In this book, I share with you my religious and spiritual experiences that enable me to feel secure with my Creator. Was my religion sane, natural, and humane? Did the church doctrine bother me? I explain my feelings and why in this book.
I share my experiences with the First Nations’ natural connection, where they see kindred spirits in all animals and plants, and the deeper spiritual meaning of the twelve-step program, where they have a chance to listen to truth and compassion in action and where I first heard the phrase, “a God of my understanding.” My conclusion is that the interpretation from someone else regarding God will never do. I absolutely need a “God of my understanding.”
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I Always Loved Jesus But The Church Stole Him From Me
By Marvelous Trudeau
Trafford PublishingCopyright © 2016 Marvelous Trudeau
All rights reserved.
Jesus and the Black Habits
I love Jesus, but seriously, I think the church stole Him from me.
They taught me the Trinity was Father, Son and Holy Ghost. They told me God punished me when I was bad and rewarded me when I was good. There is no such thing. This God is a God of their understanding.
I'm not out to proclaim there was a Jesus or there wasn't. I am telling you how I felt about the church's teachings as a child and an adult.
Another idea that bothers me, is it wise and compassionate to continue to promote a story that calls God, our Father? The notion of father is modeled after a human male who is capable of punishing and rewarding. God will never punish me.
Jesus died for me. How would you feel if someone died to save you and get you into heaven? You'd probably feel guilty and ashamed. Don't you have what it takes to get there on your own?
The church never let me forget it. As a child, every time I stepped into the building there was Jesus's distorted body, hanging on the cross, running with blood. There were sharp thorns on his head, and his beautiful face revealed severe physical and mental anguish. I was surprised to see Him. "Why is He still hanging there?" I'd think with deep sadness. "Why doesn't someone take him down, hasn't he hung there long enough?"
I learned that even if you were a good person you still might get nailed to the cross. Are negative examples the best way to teach people?
Now, at this point of becoming sound, I chose to call this contrast, a gift. I don't have to buckle under the weight of someone else's idea of a Higher Power. This is an invitation to expand. I will find out what I don't want. And I will realize who I really am.
I believe there is Infinite Intelligence, Source energy, Consciousness, or Vital Life Force. It's an omnipotent vibration of clarity and well-being. By accessing this we can tap into a never ending source of knowledge, power and creativity.
These intense feelings of joy rippling through my body, are the greatest gift of all. This book tells the story of a growing awareness of inner guidance, which interprets that which is non-physical based on my feelings.
I was raised in a Catholic milieu. Two families were involved — the Legouffe's and Trudeau's. Every Catholic family was conditioned to believe it was appropriate for at least one of their children to become either a priest or a nun. However, neither I, nor any of my siblings, were interested in such a calling. In my mother's words, "Over my dead body, are any of you going to become a nun or a priest."
On my father's side, the story was different. My dad's sister, Lucienne, became Sister Marie Noella. She'd often come to visit us in Quesnel, accompanied by another nun. This time her travelling partner was Sister Marie-Anne. There was a rumour in the family that this nun was reprimanded for her exuberance.
I remember her. The truth is, I remember how lighthearted I felt the first time I saw her. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen, bent over, laughing with joy, frisky and full of life. Just as quickly, I intuitively knew she was going to pay for that behavior. She was never allowed to come back to our home again.
I wondered if auntie Lucienne went to the bathroom like the rest of us. I was relieved and thrilled when I found something in the toilet after she used the facilities.
Intrigued enough to investigate my aunt's bedroom, one day after she and her guest left for church, I casually walked in and back out again, giving the room a swift going over. There was nothing there. A small black comb was sitting on the dresser but there was nothing in the open closet. There was no scent of anything feminine or otherwise. It just smelled clean. Their bed was neatly made.
I loved my aunt. The sway of her long black skirt, the large crucifix around her neck and the black rosary beads swinging from her hips, in harmony with her pace, kept me mystified.
I knew she loved me, but something was not right. Fascination for her was mixed with an awareness, she was not filled. Today as an adult, I would express that inner knowledge in a different way, "she was not fulfilled." I understand why I felt cold when around her. She didn't experience tenderness. She lived by severe rules, in a place where warmth wasn't recognized as part of what Jesus taught.
