I decided to start blogging again. I used to do it almost every day, but life got busy and…whatever. Podcasting is great. But sometimes I’m too socially awkward to form intelligent sentences out of the thoughts I come up with and people are usually left not knowing what the hell I just said. Sooooo, blogging.
Anyway, I felt like if there’s any subject that can really get me stuttering and excessively using the phrase, “Wait, no. Hold on. What I meant to say was…” its religion. I’ve always been a Christian. Like, since birth. My parents and grandparents raised me in the Wesleyan church and I’m thankful for the early exposure I had to God. I even went to a Christian preschool. Thoooooooose were the dayssssss. You get there, sing some songs, sit in a circle while the teacher reads you a story about a dude getting swallowed by a whale, (poorly) color a picture of said whale, animal crackers and grape juice, go outside, then mom picks you up. All we needed to do was “Love one another.” God said so. Simple as that. We were living our best lives back then, folks. Being a Christian was soooooo easy.
When I was in my car accident at 17, my faith never wavered. Oddly enough, I never asked God “why me?”. I questioned what the purpose was for Him keeping me here, but I was fairly content with waiting for an answer for the most part. I knew my life would matter, though. I really have no idea why I didn’t get mad at God back then. If He is who I think He is, I feel like He would’ve been alright with me getting a little pissed every once in awhile. But…I was just…happy I was alive.
A year after I got married, we found out we would likely be unable to conceive on our own. Now that put the big guy on my shit list…but only for a minute. I knew I needed Him to get through the struggle of infertility and IVF, and He was there. Through the shots and the mood swings and the blood draws and the blood draws and the blood draws. We were so blessed to conceive our son on our first round of IVF. Then, because God enjoys a good practical joke every now and then, we were surprised with our daughter out of the blue just under 2 years later. Still…living my best life.
But then…adulthood happened.
Within the past five years or so, I’ve asked myself on numerous occasions what kind of Christian I am. I definitely don’t fit in with the devout folks like my wonderful late grandfather who would leave pamphlets and tracks everywhere he went…but I definitely love God. I believe that Jesus died for my sins. But I reeeeeaallllllyyyyy don’t care if you do. Yup…I said it. I don’t give a flying rats booty if you don’t believe in the same things I do. I read a book once about living a purposeful life as a Christian and the author kept saying how if he could just save one person, he did his job. But I’m more of a “Hey y’all…I’m going to heaven. If you’re coming, get your shoes and let’s go.” kinda girl. I struggled with this for a long time. I felt like if I wasn’t running around yelling Bible verses into every empty sliver of air I could find, I wasn’t doing it right. I felt like I was being a bad Christian. It wasn’t until later that I realized I’m just not that kind of Christian.
Before you get all offended, I don’t mean that in a bad way. The world needs both kinds. There are many people who have been saved by a good old fashioned unwarranted prayer sesh. As a matter of fact, a man once came up to me and my children while loading our car in the Walmart parking lot and asked if he could pray over me. I took my finger off the trigger of my pepper spray, and we all bowed our heads and let him pray that I would be healed. It opened up a great conversation between my kids and I about praying for others and I was thankful. But thats not how I roll. I’ll pray till my lips fall off in the privacy of my own home for every rando I see that looks like they may be struggling. That’s my style. My modus operandi, if you speak Latin…or French. To be honest, I don’t even know what that means.
Another reason I’ve questioned what kind of Christian I am is because I live less like the church wants me to and more like I think God wants me to. I am soooooo not conservative. I’m all about “Love is love” and “Do you, boo boo.” Love who you want, dress how you want, be who you feel you are inside…just. be. happy. I really can’t bring myself to tell another human being what to do with their heart or their body. That is exactly 0% my business. I will never judge a human being on things like their sexual orientation or who they voted for…or anything else. Why? Because I once paid my 5 year old $5 of his own tooth fairy money that I had in my wallet to mop up dog puke because I was gagging so hard I thought I was going to die. I’m a human and I have no room to cast judgement on another person for doing what they feel is right in their own life. The only way I will judge you is if you look me straight in the eye and tell me the Backstreet Boys made better music than *NSYNC. But seriously, God wants us to love one another. We literally learned that in preschool. So, no matter who you are, I’m about that life and I’ll love, support, and annoy you until the day you die…or block me on social media.
I feel like a lot of the time, we are told to spread the message that being gay or trans or having kids when you’re not married or anything else that isn’t straight white dude-ish are all sins and very very wrong. This is 2018. There is hate pouring out of every part of our world. People are dying every day because someone decided they didn’t agree with a life a complete stranger was living. Teenagers are killing themselves because they’re being told they’re going to hell for being exactly who they are. Its real and no matter how easy your comfortable life makes it to turn away and pretend it isn’t happening, it is. And I won’t be part of it. I will do my very best to live as much like Jesus as I can. By loving.
I’m that kind of Christian.