I think many of us have heard the saying, “Families that pray together, stay together.” Maybe in some happy, fairy-tale land this is the truth. I don’t see how the act of praying can actually be a family bonding experience. If prayer is the glue that holds a family together, our prayers certainly did not act like any sort of Super Glue or bonding cement. 

As it stands now, our family is fragmented to the point that repair is probably impossible. This person talks to that person. This person doesn’t talk to anyone. No one talks to this person. Some reasons are justified, but most are not.

It’s really quite sad. Especially since there is a new generation involved who are growing up without knowing everyone.

I don’t think our family ever took the priority that it should have- it was always trumped by the church and its members. You’d think that homeschooling would’ve been a bonding experience, but it really wasn’t in our case. I think every one of my siblings, myself included, could not wait to get the hell out of the house.

Unfortunately, this need to escape led some of us to marry too early, to the wrong people, and also left a spate of divorces in my generation, myself included.

My father had wanted to be a pastor for as long as I could remember. My earliest memories involve our apartment in Minnesota when my dad was attending Bible college. After some theological disagreements, my dad left after only one semester. Then we moved to Winston-Salem, NC so he could attend a different Bible college there.

My mom always says that she was against him going into the ministry. My dad always seemed to be chasing some churchy rainbow. When people asked me why I moved so much as a child, I always tell them it was because my dad was in the military. It’s not a total lie, he was in the Army Reserves- but that’s not the real reason we moved around so much. We moved so often because of the “callings.” Messages from God, only heard by our dad, leading our entire family from one place to another, seemingly on some sort of divine whim.

After my dad finished college, we moved back to Pennsylvania, but not for long. Suddenly he was hit with the “calling” to start a church in Brooklyn- because if there was ever a place that lacks for churches and religion- I’m sure it’s New York City. We didn’t stay long, that venture was a flop.

Back to Pennsylvania we went. 

My dad campaigned for a church in the Poconos (campaigned is the term that’s used for a preacher basically auditioning for a pastor job). He got it and we ended up moving there. We stayed there for about three years, but that church imploded. They tried to vote him out, but lost by one vote. So people just stopped coming. After a few months, there was only one family left in regular attendance. 

Then, another “calling,” hooray. Now we were moving to the coal region in Schuylkill county. Wonderful. Because Catholics aren’t really “saved.” My dad knew this because he had been raised Catholic. 

Over a decade passed, and that church was a spectacular failure. A handful of members cannot support a pastor and his family, and the people of the area were set in their ways- resistant to “The Good News.”

Eventually my dad had to admit that it was time to give up. 

I guess he must have considered himself a huge failure, or maybe it was the regimen of being a pastor that had kept him in line. Either way, soon after leaving that area, my dad began drinking heavily and using drugs. Divorce was inevitable.

The stress fractures from over the years finally gave way and my parents divorced. My dad continued to self-destruct, my mom remarried.

A few years later and my dad was dead. Suicide. Some people, in an attempt to make us feel better I guess, insist that he didn’t mean for his stunt to go as far as it did. It’s a moot point. When you tie something around your neck, you’ve got to think that most likely you are going to die. And whatever his intentions were, the result was death. That was twelve years ago.

Since then, the family has disintegrated to a ridiculous level. While I am on friendly terms with most, if not all, of my extended family, my immediate family is another story. 

I think in some ways some people have tried to distance themselves from the past, and in doing so sever the bonds, and cut out the people, that connect them to the past. I guess they don’t understand that you can’t hide from your past, no matter how many new friends or family members you glom on to, your past will always be part of you.

I think some other people have dealt with problems that led them down the road to do terrible things that can’t be forgiven by society or even family. Not that any past problems are an excuse to act out. Maybe a contributing factor, but definitely not the sole reason behind or for bad behavior.

As it stands, there are only two immediate family members that I am in contact with. The others made decisions that cut me out of their lives. It’s really sad.

I think about praying before meals, or at bedtime and think, “Well that didn’t make any difference in the long run.” Maybe our prayers weren’t sincere enough, or we didn’t believe strongly enough. Or maybe it’s just another ritual that means nothing in the long run.

I’ve heard the saying, “Put God first and everything else will fall into place.” Oh really? That’s definitely NOT how I see it. It’s more like, “Put God first at the risk of everything else in your life falling apart because you don’t pay any attention to other things that are going on.”

Maybe that’s why we’re supposed to close our eyes when we pray. Then we won’t be able to see the world falling apart around us.