreadful. I remember clenching my teeth together and forcing the bitter flavor in my mouth down into my throat, then gagging once more for good measure as I whispered back to my Mother, "Jesus tastes bad!"
The rest of my early Catholic Church memories are fleeting, cloudy, and few. I was raised in the church that my Mother brought us to after she left the Catholic church - Christ Community Church it was called. The people were friendly and welcoming, and it was here that I spent the early years of my Christian faith.
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