Mom told me in confidence that my aunt had fallen in love with a fellow, when the relationship ended, she was so broken hearted she joined a religious order. It was the easier way. As I muse about it now, it was probably quite common. When she was near death, she uttered a telling remark, "I wonder if I made the right choice when I became a nun?"
Auntie was sister superior of St. Joseph's Mission, in Williams Lake. When I was twelve years old, mom, dad and I drove there to visit her. I was a high energy child, but the moment I bounded out of the car door that sunny afternoon, my carefree feelings ceased. The air felt heavy on my skin. As we walked by the Native children near the entrance, I looked into their eyes and felt a deep sensitivity. A palpable mystery then, but not anymore.
Lucienne's living quarters were spotless and in good order. She served Red Rose tea in her white and gold trimmed Royal Albert tea cups. Everything looked alright, but I didn't enjoy the visit with my mysterious aunt. Mom looked drawn, dad acted awkward and nervous and I felt confused, and small. It felt as though I was part of some kind of mock-up, a make believe movie claiming to be something it wasn't.
In my thirties I wrote my auntie a letter in which I admitted I was an alcoholic. I confided that I had joined a twelve step group, sobriety and spirituality was now my focus. I received the following note from her —
My dear little Lorraine;
Yes, indeed, you still are to me. Thank you for your nice letter. You made me very happy, especially that you are growing spiritually; just keep up the good work. In your younger years you did not have much encouragement toward our life in God; that was not your fault. I was happy that you made your first communion, but much regretted that I was unable to help you further. As you may have read in one passage of the Bible, a prophet is not accepted among his own, this passage refers to Jesus himself his hometown of Nazareth, He was not accepted. But my dear Lorraine, if there is anything to forgive, you are forgiven, be assured of that.
Remember too that God our Father who knows the very depths of our being loves you dearly, even to giving His own son Jesus to die for you and for me. I am always ever so grateful for this, and it is also my duty to grow in my spiritual life and I have far more opportunities in my state of life than many others. Keep up your courage and God bless you dear and those you love I shall always be happy to hear from you.
Love always — Sister Lucienne Trudeau
It chokes me up to read her letter. I can visualize her, her pale skin and unhappy eyes. She played a part in the destructive impact of residential schools.
I tell my story by sharing my feelings, but I must not judge her in any way. Good or bad, right or wrong. It just was.
As for Jesus, I was reminded subliminally and consciously that because of my sins, he was willing to love me and then suffer and die for me.
I'm not a sinner. And no one should have to die for me on that cross, then or now.
That was too much for me to carry as a child and it's too much for me to carry as an adult today.CHAPTER 2
My Guardian Angel Appears
Excerpt from Spirit Knows by Larrein Trudeau, pages 24 & 25
In the Catholic faith the first Holy Communion is a momentous occasion. It's a time when family and friends gather to celebrate. I was on my way to commemorate my first communion when I heard the voice.
I recall the ceremony, my knocking knees, my beautiful white satin dress and mother's happiness. But the most colourful memory I have involves a communication between my "inner voice" and me. It etched an indelible mark on my memory. Some people might say it was a message from my Guardian Angel, my spirit, or my subconscious mind. It makes no difference. I had the choice to begin a spiritual journey or to disregard the voice and go on with what I call my self will.
My mother had gone to a lot of trouble to prepare for this day. It was as special for her as it was for me. She wanted the best, so she hired a seamstress to sew my dress for this occasion. It was a nerve-wracking experience for mom. After a long and difficult search she chose Mrs. Sinclair. I liked her from the start. She was a beautiful woman, younger than my mother, with raven-coloured, shoulder length hair pinned behind her ears. Unlike my mom, she was slim and wore modern skirts and blouses. There was a femininity about her and a youthful vitality that I thought only kids had. I could also sense a womanly air about her that had something to do with sex, but I didn't understand what it was.
As I stood close to Mrs. Sinclair for my first fitting I felt she liked me too. I could feel her openness as she began to measure me. When her hands touched my body, I felt special and watched closely as she turned me around.
"I hear this is going to be a special dress for your church ceremony," she said. "And what is that ceremony called?" she added. "It's called my first communion," I answered with enchantment, "I'm going to wear this dress to church for my first communion."
She seemed satisfied with my answer, but as we continued to talk her voice took on a harder tone. Her attitude had suddenly changed and I didn't know why.
