Liz's Autobiographical Essay #4

The first time I can remember being scared by language was when I was four years old. The place the event happened was at my church. I had an incurable kidney disease when I was younger and was getting sicker all the time. I remember the shots, drawing of blood and endless trials of medication that never worked. I had even begun to turn yellow and bloated. It is really strange how this prompt brings it all back to me.
I can vividly recall my dad carrying me down to the front of the church with my mother close behind. The elders of the church came and laid hands on my head and begin to pray out loud for me to be healed. The Pastor, Brother Plunkett, was the loudest screaming and bouncing as he asked God to remove the disease which had invaded my body. The loudness and urgency in these men’s voice scared me so much that I didn’t want my dad to take me down to the alter again for prayer, he honored this request. I can remember every time prayer request were taken my heart beating faster because I was so afraid they would call attention to me and start shouting out their prayers and calling my name out. The words which should have brought comfort instead brought fear to me because of the manner they were spoken
The impact it had on me has made me never want to go forward in a church service, even if it is a group request and everyone else goes forward, I always hang back or go outside. I can feel my heart beating faster the more uncomfortable I become at the thought of being “called out” and prayed for. If I happen upon a preacher on television and he is screaming at the top of his lungs I quickly change the channel. I appreciate being preached to in a more gentle tone. Obviously, the prayers were answered and I was healed so maybe I shouldn’t be upset, but I feel God knows our hearts and a quite verbal prayer can be answered just as often as a loud verbal prayer.