by Laurie Collister, author of A Different Kind of Vow: Rewriting My Happily After
My spiritual journey began when I was 10 years old. Every Sunday, my parents drove my brother Peter and me to the modest white-spired church on the banks of the Chagrin River in our hometown of Gates Mills, Ohio. Mom and Dad believed that their children should be exposed to religion, even if they weren’t affiliated with it. At Sunday School, held in the cold basement of a church, I earned my Lifesaver status by correctly reciting a chapter of the New Testament. However, when I painted a pea-green picture of Jesus on the church flag, my teacher reprimanded me. “Jesus is not green,” she explained, trying to hide her anger.
Peter, who was an altar boy at the 11 a.m. service, told me what the pastor was wearing under his pastor’s uniform. After each service, the pastor pulled his dressing gown over his head, revealing his pure white tennis pants and polo shirt. Given the pastor’s pedestrian sermons and perfunctory handshakes with parishioners, Peter and I agreed that the afternoon tennis match at the country club across the street would be the real highlight of his Sunday.
Admittedly, my spiritual journey had a slow start. The first leg revealed a more comical than transcendental side of the church. I had no clue how to connect with God.
In my 20s, I started trying out a different denomination every Sunday. One week, a beautiful blonde charismatic led a very large congregation and hosted a Sunday morning service at a convention hall in downtown San Diego. The Marquis of Hall read: make Touchdown to God. True to form, her sermon sounded like a locker room pep talk before an NFL game. The choir sang, “Smile, smile, smile,” and a slideshow showed smiling faces. At the end of the service, we all held hands and wished our pew partners the best week of our lives. Video cameras were circling in all directions recording the sermon in case you wanted to purchase a VHS tape in the lobby after the service.
When I turned 30, I decided that a Zen temple might be a better fit for me. In a quiet venue, people were more likely to peek inside. My girlfriend Suzanne and I arrived just as the Zen master struck the gong to signal the start of a two-hour meditation. We were wearing matching over-the-knee boots, so we had to leave them at the door. I pressed my index finger to my lips as Suzanne loudly unzipped her right boot. “Shh, Suzanne, come on!” But it was too late. A thud echoed through the silent entrance hall. We fell to the floor in a fit of laughter. The Zen master showed up, pushed us out the back door, and, naturally, threw his boots after us. We collected the boots scattered on the lawn and walked to the car in silence. Even before we entered the temple room, we were disqualified as Buddhists.
I thought a more traditional denomination, like The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, might be more welcoming. However, after the service, five ushers in black suits surrounded me and escorted me to the office. “Who teeth you? “They demanded. I was clearly not a member of that group. I thought maybe I should have been born into the church. I couldn’t just show up as a hopeful stranger.
After a few more years of experimentation and moving to Los Angeles, I finally found the perfect place to worship. The church held Sunday services in a small chapel by the river. The International Hindu Organization Did More than Just Talk About Like many sects, God taught his followers how to directly experience the serenity and ecstasy of God’s presence through techniques such as Kriya Yoga.
But a new job at the organization’s headquarters took my spiritual growth to a whole new level. As a writer for a public relations department and rubbing shoulders with Hindu nuns every day, I felt like I was part of this secret club of privilege. The monks spent a considerable amount of time on the “other side” and experienced God’s love. As a result, their company felt like a contact high. I could breathe in their divine communion all day long. After work, I went home changed, experiencing a centering, depth, and calm vibrancy that I had never felt before. Religion has given me what I have always desired: intuitive transcendence, allowing me to love and be loved without obstacles.
A lesser-known Hindu tenet is that journaling is a powerful tool. sadhana (Spiritual practice). Prominent Hindu teachers such as Swami Shivanand and Paramahamsa Yogananda strongly recommend keeping a diary. They see diaries as “masters of silence” that can be used to record spiritual insights, correct mistakes, and foster spiritual growth.
In fact, journaling became an important part of my spiritual path. What I found particularly helpful was going back through past diary entries and looking for “aha” moments and common themes. Through this “excavation,” I was able to uncover what medical intuitive Carolyn Myss calls the “sacred contract”: the reason I was born. Identifying and following God’s will became the natural next step in my spiritual journey. This “vow”, how I found it, and how I pursued it are the subject of my memoir. another kind of oathscheduled to be published by She Writes Press on April 7, 2026. I hope this article serves as an example for those looking to identify and follow their own personal vows and spiritual journeys.
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Laurie Collister is a counselor, journalist, and debut memoirist. After graduating from Kenyon College, she worked as a litigation paralegal, market analyst, investigative journalist, and most recently as a counselor on Los Angeles’ Skid Row. In this checkered profession, she learned how to harvest what was hidden – the key to writing. A different kind of vow: Rewriting my vows after being happyscheduled to be released in April 2026. the last house on the left, The book, about her 14 years working on Skid Row, is scheduled to be published in May 2027. Laurie lives in a cul-de-sac in Los Angeles with her large family and dog Bella.
Source: Spiritual Media Blog – www.spiritualmediablog.com
