Entry41: Spirituality

After leaving the church, my belief system went on a bit of a rollercoaster ride to say the least. I'd gone from believing in the church's teachings, though not feeling I could live by them, to scrutinizing them. Then I went through an atheistic phase, as I found myself angry at the church and God, followed by a peace and love stage, as I immersed myself in the world of yoga. It was then that I learned to connect my mind and body, and instead of punishing myself, like I'd done for years due to a fluctuating scale, I started to love and take care of it.

But after T. and I broke up, I felt disconnected from myself and everything around me. I now knew with 100% certainty that I no longer believed in the church and its teachings, but past that I didn't know what I believed. Even while in the religion, I'd never felt comfortable telling people with certainty what was going to happen to them and the world around us. What if the religion was wrong? There'd already been a trail of failed prophecies, as the church attempted to come up with new interpretations, as the old ones were quickly written out of our teachings. Though this had mainly occurred before I was born, there'd been one key prophecy that was coming to the end of its timeline as I found myself still in the church. It had been the carrot on the string, holding all our salvation as a group, and the end of the world as we knew it. I'm sure many, like my self, had been holding on to their faith by a string as well, only to watch the goal posts get moved again, this time indefinitely. The thought of never have a reprieve from this endless cycle of sacrifice exhausted me, and it had crushed the little faith I'd had left.

When Mom committed suicide, I was still in the church, so I wasn't allowed to wonder or explore any beliefs other than the ones that aligned with the church. They used the words comfort, peace and hope when they discussed death, but I hadn't felt any of those. There was only way to believe, and any other thought process, you were considered a heretic.

As I watched Dad battle cancer 15 years after Mom's death, I found myself in a much different spot. I wasn't looking at death through the eyes of the church, but my own. And as devout as my Dad was to the religion and all its teachings, there'd been a shift as he got nearer to end of his life. "You're right Ellie, no one knows with 100% certainty what happens when we die," he said, during one of our more heartfelt conversations. I'd almost fallen off my chair hearing him speak those words. It's what I'd sought my whole life, the word "maybe."

When Dad took his last breath in front of me, I still didn't know where he might be. Yet, having sat in that hospice room night after night, and witnessing the cycle of life had somehow released me from my own fear of death. Suffering was terrible, yes, but death itself actually seemed peaceful. However, my sister hadn't seen it that way, as she immediately corrected me, calling what we'd just witnessed "the cycle of death." No matter our opposing beliefs, what Dad's death had done for me, was allow me to open myself up to the possibility of something more than I'd been taught.

I knew I didn't want to join another church, as organized religion wasn't for me, but I wanted to find what resonated with me personally. And now that COVID had hit, I had time to do this. So, I stocked up on an array of books, delving into stories of children who seemed to remember past lives, individuals who temporarily died and then returned, and eyewitness accounts of nurses and doctors and what they'd noticed as their patients passed before their eyes. I'd always had a fascination with space, so I also read books on the universe, UFOs, alien abductions, and ancient writings. Not everything I read resonated with me, but it felt refreshing to read whatever I wanted and not feel ashamed or fearful. If anything, it had awakened a thirst for knowledge that I'd never had before, because I hadn't ever been allowed.

As I got to the final book within my collection, I remember finishing the last chapter and sobbing uncontrollably, as I held it close to my chest. "Thank you, thank you," I said out loud. This one had resonated with me the most, and it had filled me with hope, peace and love. I not only felt connected to myself again after reading it, but to the world around me, and those who'd passed before me.

My whole life I'd felt inadequate, unlovable, even broken, all because the religion I was born into, hadn't spoken to me. Bad, rebellious, faithless were words that had swirled around me, as I hid in the shadows, trying to fit and conform so they wouldn't land on me. Now, the only word that came to mind was free.

As I think back to the little girl who'd tied her baby blanket around her neck and leaped off footstools to try to prove God's existence and love, I want to tell her that one day she'll find her way, it's just going to take a few decades, a global pandemic, and a whole lot of faith.

