On God.
For a while now, my whole life I guess, I’ve been reckoning with my own beliefs and those of my religious upbringing. I knew that when I read the Bible or heard some old hymn I certainly felt something. I also knew that it couldn’t be the same thing as all these mean people I was going to church with who seemed to spend all their time upset and judging anyone who’s ideas didn’t fall in line with their own. I didn’t want to be associated with these people at all. So, I decided that I didn’t believe.
But questions kept creeping up on me. Why do I feel like such crap when I try to do the same things everyone else does? Why do I feel like I was so much kinder to those around me, and so much happier when I did believe? Why is it that the first day that I opened a Bible in probably two years is also the day I realized I needed to go to school, do something with myself, and get my life together? Why is it that I well up when I listen to The Carter Family?
Is it nostalgia or maybe guilt implanted in me from my childhood? Possibly, but it doesn’t feel that way, not anymore.
I don’t care who the president is. I don’t want to picket anybody’s wedding or funeral. I don’t have the right to tell anyone what to do with their body or their life. I know that, and I don’t contend that all this may not add up to nothing in the end, but the fact remains. I am a better, happier person when I believe. So that’s what I’m going to do.
