Losing My Religion

How did I become 50?

I have done a lot of looking back over my life. There were times I truly never thought I would make it to this age. I had recurring dreams that I would not live beyond thirty six and those dreams haunted most of my youth. I have seen more in the 14 years since I turned thirty six than I did in all of the years leading up to it. And I can truly say there have been some amazing people, in my life, that have pulled me through the fire.The rest of it has come from my strength and spirituality. 

Yes, my spirituality, you read that right. I am not Christian and have not been for as long as I remember. My beliefs have been the backbone that has kept me up and moving when I refused to listen to the sage and safe wisdom of friends and family. It has been the light when I thought all else was more dark than every light in the world could brighten. But I have been left wondering how my beliefs switched. Today, I would like to look back and share those events with you, as we take a look at Losing My Religion.

My earliest memories of church

I grew up in the south in a small country town. When I say small, it was at least a 45 minute drive to get to where we went grocery shopping. Our closest neighbors were a quarter mile away from us. When it got dark, you could see every star in the sky interlaced with the Milky Way. If you went outside at night, it was pitch black. I know I have said this multiple times, but it bears repeating.

We weren’t particularly a religious family, my father grew up Methodist and my mother Pentecostal. Neither of them attended church. Grandma Lizzie was what was considered, by most southern people, as god fearing, but she rarely attended church. She did read from the Bible often, sing psalms, and try to live a good Christian lifestyle. She took us to a tent revival once, but being kids we ran around playing instead of sitting in the tent and behaving.

Mom took us to church once, that I can recall. It was an Easter Sunday at the Pentecostal church she grew up in. I remember they did a small easter egg hunt, kids played – I mostly shied away from it all – then we sat through the sermon. I remember being intimidated by it, more than anything. The preacher seemed to be upset about how people sinned. He preached how to find salvation. There was a lot of speaking in tongues and moving with the spirit. I was scared of what I saw and started to think if this is what religion is then I wanted no part of it. 

The closest time, I think, I ever came to embracing Christianity was in the late fall of 1986. It was a cool November day and my sister and I had been staying alone at our house to catch the bus instead of going to our Grandma Lizzie’s like we had when we were younger. On this day, we had somewhat overslept and were rushing to catch the bus. Once we got to school, it was all behind us. The day progressed like normal until I got to shop class. I had just barely settled in and listened to what the project was going to be when I was called to the principal’s office. My mother was there looking upset and I just knew something was wrong. I dont remember the exact words, as I had a hard time processing that our house had just burned down a few hours earlier.

Wanting answers to tragedy

At thirteen, it is hard to process loss, grief, tragedy, and such. Your mind hasn’t really been exposed to a lot of what life can throw at you. You still rely on adults to, sort of, show you the way. The world still doesn’t make sense, especially when it feels like it is taking things away from you.

I was in shock from learning that everything I knew as my life was just incinerated. The fireman was going over what happened. He gave us the approximate time the fire started and it was just about an hour after we left. We had a small house and the bedroom that I shared with my sister was in the front part of the house. Staring at the still smoking rubble of our house, all I could focus on was where our room used to be. Now, it was nothing, not even the timbers that made up the wall. I heard, in the peripheral of my mind, that our dog had hid under the bed and that was where he died. I was numb. I wanted reason for what happened, anything to understand why everything was just taken from us.

It was amazing that anything survived that fire. But what stuck out as odd to me was that my mother’s family Bible and the two Bibles my sister and I had been given for Christmas, in years past, survived. They were in my sister and I’s bedroom. The room that nothing remained in, my mind reeled from this and I wanted to believe it was a sign. Part of me thought that it was some kind of message from God.

I read that Bible after that, cover to cover. Wanting to find answers and understanding. I kept wanting to see it as a test. My cousins, who went to church twice a week, tried telling me that God was testing my faith and I shouldn’t try to understand the reason behind it, to only accept it. The more I heard this, the harder it was to buy into. I read stories where God tested his followers by making them sacrifice what was dear to them or make them do things they never thought they could. I knew, from preachers, that God was supposed to reward those that were devout to him. They would have a place in heaven and receive his grace. All I could think was are we being punished for not going to church? If so, what kind of God would punish a child for not going to a building to worship? I was confused.

Life’s hard lessons

The fire was but one event in my life that shaped what I believe today. As a child, I watched as friends and family were taken from us when it seemed to not make sense. I watched as family members were left near death due to car accidents or debilitating illnesses. My mind wanted to know why such a loving God would force their followers to endure such things. Christianity just couldn’t seem to give me answers I desperately needed.

There was one thing that made sense to me, science. My feelings for science and nature caused me to seek out other spiritualities, as odd as it may seem. I could get lost in forests, as a child. Playing in a field with grasshoppers buzzing around me left me feeling like an adventurer on a quest. Seeing death in the real world had me understand the cycles of things in ways that religion could not. Fantasy led me to magic which led me to spirituality.  

I could see a binding force in the world, a moving, living thing that affected every organism it interacted with. It gave them air to breathe, food to eat, and a bed to comfort them in death. It was both cruel and comforting. It showed me that events happen and we are left to try to figure out a lesson from it, not that it was trying to teach us. How we choose to handle those situations makes us stronger and teaches us how we can control them. With that, there was no need for dogma. Furthermore, it was not a belief created by a flawed species to try to make sense of things we don’t want to think about. More importantly it taught me that I am in full control of how a situation can affect me. 

Though, to be honest, that lesson I am still trying to learn.

The path less chosen

This is only how I started my journey into spirituality over religion. I have been a practicing witch for roughly thirty-four years. Some years I am much more active than others, but it doesn’t change my beliefs. It is often hard to explain to people exactly what I believe because words elicit their own responses in people. My descriptions are shaped by what has influenced them and doesn’t always allow for the best translation. But I have learned to be much more patient in explaining them than I used to be. Ultimately, it is my beliefs and they may not be for any other person and that is okay.

How has life changed your beliefs? Were you raised in a Christian household and if so, are you still involved in it? Was there some point in your life that caused you to change your beliefs? If so, what caused it? Let me know in the comments below. Your journey may offer some clarity to another traveler looking for a path.