"But trust me little girl, you will get there. And when you do, you will realize that you were always good, always whole, and always deserving of love" I'd gone from believing in the church's teachings, though not feeling I could fully live by them, to scrutinizing them. Then I went through an atheistic phase, as I found myself angry at the church and God, followed by a peace and love stage, as I immersed myself in the world of yoga. It was then that I learned to connect my mind and body, and instead of punishing myself, like I'd done for years whenever the number on the scale changed, I began to love and take care of it.

But after T. and I broke up, I felt disconnected from myself and everything around me. I now knew with 100% certainty that I no longer believed in the church and its teachings, but past that I didn't know what I believed. Even while in the religion, I'd never felt comfortable telling people with certainty what was going to happen to them and the world around us. What if the religion was wrong? There'd already been a trail of failed prophecies, as the church attempted to come up with new interpretations, as the old ones were quickly written out of our teachings. Though this had mainly occurred before I was born, there'd been one key prophecy that was coming to the end of its timeline as I found myself still in the church. It had been the carrot on the string, holding all our salvation as a group, and the end of the world as we knew it. I'm sure many, like myself, had been holding on to their faith by a string as well, only to watch the goal posts get moved again, this time indefinitely. The thought of never having a reprieve from the endless cycle of sacrifice exhausted me, and it had crushed the little faith I'd had left.

When Mom committed suicide, I was still in the church, so I wasn't allowed to wonder or explore any beliefs other than the ones that aligned with the church. They used the words comfort, peace and hope when they discussed death, but I hadn't felt any of those. There was only one way to believe, and any other thought process, you were considered a heretic.

As I watched Dad battle cancer 15 years after Mom's death, I found myself in a much different spot. I wasn't looking at death through the eyes of the church, but my own. And as devout as my Dad was to the religion and all its teachings, there'd been a shift as he got nearer to the end of his life. "You're right Ellie, no one knows with 100% certainty what happens when we die," he said, during one of our more heartfelt conversations. I'd almost fallen off my chair hearing him speak those words. It's what I'd sought my whole life, the word "maybe."

When Dad took his last breath in front of me, I still didn't know where he might be. Yet, having sat in that hospice room night after night, and witnessing the cycle of life had somehow released me from my own fear of death. Suffering was terrible, yes, but death itself actually seemed peaceful. However, my sister hadn't seen it that way, as she immediately corrected me, calling what we'd just witnessed "the cycle of death." No matter our opposing beliefs, what Dad's death had done for me, was allow me to open myself up to the possibility of something more than I'd been taught.

I knew I didn't want to join another church, as organized religion wasn't for me, but I wanted to find what resonated with me personally. And now that COVID had hit, I had time to do this. So, I stocked up on an array of books, delving into stories of children who seemed to remember past lives, individuals who temporarily died and then returned, and eyewitness accounts of nurses and doctors and what they'd noticed as their patients passed before their eyes. I'd always had a fascination with space, so I also read books on the universe, UFOs, alien abductions, and ancient writings. Not everything I read resonated with me, but it felt refreshing to read whatever I wanted and not feel ashamed or fearful. If anything, it had awakened a thirst for knowledge that I'd never had before, because I hadn't ever been allowed.

As I got to the final book within my collection, I remember finishing the last chapter and sobbing uncontrollably, as I held it close to my chest. "Thank you, thank you," I said out loud. This one had resonated with me the most, and it had filled me with hope, peace and love. I not only felt connected to myself again after reading it, but to the world around me, and those who'd passed before me.

My whole life I'd felt inadequate, unlovable, even broken, all because the religion I was born into hadn't spoken to me. Bad, rebellious, faithless were words that had swirled around me, as I hid in the shadows, trying to fit and conform so they wouldn't land on me. Now, the only word that came to mind was free.

As I think back to the little girl who'd tied her baby blanket around her neck and leaped off footstools to try to prove God's existence and love, I want to tell her that one day she'll find her way, it's just going to take a few decades, a global pandemic, and a whole lot of faith.

"But trust me little girl, you will get there. And when you do, you will realize that you were always good, always whole, and always deserving of love"