I wondered what I had done wrong. My pleasant, warm feelings about her suddenly turned to foreboding. Her mood no longer light and optimistic, her next question cut deep into my heart, undermining the trusting relationship I'd just formed with her. "And what are those strange beads called that Catholics say their prayers to?" she asked, smiling, as if she were telling a joke. But, I knew this was no joke. She was no longer interested in me. The air felt heavy. I wanted to disappear under the table, but I knew I couldn't, when an adult asks a question I had to answer, "The rosary," I whispered, sensing that my answer wouldn't suit her, although I didn't know why. My body stiffened ... a wall went up between us.
"And why do they pray to so many statues?" she went on. I looked into her green eyes, not comprehending her mood, which was shifting between hostility and amusement. A mixture of both emotions left me confused. Feeling inadequate and unsure of myself, I answered her last question, "I don't know why." As though talking to herself, she continued, "It doesn't make a lot of sense to me."
I must be awfully dumb if I don't even know why Catholics pray to statues, I thought. I couldn't figure out why I hadn't felt stupid before when I prayed to the Virgin Mary. What were we all doing? I'd never asked myself these questions before.
The day of my Holy Communion finally arrived. As we walked up the street I complained that my dress didn't fit. "Don't be silly," mom said, brushing my remark aside. I put one foot gingerly in front of the other in an attempt not to disturb the dust and dirty my new white leather shoes. My blond shoulder-length hair had been done in ringlets and I knew mom was proud of how I looked. That was important to her.
"Mom, what if I don't remember all of my prayers?"
"Sure you will," she said matter of factly, "You're older than the other girls, you'll remember them." End of discussion. I was older than the other girls. That was a fact.
"But that doesn't mean I'll be able to remember my lines," I mumbled.
Out of the blue a young and happy melodic voice burst into my gloomy mind, reaching me from the left side of my head. "Now you'll have your own Guardian Angel to talk to." My mind examined every word of that message; I got right into its happy mood, contemplating how glorious it would be to have a Guardian Angel beside me. I wondered what the angel would look like. I'd been taught we each have our own angel who looks over us at all times. I found this hard to believe, but I usually went along with the idea because the pictures were so beautiful. My favourite was a picture of an exquisite angel with huge wings dressed in a white gown, standing behind a curly mopped little boy. He was about to step onto a crumbling bridge that would collapse under his feet, unless his angel saved him. Would my angel look like that one? The vision of a glowing human like figure, all in white came to mind.
I knew I could create my angel, as large as life or much smaller. I began to form one within my mind. My angel was a bit smaller than I was. I didn't know if it could fly, but I knew it would move through the air with ease. Glory Be! I was starting to see what looked like wings on its back! Although I couldn't see a face, I was sure it would be loving and full of compassion.
The voice continued in a loving tone. "And you will," ... I abruptly, cut it off, refusing to hear any more, even as I was visualizing bumps that could be wings.
For a few minutes I had felt comforted by the knowledge that this was something good. Then my emotions shut down. "How could anything so absurd creep into my mind; Guardian Angels, indeed! How stupid and infantile. I'm too intelligent for this kind of stuff. I refuse to believe this rubbish about Guardian Angels." If I kept thinking about angels I'd be laughed at. I'd be scorned again by the neighbourhood kids and mocked by Mrs. Sinclair. The voice kept trying to enter my thoughts, but I refused to let it in. Inside my head came a shout, "No, I won't believe this garbage." My mind closed to even a hint of that voice, and it felt as though a strong fist tightly clenched my brain.
Defiant in mood and rejecting my Guardian Angel, I trudged to my first Holy Communion.CHAPTER 3
You Will Not Go to School with Those Black Witches
Excerpt from the book Spirit Knows by Larrein Trudeau, p. 36 & 37
I turned fourteen and was starting grade seven, and on the threshold of dating. Several months after mom and I returned home, (mom had left dad for a school term, and I stayed with my sister while she lived with my brother and his wife), was an important turning point. I believe I was on my soul's path until then, but suddenly, my spiritual path took a detour. As before, I was shown the way, but chose to devise my own plan.
Lying in bed wide awake one night in the stillness of my room, my body filled with a kind of air that carried a message. I began to have an inner vision and my present direction was laid out for me. My vision formed these words. "You're on the edge of dating and getting involved with boys." The message was repeated, only this time "getting involved" was emphasized, as if to convey some kind of depth to the words. I didn't really understand "involved" because it seemed to have a deeper meaning than I knew. I had gone to a few movies and Sunday walks with boys and girlfriends, but nothing more than that. I didn't catch the meaning of the message, not even superficially.
