Skip to main content

choosing my religion



Several months ago, I shared about my walk away from religion (you can read that here). Looking back, I realize that the path away from organized religion had really started years before. Back when I was a teen questioning the black and white rules. Back when I was an idealistic new wife and mom questioning the patriarchy within the church. Back when I dared to voice my belief in a large gray area where grace resided and love covered all.

Every one of these thoughts, and more, was conceived inside of my heart before I ever gave birth to their words aloud.. As a (former) people pleaser, I didn't want to offend, to alienate. I didn't want to be different, the outsider. I wanted to belong. I wanted acceptance. I wanted love. And the price tag for that was the silence of my truths.

Can I just tell you how very damaging that silence was? How every time I swallowed down what my heart was telling me, another piece of me was buried? Another facet of  who I am  was layered under a mask of church-sanctioned appropriateness? That for every veil removed, another one slipped into place, going from one disguise to the next in a maddening dance of blindness? Until, exhausted, I ripped them all away, revealing the real and the raw and the naked truth of who I am, in both an angry display of boldness and a liberating exhibition of clarity.

Suddenly, with that 20/20 vision we all possess, I could see, really see, with a clearness that was blinding. It took my breath away like that first intake on a bitterly cold day. It stopped me in my tracks. What was I to do now? That which I had used as my security blanket was lying all about my feet, a garish array of misguided intentions. 

Losing my religion was not easy. It was a difficult and deliberate choice to step over everything that I had walked in for most of my life. I left beliefs, people, and a crumbling foundation in my wake, not in a 'I want to do this' fashion but in a 'my very spirit is screaming out for more' way.
 
And, I began again. Only this time, I am choosing my religion, so to speak. I am digging through my remnants, picking up what is mine and discarding the rest. I am starting anew, with a different but firm foundation. I am walking my path, my way, for the first time ever. and it is perfect.








'Cause I need freedom now and I need to know how
To live my life as it's meant to be...
And I'll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I'll know my name as it's called again



So when your hope's on fire
But you know your desire
Don't hold a glass over the flame
Don't let your heart grow cold

 
 
And I won't give them up to you this time around
And so I'll be found
With my stake stuck in this ground 
Marking the territory of this newly impassioned soul



The Cave/Hopeless Wanderer/Roll Away Your Stone ~ Mumford & Sons



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

and the honor goes to...part 1

This will be a series of posts in which I honor people who have made an impact in my life, both in my past and in my present. I am blessed to still have some of these people in my life; others have left this life for their next one; others are no longer a part of my close circle, yet still made a difference to me. I want to share them with you. I want to honor them. I want them to know how much I love and respect them. The first one is dedicated to my childhood babysitter, Pat B. Growing up, both of my parents worked. This meant that my sister and I went to a babysitter when we were younger. We had a few, but the one that we spent the most time with, and that I remember the most, lived right up the road from us. We were actually neighbors, but being in the country, that meant a cornfield separated us. I recall being there when I was in kindergarten until I was old enough to stay by myself, probably around 12 or 13. I love to reminisce about my time there. It was my home away from ...

no more hiding

I first published this in May of 2013. A lot has changed in that time. A lot has stayed the same. There are updates at the end of this post. One of my daughters is on a daily SSRI (selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor) or, in layman's terms, an antidepressant. She was diagnosed with the main dish of Anxiety Disorder, with a side of depression. I can joke about it now - and she can too - but it hasn't always been that way. . We first encountered it years ago. At the time we sought church-based counseling but nothing else in the way of help for her. She was so young that I just couldn't imagine putting her on a medication. I had a hard time even accepting that she might have a mental disorder. We got through that time - barely - and went on without it rearing its head again. But when it resurfaced three years ago, it did so with a vengeance. This time, I was better equipped myself to deal with it. There was no hesitation. We immediately saw a doctor, got a prescrip...

the gift of covid-19

" But there never seems to be enough time To do the things you want to do Once you find them..."     ~ Time In A Bottle by Jim Croce Time. How many of us would wish for more time? I would. At the end of many days, I wish that I had just a few more hours, or one more day, or to somehow stop the world from spinning by so quickly so that I could accomplish more, do more, be more. But, it doesn't work that way. We are all given the exact same minutes in a day to decide what is important, who and what holds our attentions, our hearts. If, at the end of today, I am wishing for more time, it is because I chose to mismanage the gift of time that I have already received. I found out Friday that my job would be on a 2 week break due to the corona virus. I am an aide/occasional driver on a school van. It takes less than 4 hours out of my day, but my mind started immediate calculations about how I could spend these extra minutes. I spent wasted time dreaming about sl...