Faith - Yet Another Journey

Picture this: It’s a warm summer day while my family gets ready for Sunday service at our old (old as in prior to my parents divorce) church. I’m 12 years old, decide on a pair of ripped Hollister jeans, and a sweater that’s WAY too hot for the weather. A fitting description as to where I was developmentally. Three of my brothers, my stepmom and dad all pile into the van per my request to go see what church is all about. I couldn’t tell you what sparked in my mind during that time to ask to go back to church, but once it did I immediately asked if that was something we could do. Of course my dad said yes so the rest of the family decided to tag along. On the ride there, I felt a sense of excitement. Our church had stain glass windows, pews, kneeling stands for praying...the whole sha-bang. This place held fond memories for me, I was a kid the last time I was there but I remember Sunday school with positive thoughts, with it also being the place I was baptized. My curiosity was through the roof, wondering what it’d be like, after six years of having stepped foot inside. 

I don’t know what I thought about God at this point in my life. At all. All I really knew was that He granted comfort for many, while others persistently challenged the idea of Him. My knowledge of religion was very slim, the only time I truly learned about it was as a five, maybe six year old. I didn’t retain much. What I did know though, was that I had gone through a period of time (I was probably about 9 years old) that I prayed every night. I didn’t understand who I was praying to, if I was doing it correctly, or if anyone was listening. But I did it anyway. It gave me comfort. I prayed for myself, and I very vividly remember that every night I would go through the list of my whole family, asking God (or whoever, I used to say) to keep them in their thoughts. This was an important ritual for me for about a year. So this church trip was an important one, I was finally going to be able to see how I felt inside the church I affiliated with my faith. 

Pulling into the parking lot, I noticed that I hadn’t eaten breakfast, and it was also one of my first times having my period. Keep this in mind - it was scorching hot, I had eaten no food, and I was losing a lot of energy from my current physical state. Walking into the church, the tall doors welcomed me, as did a sea of elderly people. This is not to specifically call out older folks, but what I had remembered from my church were my friends running around with me, and glimpses of my parents friends. This church had lost a lot of their members, and my younger brother was easily the youngest person there. Everyone was as friendly as I remember, and we found a pew in the middle to settle into. I sat quietly, looking around and taking everything in. The long stained glass windows still in their rightful places, candles and the smell of old wood wafted through the hot summer air. The longer I sat though, the warmer I became. I was increasingly uncomfortable, which made me more ornery by the second. I was frustrated with the way my experience was going, not the way I pictured it all. As the pastor began to pray, we all knelt in front of our seats. While listening, I could feel myself losing consciousness. Now, I’ve fainted before. So unfortunately I was familiar with the feeling. From what I’ve been told about that day, I passed out onto my stepmoms shoulder all while my eyes were open. So I could imagine I looked...very odd. At this point I couldn’t see anything, but I could hear. One of my brothers either whispered or yelled (I have absolutely no idea, I might have made up in my mind that he yelled) “the devils got her!”  What I do remember is somehow feeling embarrassed while being unconscious (if that doesn’t speak to who I am, I don’t know what does). I woke up a few moments later stretched out on the pew behind me, looking up into many elderly strangers worried faces. It was traumatizing, to say the least. 

Clearly there were a number of issues that I had that day that were the reason of my passing out, but there was something about the situation that felt closely connected to my faith. I thought maybe, in my mind, I wasn’t worthy to be in a place of God. I haven’t ever really talked (or even wrote) about my faith, and so my guess is this is the next stage of exploration that I’m in. After that incident, I learned about the term “agnostic” and starting using that as an identifying term for my faith. I know deep within who I am, that there must be a higher power to everything. Without it, there would be nothing to look to for guidance, strength, and security. Security is really what I believe faith to be, if I really make myself think about it. There’s something about being able to confide in, and rely on something or someone that you’re not even positive exists. It’s an important key to human existence. We have hope in an unknown force. This force takes shape as so many different people and things for every individual person, not that I need to say that. We all have our own God’s. 

The spark that began my thoughts and feelings about this again has been the journey I’ve been on the past month. My last blog, I wrote about the unfortunate allergic reaction I had to an antibiotic I was on. I thought that was the end to my health issues, but getting older (I’m only 20, so this probably sounds very dramatic) comes with more complications than what I anticipated. I’m okay, but I have never felt so weak, or not “in control” of my body ever in my life. These feelings are not something I am in-tune to, and so it’s been a very long learning process. Learning to love my body and who I am. I started doing a breathing exercise, something I learned from the councilor I had while in high school. You choose two words, one that you think while you inhale, and one that you think of while you exhale. This exercise can obviously be catered to any person, and any situation. For the past month, whenever I’ve gotten overwhelmed or anxious, I take time to inhale and exhale the words strength, and shame. Inhale strength. Exhale shame. It’s quite effective. With having to focus in on my body and spirit, my thoughts about faith and God were wrapped up in that. I still don’t know exactly how I feel or what I think, but I do know that I feel comforted that there may be someone who’s looking out for me. 

When I think about God, I think about my Grandma Emma. I think of her sitting on the porch with another woman, smoking a cigarette and talking about life. I imagine my grandma turning her head to look at me, and giving me a slight nod, the little reassurance I didn’t know I needed, letting me know someone is thinking of me. Faith and religion and God are a hard bundle of concepts to wrap my mind around, but I know that I love and respect every belief that every single person on this earth holds. Everybody is right, and when I am confident in what I believe in, I’ll be right too. 

Thank you for listening to me ramble about thoughts and concepts I haven’t fully grasped yet, this is an important part of my life that I’ve only begun exploring. I thought that by writing about this, maybe I’d be granting comfort to anyone else curious about their faith. I’ll leave you with another quote (apparently this is becoming something I do at the end of my writing - another thing I’m trying out). “Keep your face always toward the sunshine, and shadows will fall behind you.” - Walt Whitman