"You won't be able to handle it," the voice went on. I didn't comprehend, but continued to listen. It revealed the consequences. "This will create a great deal of turmoil in your life. You'll need more than your mother's restraint."
It filled me with a certainty and clarity of an absolute knowledge that could be trusted and obeyed. I knew I'd be out of my mother's control, because her energy was not strong enough to hold me to her rules.
Then I heard, "She won't be able to contain you. You're going to go astray." Behind these words was the sensation of an inner wisdom and compassion. "If you don't move from here you won't get the inner molding you need." Whatever was conveying the message also gave me great boundless love. After several seconds, the voice gave me specific instructions. "You must go to your mother and ask if you can get your schooling elsewhere." The core of the message came through clearly. "You must leave and get your schooling elsewhere." The voice told me why. "You'll be led astray from your desired goals."
Behind the words I was shown exactly what was meant by "desired goals."
They were education and moral values. The voice knew those were my most significant goals in life even before I was conscious of them. "You'll regret it if you don't go, many, many years will pass before you make it back." Knowing the number of years wouldn't help. I was simply to understand. It would be a long, long time. Instinctively, I knew what it meant. But below the surface another picture formed, I was not going to get lost physically; I was going to get lost another way. I couldn't comprehend. Although, I knew there was much more to the message than I understood, I also knew what I heard was truth.
The voice continued: "If you disobey, you won't appreciate what you'll become." It wasn't a threat; I knew exactly what was meant, if I didn't follow the directive, I wouldn't like myself. I had no fear of the outcome. The decision would be mine. Again, the verbal message was connected to a picture of me in the present, "You must go to your mother and ask her to send you elsewhere to go to school."
Excerpted from I Always Loved Jesus But The Church Stole Him From Me by Marvelous Trudeau. Copyright © 2016 Marvelous Trudeau. Excerpted by permission of Trafford Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
ContentsChapter One: Jesus and the Black Habits, 1,
Chapter Two: My Guardian Angel Appears, 10,
Chapter Three: You Will Not Go to School with Those Black Witches, 17,
Chapter Four: Exit of My Husband's Soul, 23,
Chapter Five: I Was Groping Toward God, 29,
Chapter Six: My First Twelve Step Meeting, 34,
Chapter Seven: I Found a God of My Understanding, 41,
Chapter Eight: The Answer is Always Spiritual, 46,
Chapter Nine: Drums – Heartbeat of Mother Earth, 53,
Chapter Ten: I Witnessed the Healing Power of the Yuwipi Ceremony, 58,
Chapter Eleven: My Love of the Religious Society of Friends, 63,
Chapter Twelve: I Was Spirit-Led to the Church of Truth – Community of Conscious Living, 67,
Chapter Thirteen: Alan Stibbard-Teacher and Mentor to the Subconscious, 77,
Chapter Fourteen: My True Power Is the Way I Feel, 82,
Chapter Fifteen: My Alignment With Compelling Love, 87,
Chapter Sixteen: I Have a Full and Thankful Heart, 91,
Chapter Seventeen: I Uncovered Spiritual Common Sense, 95,
Chapter Eighteen: Religion Didn't Connect Me to the Natural Way, 99,
Chapter Nineteen: My Very Important Blessings – Brought to Light, 107,
Chapter Twenty: I Became a Member of Thunderbird Toastmasters in James Bay, 112,
Chapter Twenty-One: Jesus Said You Are Gods, 116,
Chapter Twenty-Two: My Greatest Burden Replaced by Mom's Eternal Values, 120,
Chapter Twenty-Three: The Deeper I Go the Greater the Gift, 126,
Chapter Twenty-Four: My Mother is the Native in Me, 132,
Chapter Twenty-Five: I Cannot See Clearly Yet, 137,
Chapter Twenty-Six: St. Gemma Galgani, the Lover of Jesus, 140,
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Visual Proof is the Weakest Proof, 144,
Chapter Twenty-Eight: I Move Forward With Confidence and Ease, 147,
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Open Letter to Jesus, 150,
Chapter Thirty: He Opened Up to Love, Not the Human Kind, 152,
Chapter Thirty-One: Source Wants To Be Known, 155,
Chapter Thirty-Two: My Body Reacts to Truth with Strength, 158,