God

We were a small family of four, so being part of a large religious community had it perks. You had automatic friends, lots of social invites, a sense of belonging, and people seemed to genuinely trust and care about one another. And when we came together to worship, it was as if we were one beating heart, with us all studying the same bible and religious books, speaking the same way, believing the same thing, and following the exact same rules.

As for my childhood, I had a stay at home mother who loved being a mom. I had a father who wasn't very present, but was a good provider and loved his family, and I had a sister much older than me, that was super protective and looked after me like a mother. I don't have a lot of memories of her due to her moving away when I was 9, but the two I do have, are of her slamming her bedroom door in my face when I was seven years old, and her running out the back of our station wagon into a farmer's field at night, as Dad ran after her.

Unlike my sister, nothing bad had happened to me as a child, that I can remember anyway. I was taught values, I learned the ten commandments, I respected my parents, I feared authority, and I obeyed the rules. But, the one thing I'd struggled with the most, was God. I'd grown up in an "us versus them" world, which meant we were right and everyone else was wrong. But, if we accidentally got on the wrong side ourselves, then we were immediately cut-off from the rest of the community, while awaiting God's punishment. We were taught to love God while also fearing him, and we were encouraged to distance ourselves from the outside world. Yes, we still went to work and school, and were nice to our colleagues and schoolmates, but we didn't dare make friends with anyone who wasn't part of our faith.

The church kept us busy, so busy that we had little time for anything else. Every day there was something we were required to do as a family; a bible study, a religious service, a volunteer opportunity, and sometimes all three on the weekend. Fear played a dominant role, and it was even incorporated into the children's storybook supplied by the church. It was filled with illustrations and stories from both the old & new testament that read like a horror movie. Inside were accounts of rape, stonings, incest, war, destruction, and even babies being killed. Then, at the very end of the book was a drawing of people screaming and running for their lives with children in their arms, as large fireballs shot down from the heavens. Apparently, this was the end result of our faithfulness, with God finally deciding to rid the earth of all the unbelievers. However, fireball day" was also the day we'd find out whether we'd done enough to be spared God's wrath, with us continually trying to earn our salvation.

Everyone around me, including my family, had seemed to develop a close relationship with God. When they prayed, they felt love and a deep connection. When I prayed, I felt nothing. So, one morning I found myself standing in the living room with my tattered baby blanket around my neck, pleading with God. "Okay, if you're up there and you care about me, please make me fly. Amen." I ran towards the foot stool and launched off it, my cape filling with the air promise, only for gravity to grab hold of me, violently pulling me to the ground. My knees skidded across the carpet as I crashed into the large wooden console, with me immediately bursting into tears. As I rubbed my head, I couldn't decide what hurt more, the large bump in the middle of my forehead, or the fact that God still felt a million miles away.

As I entered my teen years, I decided that my only choice was to fake it, and go through the motions, as I found myself not only disillusioned with God, but home life as well. I'd recently discovered that my sister had been sexually abused as a child by a religious member, who continued to be part of the church. I also discovered my best friend was being abused by her father, a prominent leader, with the church looking the other way. As for my family, Dad was constantly absent due to the demands of the religion, Mom was depressed and lonely in her marriage, and my sister continued to struggle with depression, due to the after effects of her abuse that had never been properly dealt with. Then there was me, standing in the middle of the disfunction, having no idea what to do other than try and make Mom happy, while waiting for our next family vacation.

As I approached 16, the expectation was for me to commit to the church and God for life. It didn't feel right, I knew that, but its what everyone was expected to do. Leave this step too long, and people would get suspicious, as wavering in one's faith was not only a concern but regarded as a sin. You were either in or out, with very little tolerance for those who flipped flopped in their faith. So, I decided it was time, as I picked out a bright green dress that seemed entirely too bright for such an occasion. I was about to be married to God, giving my life to him, while closing the door on any other possibilities.

Leaving the religion had always been a serious offence, but this final step left it virtually impossible to leave. So, I decided to pray to God one last time before our union, asking him to please let me feel his love and presence before taking this all important step. I stayed up and waited for hours until I got so tired, that I eventually fell asleep. The next morning, I attempted to push away the knot that had formed in my stomach, still hoping for a miracle. The ceremony had arrived, and I was now required to say one word out loud, and that was "yes." Yes to God, yes to the church, and yes to this being my life forever.

I had heard people describe a sense of euphoria after going through this ceremony, yet I could tell God hadn't bestowed such a blessing on me. But suddenly that no longer mattered, because the applause was so loud that I could feel it my chest. Acceptance was radiating around me, and as I looked around at the thousands of believers, I realized that I now belonged to something, something much greater than myself. And perhaps this is what truly mattered in the end, even more than following my heart.