There is a lot of religious allegory in my books, and this is a question I get asked a lot.
I grew up pretty evangelical if you must know.
My Uncle was a pastor, and my Mom a strong believer. I was the six year old standing on a piece of newspaper for a stage, belting out praise and worship songs, as I clutched an imaginary microphone. I had books with stories of Jesus that I cherished and read regularly.
From very young, I sensed this loving being that I could “feel” and believed loved me – I can’t remember spending a week in my life not praying.
Reading this, you may think that I had a sweet childhood, filled with the support of a God-fearing family that loved and nurtured me to maintain my beliefs.
The reality is far darker.
I was a little girl, who loved God, that lived in the home of a raging alcoholic Father.
He was one of those supersized versions of the breed, not just struggling with an addiction, but venting his rage on the world because of it. My Mom was his punching bag, and I was the witness to every blood spill on the floor.
I still believed, even though Daddy was beating Mom violently in front of me, that God loved me. I hid away in cupboards; I blocked my ears by holding stuffed teddies against my head, and I helped her find her sun glasses on the way to school so my friends didn’t see her battered and bruised face.
I also still stood on that newspaper, with my makeshift microphone and sang of a being that loved me.
When I was eleven, things changed a little.
My father nearly killed my mother with one of his beatings. I was right beside her when it happened, trapped in the front seat of a car, while she took vicious blows.
I did what any good Christian girl would do. I begged God to make him stop. I begged God to help us get the car started so we could drive away. I asked God to send an angel to change my Father’s heart. I asked God for Mom to remain conscious, so he didn’t turn on me next.
He didn’t answer my prayer that day or any other when I begged.
Something inside of me changed the day she bled right beside me. Not only the obvious things, like the growth of my own neurotic anxiety levels, or my inability to hold anything steady in my shaking hands.
Something deep inside.
A sick, sad burden of doubt that steadily grew and worsened.
I don’t know why, but I still believed in his existence. I believed with a chip on my shoulder that steadily grew. I still asked for angels of protection over my children when I had my own. I asked for bad things to pass me by, and good things to come my way.
I reached out to believers to give me understanding of my past and most told me:
- God “allowed” this to happen because there was something I needed to learn.
- Others spoke of generational curses or asked what “I” had done for God lately.
- Most told me to believe like a child and not question – I guess they overlooked that I was a child when this all happened.
Many just pointed out, how happy and blessed I was to have a wonderful husband now, or be grateful that my mother finally got the strength to leave the monster behind.
Be thankful they said.
God Loves you.
Let me lay hands on you and pray.
Miracles do exist for those who believe.
When these thoughts arose, I pressed them down, because I didn’t want to stray and go to hell as I had been taught I would if I did not follow him without question. My resentment grew, that I was being told to accept or face a heinous alternative offered by a God they claimed loved me.
So I lied. I lied to myself, I lied to my children. I lied to my faith filled husband that I understood and accepted. But the little chip on my shoulder grew and so did my anger.
And yet … in my darkest moments, I sensed there was still “something” there. Something greater than me, that I needed, even if I resented it. But the “something” looked and felt very different to what I had been taught. So I had to be wrong.
I reached a crossroads one day, where I could not longer pretend. I was faced with two alternatives.
I could continue walking this path, believing in a God who allowed me to be hurt and pretend that I believed he loved me, or I could consider that everything I had been taught was wrong. Maybe there were other ways to make sense of a God who blesses some people with a new job and stands by while children die and lie hungry in the streets. My bible had enough highlighted points in it to light up in the dark and yet these questions still burned.
I finally got honest. I told God how I felt, which was my most honest prayer ever.
“God – you suck, I don’t actually think you exist sometimes, but if you do, I think you are a piece of crap for turning your face from me as a child. Maybe now I deserve some wrath as an adult, but you let me down when I was a little girl and I don’t trust you anymore.”
This honest prayer, when I told God to leave me the hell alone – was the best thing I ever did. No peace is ever found in resentment they say, and I was swimming in a pool of it. I packed away the mega church CD’s filled with pretty pastors and shelved the mainstream Christian books that rehashed each other’s readings and teachings to join the flow of seeking agnostics.
I knew there was “something” out there, but I was also clever enough to recognize that my understanding of it was askew. I wanted to keep the “something”, but lose the constructed meaning that was given to me as a child.
I needed to make sense of the love I had for a God that I also resented.
I could write pages and pages on what I have learned, but I would rather lead you to Kathy Escobar, who doesn’t even know how she held my hand with her blogs as I walked this path. I found solace in the writings of Thomas Jay Oord, whose teachings in open and relational theology gave me peace and understanding.
I’m not offering much a solution in my path of deconstruction in this small blog, but I hope if it resonates you will have the guts to admit your doubts. I hope that you will confess that you have some resentment and a multitude of questions. Maybe you will be brave enough to admit you are sick of being told to:
- believe like a child or
- be asked if your heart is right.
- or what you are doing for God?
If this is you, then don’t lament this beautiful starting block of deconstruction. Keep asking honest questions and find answers that have meaning to you.
Search!
Stray off the path of sheep teaching sheep.
Read about honest paths of seeking and you may find your own along the way.
And yeah, if it makes you feel happy, I still consider myself a Christian, but I am a world away from the naïve believer I once was. My faith is stronger. Its no longer based on brainless conditioning and twisted scripture.
I will be writing more about the allegories in my books and my journey of spiritual discovery. You may hate them, that’s okay.
It’s my path not yours – all I can hope is that if you are lost – it will give you the courage to find your own.
Matthew 5:45, as part of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says this about God the Father: “He makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.”