While I was growing up I kept a list of all the things I was never going to do to my children. High on that list were 2 things - I was never going to spank them and I was never going to make them go to church. There were other things, of course, like make them clean their rooms and then "inspect" them afterwards, but I digress. (Again. <sigh>)
We didn't get spanked very often but I can tell you looking back that I don't recall a hand ever being laid to a backside that wasn't well deserved. And that was despite my parents both having alcohol issues. But here's the key thing - I have to really think back to remember those spankings - they aren't the first thing I think of when I remember my childhood so they obviously couldn't have been that traumatic. What I remember is laughter and teasing and Ma making nothing into supper for 7 people. And hugs. When we did get a spanking, after a few minutes the "spanker" would come into our room, hold out his/her arms, and just hug us. Ma said "The most important part of the spanking is the hug afterwards. That's how you tell your kids that the spanking wasn't because they were bad, it was because they were good but had deliberately decided to do something so bad that it needed to be stopped."
I hated going to church. I felt so out of place, bored, and the more they woke us up on Sunday morning and braided our hair, put us into shiny shoes that pinched, and made us sit still through lectures and badly sung hymns the more I hated it. Not the message - I rarely heard a word that was said up there anyway. My toes hurt and my butt hurt and that person up there could have cared less. The notion that in order for the world to see me as a"good kid" I had to sit still for an hour and prove it stuck in my craw. So one particularly rebellious morning - I think I was 13 or so - I told Dad that I wasn't going to go anymore. I didn't ask him if I could stay home. I simply told him I wasn't going, and then I waited for the explosion. It never came.
He said, "Fine. I don't think you need to go anymore either." Um, excuse me? Who are you and what have you done with my dad?? He passed the toast to Ma, who sat there with her jaw dropped open. Dad said, "The purpose for church is to worship something bigger than yourself and remind you of your place in the Good Lord's world. You are a good girl. You're respectful, helpful, and you know God the way you see Him. You know where He fits in your life, and if you don't think sitting in church is making your faith any stronger then you and God will just walk the rest of the way together. He'll help you more than the minister will."
And that's when I became what I call a Golden Ruler. No, it's not a cult. There isn't a building for it or a leader of it. It's just me and the Good Lord living within me. I think everything there is to be learned about faith and goodness, everything the Bible teaches, every word ever spoken by a minister, Rabbi, priest, or preacher and every off-key hymn can be summed up in those simple words. It doesn't need flowery words for a reminder, and it's my rock. It's living as well as I can, making mistakes, making up for those mistakes, and doing better the next time, knowing that that is all God asks of me. It's remembering that I didn't want someone lecturing me about all of the ways I was bad, ordering me to do this or that in order to prove my faith, so I don't have the moral superiority to impose my faith and beliefs on someone else. It's the comfort of knowing that when I find people of like values, it's okay to share but never okay to force. Seems to me a misplaced case of moral superiority is what your boss is suffering from, and unfortunately there is no way to deal with that kind of personality.
Um, I forgot the question.......
Also glad that you are letting God do your heavy lifting. 
