dreams

To clarify, this illustration is a depiction on Jesus, not of my dad.

My dad, “Father Sam,” retired recently. He was my favorite preacher. Of course, I am biased, but his were not the only sermons that entered my head. I have heard other sermons at different churches. I have done my homework. Nobody preaches like my dad. His sermons resonated throughout the week, and will reside inside my mind and heart for the rest of my life. As a priest and a dad, “Father Sam” taught me many lessons. These are some examples: God is love. God forgives. Love your neighbor as yourself, and not only the person who lives next door. Keep growing. Build relationships and work through conflict with words. Encourage God to shine God’s light into your life. God is everywhere. Church is a place of fellowship and worship, but not the only place to feel God’s presence. Jesus is a corrective measure. The Kingdom of Heaven is on Earth.

I grew up in the forests; I climbed the tallest trees. I swam in the cold, refreshing whitewater rivers. I wanted to be Pocahontas. My family camped, hiked, swam, and traveled the country. I have never seen a family bond like the one we share. Dad plays a large role in gluing us together.

When I was little, going to church was mandatory. I thought the point of church was to hear Dad preach. Over the years, worship has changed me, and now I know Daily Morning Prayer Rite II by heart. I confess that I have not read the Bible cover to cover, but I have heard most of the parables, and a good many Old Testament stories. The ritual of Holy Communion has always been sacred to me. I have taken a leave of absence from the church. It is no longer my duty to show up, worship, and keep important secrets. Though I am relieved of my “preacher’s kid” duties, I feel a little empty inside. It is an emptiness I cannot fill with material possessions, no matter how full my Amazon shopping cart becomes. God is everywhere, and much like mental illness, God appears invisible, though I have faith because I believe in the unseen.

I have thought about this for some time. Going to church all the Sundays of my life has been special to me. My mom, three sisters and I have always been seated in the front pew. As I understand, it is hard for a child to concentrate and listen for an hour. So, my earlier days in the church were spent reading, coloring, and listening selectively. The most special part about that time in my life was napping on my mom’s lap. As an adult in church, I have often been tempted to do the same.

When I was six years old, my friend, Rob, and I became acolytes. We carried the candles during the procession into and out of the church. Early Christians worshipped in caves to hide their spiritual practices from those who meant them harm. The purpose of the candles in the procession is to remind us of the darkness of the caves, where the only light shining inside was that of the candles and of God’s Holy presence within.

I realize now that the church does not rest on my dad’s shoulders. It is more complicated. My relationship with God was instilled inside of me from the start, and while my dad had a hand in guiding Jesus into my heart, God has been there all along. Leave the church? Maybe for a bit of a vacation, but probably not forever.

—SJB

I have been working on my book for thirteen years. I am a bit superstitious, but only for fun. I was born on the 13^th of January, and black cats with green eyes only bring me good luck. If I see a penny on heads, no matter where I am, I have to pick it up. I just can’t pass it by. Friday the thirteenth is always a good day for me. I also paid quite a bit of money in the Museum of Modern Art on a four-leaf clover encased in glass that I “found.”

When I was a very little girl, I loved to read, write, and draw. On career day at my elementary school, I dressed as an “Author and Illustrator.” I was only wrong about the attire of an author and illustrator. I can’t speak for all of us, but I wear pajamas to work.

When I was in first grade, I won a writing contest with a short story about a cat named Fred (I’m sure he was a black cat with green eyes). In second grade, I kept a wild journal! My teacher, Mrs. Sanders, seemed to have fun reading it because she always left funny comments in the margins and predicted that one day I would write a book. So, I did. Twenty-five years later.

It’s not every day you grow up to be an astronaut, but my dreams were just as important and a little more attainable. I am an author and an illustrator; one of those kids who grows up to live their dream. I feel so fortunate, but it has nothing to do with good luck. Some might even say it has to do with putting a spin on bad luck. This book would not be possible if my whole life consisted of good fortune.

I dreamed of being a writer of words people wanted to read. I think a higher being, God if you will, heard me. Let’s just say he gave me a lot of material to work with!

For the first few years of this project, I had a hard time deciding exactly what form my book would take. My first attempt was an unfinished forty-page, single-spaced, twelve-point font autobiography. It was boring. It was heavy. It was not entertaining, and there were no illustrations. It was cold, and dark. So I steered it in a different direction. No one needs all the details, though I plan to share many of them here.

My next attempt was a series of funny short stories, but when I had finished those, it seemed I was making light of the situation, and I didn’t want to give readers the impression that mental illness is not a serious issue. That project was then squashed.

Finally, after much pondering and many more years, I started writing and illustrating fairy tales with underlying messages about mental illness. I wrote so many that I had to decide which to publish first! I got a little carried away. Writers are supposed to write about what they know, right? I have seen and experienced my share of mental illness, so the truth came out.

It has been clear to me for a very long time that my purpose here is to take a stand against societal stigma and make waves in the field of mental health. I want to speak for those who have difficulty speaking for themselves, and help broken families heal.

In eighth grade, I had a writing assignment about my dreams for the future. One of my dreams was “to write something people wanted to read.”

I hope you want to read my book, hear what I have to say, and pass it on.

—SJB

Samantha Jane Buice

“Leaving the Church” 8.20.21

Article Three: Origin